Star Wars: Rise of the Empire (IC)

[Jedi Council]

OOC

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Shaak Ti
Jedi Temple | Coruscant | 19 BBY

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The silence was deafening. In days past, the main concourse of the Jedi Temple would have been bustling with activity, filled with starry eyed Younglings and smug Padawans, Masters on various assignments, maintenance droids, and even non-Jedi security. Being the central hub of the Temple, the Concourse lead to the Archives in the South, and the primary entrance in the North, with offshoots to the various rooms, halls, and chambers in between. Today, however, what was once a crowded thoroughfare, was nearly empty. A service droid swept the southern transept, while another appeared to be dusting the large statue that occupied the centre of the room. A pair of young Jedi were sitting on a pair of benches in the farthest corner, whispering to one another. An elderly Jedi was in the opposite corner, asleep by the looks of it. It was all... unsettling, for Shaak Ti.

The Togrutan Jedi Master had grown up in the Temple, and it was where she felt most at home, apart from the savannahs of her native Shili. Despite her people's communal nature, Ti had thrived here, among the hustle and bustle. Now, with so many Jedi in the field, sent to far flung corners of the Galaxy to lead their Grand Army into battle, her home felt empty.

Sitting on the edge of the central fountain, with the enormous statue of an unamed Jedi looming above her, Shaak Ti silently took it all in. The past few days had been hard. Beneath her traditional robes, a small comfort of home, her body was still bruised and battered, a reminder of the Battle of Coruscant, and of her failure. The skill of the Jedi Healers was unmatched, and while they may have seen to her body, they could not purge her of her guilt.

"You look unsettled," a deep voice said, cutting through the silence of the Concourse, and vibrating in Ti's mind. "Did you forget about our briefing?"

Ti looked up slightly, broken from her reverie by the sound.
"Aren't we all unsettled, Mace," Shaak Ti replied, her soft voice a whisper in such a large room. "No, I did not forget."

Mace Windu sat beside her, folded his hands across his knees, and leaned forward.
"I know the last few days have been, well, hard, Shaak. But you cannot blame yourself for what happened."

Ti shook her head, her lekku gracefully swaying from side to side.
"It is not just about the battle. Ever since that day, my vision has been... clouded, like a sheet placed over a lantern. I try to medidate, to calm myself, to release myself into the Force, but, its as though something is blocking me, pulling me back into the real world. I feel like I am missing something, something so obvious, so clear."

"I think you speak for the entire Council. We have all felt the Dark Side's effects, it is clouding our vision. Not even Master Yoda can see what the future holds."

Ti looked to her right, making eye contact with her friend, the sadness in her voice replaced with sudden urgency.
"We were so close Mace, in the Works. We were on Sidious' trail, we know he is in the Capital. It just does not feel right, getting our first solid lead, our first shred of evidence that Dooku was telling the truth on Geonosis, only to have our attention drawn away by Grievous and his assault."

Windu nodded sagely, but allowed Ti to continue.

"It cannot be a coincidence that just was we were getting close, the capital was attacked. How better to distract the Jedi than to kidnap the Supreme Chancellor?"

"I agree," Mace interjected, standing from the fountain's ledge. "The connection between the two is unmistakable. If Sidious is behind this war, if we really were on his trail, capturing Palpatine would be the best way to keep us off the Sith's scent. Come, we cant be late for this meeting."

Ti stood as well, brushing a fleck of dust from her robes. The pair began to walk down the elevated Western transept, their fine leather boots softly heralding their approach through the largely empty corridor.
"When this War is won, I fear Sidious may be more dangerous even than before," Ti said, hands folded in front of her. "If Dooku is to be trusted, then thousands of Senators are under his sway. The Jedi could win the war, but the Sith might win the peace."

"Palpatine's intransigence is not helping in that regard," Windu replied with more than a little venom in his voice. "He has amassed far more power than I am comfortable with, and is blocking us at every turn. If the Sith have gotten to him, or his office, then the threat we face is greater than we realize."

"And we have put our faith in young Skywalker."
Ti glanced at Windu, whose face had furrowed into a distinct frown at the mere mention of the name.

"I trust him even less than you do Shaak, but there is no one we have that can get as close, no one we have that actually has Palpatine's ear. If Sidious is as entrenched in the political sphere as we fear he is, the only way to root him out is to confront him openly. Skywalker does his best work out in the open."

Ti shook her head.
"I would argue further, but you already heard my opinion in the Council. I understand the plan, Mace, I am just wary of the consequences. If Skywalker gets too close, if Sidious is spooked, provoked into doing something rash..."

"Then we will have pushed him into the open, where we can confront him. As I said."

"As you said."

The pair were nearing the briefing room, a large, oblong chamber with a massive holo-projector at one end. Entering, they saw that they were the last to arrive. Masters Tiin and Kcaj were on opposite sides of the room, but both poring over data pads that no doubt held the missives from the Outer Rim. Master Drallig was near the projector, arms folded, inspecting his lightsaber hilt. And Master Fisto appeared to be trying to tell a joke to Master Kolar, despite the Zabrak's unmoved expression.

"... don't you get it," Ti heard as she entered, clearly the voice of a very animated nautolan.

"No," Kolar replied dead pan, his folded arms braced across his chest.

Fisto shook his head, his lidless eyes filled with their usual perpetual mirth.
"But you can image why it would be funny, right?"

"No."

"But-"
Fisto was cut off by Master Windu clearing his throat. The nautolan turned, and smiled, as the assembled Jedi stopped their business and approached the newcomers.

"Shaak," Fisto said as he came near, "It is good to see you out of a bacta tank."

The Togrutan smiled.
"Thank you Kit, its good to be out. I have a few bruises yet, but, the Healers did their work."

"Is it true that you fought over fifty Magnaguards at once? I can't imagine facing..."

Master Windu's disapproving stare silenced Kit swiftly, who suddenly understood the sensitivity of the subject.
"Apologies for being the last to arrive, but I have just come from a meeting with Master Yoda. Master Ti and I will be giving you this briefing, but, I cannot stress this enough, the information you are about to receive is of the highest secrecy. We cannot, and will not, tolerate word of this leaking to the public, or worse, to the Senate."
The assembled master's nodded their agreement as Mace continued.
"Before the Battle of Coruscant, Master Ti and I, with assistance from Master Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker, were on the trail of the elusive Sith Lord, the one we have been looking for."

"Sidious," Tiin said grumpily.

"The very same," Mace replied. "Three years ago on Geonosis, Count Dooku told Obi-Wan of this Sidious, the Lord of the Sith who, through unknown methods, held sway over hundreds, if not thousands of Senators. Given the subsequent revelation that Dooku himself was a Sith Lord, we dismissed this theory as some manipulation, or ploy to convert Obi-Wan himself. It appears, we were wrong. Master Ti?"

Shaak nodded, and walked over to the holo-projector, produced a small chip from her robes, and inserted it into the machine before her. The projector flickered, and produced a light blue image of a classic neimoidian holo-chair. From the chair, a second hologram sprouted; a hooded man, features obscured.

"This," Ti began, pointing at the image, "Is the private communication device of Viceroy Nute Gunray, captured by Kenobi and Skywalker during their campaign earlier this year on Cato Neimoidia. This image is believed to be of Darth Sidious himself, and was our first shred of proof that the Sith Lord existed."
Ti could sense the other Master's discomfort. Few Jedi had been briefed on this file, save for Yoda and Master Windu.
"Now, this was unhelpful, apart from confirming that Sidious does indeed exist. However, from the mechno-chair itself, Kenobi was able to track down the manufacturer, on Xi Char, who, in turn, explained that there was a second such receiver built, specifically for a vessel delivered to Coruscant, specifically The Works district, decades ago. The ship is one you may be familiar with Master Tiin, a particularly dangerous infiltrator."

Tiin nodded.
"The Scimitar. The Dark Side infested every circuit of that ship."

"Indeed. The Scimitar was the private vessel of the then Sith Apprentice, and current crime lord, Maul. Thus, a few days ago, prior to the Battle of Coruscant, Master Windu and I lead a team of Clone Commando's into the Works to try and find any hints as to where a possible Sith lair may be. We found better than that. It appears that The Works had been used for many years as that very lair, and that Dooku, Maul, and Sidious had all inhabited the area at various times. Most seriously, we discovered that the primary tunnel that ran beneath the Works runs into the sub-levels of 500 Republica."
The Togrutan Master pressed another button on the holo-projector control console, showing a map of the Works, and the tunnel in question.
"We were about to sweep the building when Grievous attacked."

"That cannot be a coincidence," Cin Drallig said with a frown.

"Our thoughts exactly," Mace said, taking a seat on one of the briefing rooms many benches. "We now fear that Dooku was correct, and that the Sith Lord may have some influence over not only the Senate, but also the Office of the Supreme Chancellor. With the amount of authority Palpatine has gained over the past three years, such a proposition is exceedingly dangerous. Thus, as you all know, we have asked Skywalker to report any suspicious activity he might become aware of."

"Where is Skywalker now," Coleman Kcaj asked through his lipless mouth.

Mace shrugged.
"At the Chancellor's office I believe."

Before the briefing could continue, a light on the holo-projector began to blink, indicated an incoming message. Shaak looked at Windu, who nodded, motioning for her to accept the message. With a click, the blue image of Captain Jandine, the head of the Temple Security Force, flickered into view.

"Masters," he said with a bow, "Apologies. We are receiving a message from Commander Cody of the 7th Sky Corps"

"Obi-Wan," Ti said with a smile. "Patch him through Captain."

With another flicker, the familiar image of a Clone Commander came into view. Cody looked like every other Clone, a testament to the Kaminoan's skills, save for the long scar that ran down his left temple. Blaster fire could just be made out from behind him, and the sound of explosions rocked the Commander's communication device.

"Generals," Cody said, ducking slightly to avoid a flying piece of shrapnel, "Apologies for the intrusion, but we have only a small window before the CIS jamming frequency returns. I am pleased to report that General Kenobi engaged General Grievous, and we can confirm that the target has been eliminated."

Every Jedi in the room breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Thank you Commander," Ti said, "That is wonderful news."

"Agreed," Cody replied, before slipping his helmet back on. "Master Kenobi would also...."

The image flickered, and cut out, as the holo-projector powered down.

"Damn jamming signals," Kolar grunted.

"We got the best part of the message," Kit said with a grin, "Grievous has been destroyed. The war is all but over."

"The Outer Rim sieges will go on," Kcaj cautioned, bending a single eye stalk so as to focus on the nautolan. "The CIS still controls many systems."

"But without Dooku, and Grievous, their military leadership is all but spent."

Shaak Ti sat, folding her hands into her lap. With the end of the War now all but certain, the political fallout would be intense.
"Who is going to tell the Chancellor?"

Master Windu stood, face steeled with resolve.
"Given the circumstances, I will go. As we all know, the Council was of the opinion that, once Grievous was destroyed, Palpatine must lay down his emergency powers and return them to the Senate. I think it is now time for that to happen, willingly or otherwise."

Shaak stood, and crossed her arms. She had a bad feeling about this.
"He will not take kindly to that Mace, and if Sidious does have a grip on the Chancellor's office, he may strike out at this provocation."

"I am counting on it. With Master Yoda on Kashyyyk, and so many Jedi in the Outer Rim, he may feel more confident, confident enough to strike back at us."

"We have to be careful."

Windu placed a hand on Ti's shoulder, and nodded.
"We will be ready, Shaak. You will take charge here, ensure the Temple is prepared for anything the Sith might throw at us, Master Drallig will assist."
Drallig nodded from his position behind Ti.
"Kit, Agen, Saesee, you will accompany me to inform the Chancellor of Grievous' destruction, and ensure that he surrenders his emergency powers. If he does not, we will take him into custody, and ensure a peaceful transition of power for a new Administration. With any luck, we can draw this Sidious into the open, and defeat him once and for all."
The trio of Masters nodded, and began to pack their things. As they filed out of the briefing room, the Coruscanti sun breached the now open threshold, framing them in a golden light from the windows beyond.

Mace threw a look over his shoulder.
"May the Force be with you, Shaak."

The Togrutan smiled wistfully, her mind more clouded than ever.
"And with you Mace, and with with you."

---

Shaak Ti
Underworld | Coruscant | 18 BBY

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Shaak Ti woke from her sleep in a cold sweat, her rapid breathing evidence of a very bad dream. Eyes darting from side to side, the Togruta swung her legs over the side of her hard metal bed, and stood, chest still heaving. Her light sleeping shift was drenched in sweat, with the cool air flowing in from the Underworld outside her grated window, she was beginning to get cold. These dreams happened almost every night. While some Jedi were known to have premonitions, or visions of the future while asleep, Ti knew these were not inspired by the Force. No, these dreams were of the mundane, traumatic kind, the kind that develop when ones entire world, and way of life fall apart, when ones family is murdered, and ones home burnt to the ground. Closing her eyes, and sinking back onto the bed with a sigh, Ti tried to regain her composure, breathing in long and deep, focusing on the living Force. It was not long before her breathing was under control, though her mind was far from settled. Reaching under her bed, Ti pulled out a small wooden box.

Good, it's still here.

By the time on the chronometer which blinkered aimlessly next to her makeshift bed, Ti could tell it was early morning. Before long, the air outside her grate would be filled with speeders and droids, all rushing about from place to place. The Underworld was a fascinating place, if far more squalid than Ti had ever imagined. Dressing was a nuisance, as Ti pulled on her tight traveling suit and tall black boots. She removed her dark cloak from the wall, and brought the hood up, resulting in two distinct peaks where her montrals extended. She reached onto the bedside table, a rough cut metal stand, and clipped her lightsaber hilt onto her belt, before covering it with her cloak. She would need the weapon soon enough. Glancing once in the mirror to ensure her disguise was complete, the Jedi Master chuckled mirthlessly. Covered in such non-descript clothing, one would never guess that she was one of the Empire's most wanted "criminals". Opening the heavy metal door that barred entrance to her one room apartment, theTogruta slipped out into the hallway, and locked the door behind her.

The hall was empty, early as it was, and before long, she was down in the main lobby of the squalid little residence she had inhabited for the better part of six months. In the early days of the Empire, she had not dared remain in once place for too long. Stormtrooper patrols haunted her every moment, and the reach of Palpatine's Inquisitorius was longer than she dreamed. After a few months of evading troopers and besting these misguided Inquisitors in duels, Ti had made her way into the bowels of the Coruscant Undercity, the Underworld. Here, patrols were few and far between, while it appeared that the criminal elements that infested these parts kept the Imperial agents at bay.

For now, Ti reminded herself, It's only a matter of time before this place becomes just like the surface.

The tiny apartment she had bought was owned by a corrupt Aqualish trader, who, luckily for the Jedi, had a particularly weak mind. It had not taken much effort to encourage his cooperation, and even, gain access to his small collection of speeders. Today, she needed a fast one. In fact, the fast one.

"Poggo," the Togruta said as she approached the front desk, "Good morning."

The tusked Aqualish looked up from the HoloNet, and, eyes narrowing, replied in his own tongue, a series of gurgles and burps.

"Yes, I know, its early. I am a late riser, you know that, but, today, today just feels different."
The reply bumbled along again.

"No its not because it is Empire day. As filled with mirth as I am for such an important event, I actually have business to attend to."
She reached out gently with the Force, and touched his mind, soothing his suspicions.
"In fact, this business is going to take me topside, and I was hoping, well, I am running a bit late, and I need to take the JG-8."
She felt the resistance grow in his mind, his incredulity, his annoyance, and soothed them, pushing them down deep so as to ensure that compassion, and trust rose to the surface. He gargled his agreement.
"You are a gem , Poggo, you really are."

Waving a swift goodbye, the Togrutan smiled, as she hopped into the small speeder parked out front of the squat hotel. The main entrance to the building was on a major thoroughfare, and she had to be quick to get into the lane. With a jerk, she twisted the control column, and punched the throttle. The speeder jolted, and launched from its parking spot upwards, cutting off a now furious Twi'lek.

"Sorry," Ti waved back, pulling up her hood once more. It would take about an hour to reach the nearest ascension tunnel, the massive, ship sized holes that pockmarked the Capital's surface, and then a further hour to reach the upper levels. From there, it would just be a matter of finding the right sewage duct, and following it for a few miles. It was hardly a task she relished, but she knew what had to be done. Security would be low today, given the immense celebration the Emperor had announced for the first Empire Day. She swiftly banished the image of Palpatine from her mind. The mere thought of him swelled emotions in her heart, emotions she tamped down on hard.

He is just a man, she reminded herself, And the Dark Lord of the Sith.

The revelation that Palptine was indeed Darth Sidious had been a shock. To have been in contact with the Dark Lord countless times, to have saved his life twice, yet not seen through his manipulations, and lies, it was unimaginable. After the Fall of the Temple, and the numerous days spent on the run, Ti had pieced everything together, as one of the few Jedi with a full understanding of not only Sidious, but the betrayal of the Clone Army as well. The inhibitor chip, the investigation in the Works, the mysterious death of Sifo-Dyas, it all fit together brilliantly. The Jedi had been played, and had paid a heavy price for their arrogance.

Before long, Ti realized she was at the ascension tunnel, and lifted the control column on her speeder. Going to the surface was too risky; even on Empire day, there would be too many guards, and too many pictures of her, to avoid being seen. The bounty on her head was considerable, such that even the average citizen might take the risk of confronting the Jedi Master.

The terrorist. The Subversive. The Traitor.

Ti spotted her sewage duct, and pushed forward, breaking from the long line of traffic ascending upwards through the massive vertical shaft towards the surface. Luckily for her, there was a small ledge where she could leave her speeder.

Hopefully it wont get stolen, she thought with a mirthless inner chuckle. That would really ruin my day.

Approaching the sewage grate, Ti ran a hand along the edge. It was wider than the schematic she had purchased had indicated, some eight feet in diameter, but was luckily as dry as advertised.

Figures, no one has had a need for these ducts in about a year.

Even as the traffic raced in the void behind her, Ti un-clipped her lightsaber. Discretion would be key; the sapphire blade would, if seen, draw the Empire to her like flies to honey. And for her mission to be a success, she could not be seen. Raising the hilt to that the emitter was touching the edge of the grate, she ignited it the familiar buzz screeching as it pierced the rusted steel. Yet, deep as the blade was in the tunnel, the only indication of its presence was a faint blue glow, similar to that of a power cutter. She smiled, and moved it around the bottom of the duct. No doubt some would see her, but the sight of a hooded figure vandalizing government property was not particularly noteworthy. Before long, the grate had been freed from its moorings, and had tumbled inwards, requiring the swift deactivation of Ti's blade.

Removing the thin flashlight from her belt, the Togruta pressed on. While the drainage ducts may have been dry, they were certainly not aerated, as the putrid stench indicated. After walking for what seemed to be miles, the Togruta's light flickered, and danced across a faint shape in the distance. Ti shook the light, and put a hand to her hip, ready to draw her blade at a moments notice. Focusing the light in on the shape, she squinted... and saw what appeared to be a small body, laying haphazardly on its side. She began to approach cautiously, but, even as she crept ever nearer, it remained motionless.

Dead, Ti concluded, not sensing any presence in the force.

Glancing down at the body as she walked past, she stopped cold, her heart in her throat at the sight of it. Curled into a ball, putrid and rotting, was an adolescent human body, maybe eleven or twelve at the most. Its clothing was in tatters, and despite its advanced state of decay, she could tell it was highly emaciated. But what truly caught her eyes was the thin, frayed, red-brown braid that hung behind it's right ear; the sign of a Padawan learner. The Jedi Master knelt, her face contorted with sorrow. She knew some Jedi had fled the sacking of the Temple through these sewers. Evidently, not all of them had made it.

Wiping moisture from her eyes, Ti shook herself from her thoughts. It was dead, so was the Order. She could not dwell on the past, she could only look to the future. She stood and turned, pointing her flashlight firmly ahead. The walk was much shorter from that point, only a mile or so, to reach her entry point. Here, her sewage pipe connected with several more, in a massive chamber some ninety feet tall, and fifty feet wide. A year ago, this all would have been filled with water and waste, but now, was dry as a bone. Above her, a gaping black hole hung where the roof should be, no doubt blasted apart when the Temple was sacked. Her small light could not penetrate the distant darkness, but her montrals could. Closing her eyes, she reached out with her unique physiology, painting an image of her surroundings analogous to touch.

A ledge? Yes, a ledge, twenty feet up.

Her eyes flicked open, and she reached deep within her, into her wellspring of the force. With a slight grunt, she jumped, gracefully flying high into the air, flipping as she landed. Her feet hit the polished stone of the ledge. Having jumped out of the pit, she now found herself in a massive chamber, surrounded by unpenetrable darkness. Her flashlight went out, as she dropped it to the ground, and reached for her blade, the familiar hiss echoing through the chamber, now filled with a dim sapphire light. To the South, the Jedi could just make out the transept that led to the archives, while to the North she knew the main entrance remained blocked, guarded day and night by Stormtroopers. She turned, and looked down into the pit, remembering the fountain and the statue that once stood her, in the centre of the main concourse of the Jedi Temple.

"I'm home," Ti said quietly, her voice faint in the massive room. "I am home."

[Plzen]

Rayne Solengard
Free City of Northshore, Kalgan, Auroran Sector

The alarm rang softly - I was a very light sleeper - for a few moments before I silenced it. The light of dawn filtered in through the curtains but I found it difficult to get up, to leave this little nest of blankets and muscle that was so warm and comforting, in such sharp contrast to the great halls of power outside, colder in far more ways than just the literal.

Another day... another depressing day of trying to keep everything from falling apart. I couldn't prevent a sigh from escaping my lips. These little moments of weakness were growing all too common recently, and I couldn't afford that, least of all now when the attention of the Sector seemed focused on me!

"Leaving already?"

My shuffle must have woken him up... genuine concern seemed to seep into his voice, but I knew too many people with impenetrable masks to trust it. Perhaps he loved me. Perhaps he was merely pretending for the sake of money, pleasure, authority, or who knew what else. Only he knew, or perhaps not even he himself.

But in the end, did it matter? This Sector was built on masks upon masks. I had enough problems dealing with what people do to be able to spare effort caring about how people feel, or what they think. We all have a part to play in this great farce that was called life, and as long as Jay Ryssen played the role of doting boyfriend well, I wasn't inclined to question whether that was because he wanted to play that role or because he forced himself to play it.

"The duties of State calls, babe," I responded, as would be expected of me. "You know how it is."

Jay nodded, raising himself from his slumber to reassuringly place his hands on my shoulder.

"Go give them hell, Rayne."

After all, if his boyish... shall we say, enthusiasm in our nights together was any indication, he clearly felt something for me, and did I not myself have to put up a smile and play nice with people who had less affection for me and whom I had less affection for than even that?

"You know I will," I said, forcing a smirk onto my face. It truly was a testament to the vanity of humanity, and myself in particular, that a confident arm and steely eyes - with who knew what behind them? - was enough to make me feel just that much more ready to face the world.

"You know I will."

---

I owed Emperor Palpatine much, both good and ill.

On one hand, without a doubt, his little coup was responsible for my sudden de-facto promotion from faceless bureaucrat to the unofficial leader of the Sector. Oh, sure, I still had to pretend to follow orders, but when the eye overseeing my work was half a galaxy away in Coruscant there was far more I could get away with than I could when those eyes were sitting across the street in the Parliament Chambers. The vast resources of the Sector were mine to command, and that meant favours. Mountains and mountains of favours that I could hand out to anyone and everyone who had the wise foresight to plant their lips firmly on my behind.

Certainly enough to engrave for the Solengard family some prime real estate in the halls of power for generations to come, if I played my cards right.

But with the potential for great success also came the risk of great failure. Never before in my career was my position so insecure, my power on such unsure footing. The Lord High Commissioner... was never supposed to be such a powerful and visible figure. I never meant to make myself so visible, out in the open for anyone to target. Nobody ever paid the position much mind, dismissing it as just another pointless Civil Service prestige post for scions of quasi-noble families to cool their heels on, away from government, high finance, and the real nerves of power.

Perhaps it's because so many generations of Solengards used the position as exactly that - a place for scions whose egos outstripped their abilities to cool their heels - that people forgot just how powerful the Civil Service could be. Certainly the historical records from the distant past has no shortage of powerful and influential Lord High Commissioners of Aurora. But I rapidly came to learn that this was the real place to be. The shadow behind the throne. Let the politicians - the know-nothing politicians that filtered in and out in three-year election cycles, too short to really establish anything - face the ire of public dissent and political opposition. The Civil Service, the shadow behind the throne, will whisper irresistible words of advice into their ears, make sure that the right people are connected and the wrong people are not, ensure that their stooges' little triumphs are publicised and their daily failures quietly buried...

Until now. Until Emperor Palpatine. And now suddenly it was the Lord High Commissioner that the spotlight shone on so vibrantly.

I hated it.

---

"So I just wished to speak about some concerns raised by the Imperial garrison commander," chittered the liaison to Comporellon, nervousness written on his face.

Fifty-one, unmarried, has a gambling problem but not very much debt yet, I recalled. Minor functionary he may be, but it was useful to know the potential strings that one's opponents could pull to blackmail or influence one's underlings. And if I was to guess that inability to keep his nervousness hidden was why he was still a minor functionary at the advanced age of fifty-one.

I tried to put his mind at ease by signalling my attendant to bring the poor man a cup of tea, and by putting on a soft and hopefully kind-sounding voice. Nervous underlings had an irritating tendency to refrain from mentioning failures that they thought might reflect badly on them, and not being properly informed was the bane of any civil servant.

"And what concerns," I inquired, "would those be?"

"Well," the liaison carried on, still looking visibly shaken, "the garrison commander expressed concerns that he isn't being informed of all the pertinent information about this new, ah, 'Synnax Labour Front' that he might want to know."

"Good," I responded, nodding. "He shouldn't be getting his information from the Civil Service, he should be getting his information from our Secretary of Internal Security. That's her job, not ours."

"Ah, well, you see," he insisted, scratching his head, "the Commander seems to be of the opinion that the Secretary doesn't really know anything either."

"Well of course she doesn't."

"Pardon?"

I stared at him for a while. Did he truly not get... ah, okay. Maybe his nerve wasn't in fact the primary reason why he was still a minor functionary at almost double my age.

"Are you of the opinion, Silas," I delicately asked, "that perhaps the Commander... should be fully informed about the delicate situation in Halfhaven?"

"...he is the garrison commander, is he not? I do think that he should be informed of potential security threats against the Empire in our Sector."

"..."

Okay. We definitely had a problem.

"The Civil Service has traditionally tried to avoid," I made an attempt to explain, "getting the military involved in matters of... internal Sector security. The Civil Service is all about building a prosperous and harmonious Sector... military generals rarely have foresight beyond crushing the threat in front of them. We can't expect military men, who are educated in military matters, who spent their time and effort dealing with military affairs and who made their careers in the military to understand the subtle complexity of internal affairs. Internal affairs is why we're here, Silas. That's what they pay us for."

"But... well, it'll be his resources we'll need if it comes down to a crisis. Should he not know how to do security, and shouldn't we inform him of matters related to security?"

"In the Civil Service, Silas," I patiently explained, even as my headache flared and my temper started to fray, "what should happen and what is good for everyone are rarely the same things. All the military knows is that when there's an enemy, they should shoot at it. Unfortunately, the demands of a harmonious Sector demands that we sometimes... talk to our enemies. No... we'll produce a recommendation for the Commander if the situation warrants it, and that should be all he really needs to know. If he knows too much, you know, he might not make the right decisions!"

Silas looked skeptical. I resisted the urge to sigh. It was going to be a long afternoon.

[United Islands of Polis]

Ex-Lieutenant Cornelius Mors
En-Route to Christophsis
Edge of the Arkanis Sector

Cornelius Mors was no stranger to war, he had done actions which would have earned him some of the highest awards the Republic could offer multiple times, a hero, a proud veteran. However he never had a proper file in Republic Intelligence, and as far as he knew he was most likely listed as KIA now. If anything the entire program was dissolved by the turn of the Empire, leaving no trace.

Standing up from his bed, he saw the clock, a countdown to when he would arrive at Christophsis, two hours left. Stretching for awhile he decided to start doing exercises to get him in gear before sliding open a door by force.

The Nu Class shuttle he had procured was now heavily modified to be a mobile home of sorts. Almost half the crash seats had been taken away to make room for half of the interior to be a living area divided into a bedroom, a guest room for a few people who wanted to make sure their cargo got to the place, a small armory, and a kitchen which doubled as a common area. Everything had to be downsized but for one person it was enough. He had also repainted it black to remove any other markings of the craft which could bring about questions especially in regards to flying the colors of the Republic in this day and age.

After having done his morning routine, Cornelius opened the main door of the living quarters, allowing him to see the stacks of crates held down by tie downs, behind those were the remaining crash seats. Moving to the cockpit with a sandwich in hand he pressed the button and the pilot's seat came down, buckling up he had the chair put him back in the cockpit.

"One more jump and we'll be there." Cornelius spoke to himself as he keyed in the coordinates and sent the craft into hyperspace.

Christophsis
Tophen City Trading Hub

Security checks had been done by Imperial and Christophsian security. It was annoying however Cornelius knew to cooperate. It was speculation that he was off the radar so playing nice would probably be the best bet.

Before Cornelius had dawned on his signature custom made Phase II clone armor, he had detached the cargo capsule that was clamped to the bottom of the ship where a container mover had picked it up. Lowering the ramp, Cornelius flipped the hood of his cloak up, DC-15s at a quickdraw holster.

"As promised, one container of industrial machine parts, and more valuables inside." Cornelius speaks.

"I'm guessing you also brought the better valuables for the high society?" the man in charge of receiving the shipment inside the shuttle asked.

"15 cases of Nubian Wine, aged 150 years, 50 bottles of The Wheel Special, 25 cases of Bespin Spirit, 50 sets of Muunilinst dinner sets, 25 fingernail sized Umbaran diamonds, and 15 crates of assorted sweets and premium meats and cheeses." Cornelius reads from a list that popped up on his HUD.

"Yeah that's about right. You can get just about anything on Tatooine for a cheaper price huh?" the other man jokes as other dock workers begin to unload the goods.

"I know, you pay them enough you could probably buy a whole Munificent class frigate." Cornelius looks at the crates be hauled out.

"I'd expect as much. Do you have the special cargo?" the man asks.

Cornelius did not respond but instead went inside the shuttle as he went towards one of the larger crates. Popping it open it revealed to have kept a roughed up Duro. Cornelius did not know who this Duro was, all he knew was that this individual was wanted for the corruption charges on one of the most well known corporations on Christophsis. Having left the system subjected him to being available for hunting, Cornelius simply took the challenge.

"As requested, alive." Cornelius answered.

"Very good, we never really thought you'd pull it off considering you are a cargo mover, but now we know." the man commented.

"Remember the deal. It's a one time thing." Cornelius said with a heavy tone of annoyance.

"Of course, now as promised, payment. 70,000 credits for the total delivery." the man produces a suit case with credits, presenting it to Cornelius, who examines or credit and sees that it is indeed real.

"Thank you, now please leave, I have to get ready to recieve another shipment." Cornelius answered back.

"So soon?"

"Yeah, just some medical supplies and building materials this time."

"Where to?"

"Ryloth, then a break there before I get a new manifest."

After the whole transaction, Cornelius had went to the city to restock on consumables such as food and water for both drinking and the toiletries. He also had to deal with waste disposal and since the Nu shuttle series never had a toilet to begin with, Cornelius had to install a waste box which was fed into any incinerator and then disinfected. Afterwards he had to thoroughly release the carbon from the air and aerate the ship.

After awhile, Cornelius then went ahead and oversaw the loading of the more valuable medical supply crates and then took off to have the container of building materials attached to the bottom of the shuttle, and then he was off for Ryloth.

Ryloth, Main Trading Hub
Gaulus Sector

The trip was relatively short that Cornelius did not even have to go lie down for the trip. Shortly after arriving he saw the usual things in place of an Imperial protectorate state. A few ships, security checks, etc.

Having landed in the main trading hub with the rest of the delivery, Cornelius was payed a small amount, which he was fine with. The manifest said that they were for aid purposes, if not for the fact that he had to eat he may have even told them to keep it, if he was naive. He was still hoping however that he would be prove wrong.

Locking up the shuttle, Cornelius went ahead into town, armed this time with his DC-15C on a sling, his DC-15s and Dissuader KD-30 on his kama holsters. He also had attached a semi-spherical flash grenade on his back in a conspicuous area which would be hard to detect until it went off, just in case he needed to escape. Covered by his old tattered cloak, Cornelius went to the junk shops to see if he could buy a fusion cutter and some plastoid.

[Union Princes]

Norcor
Imperial Planetary Capital, Randon, 19 BBY

Behind the doors of Room 101, the Imperial Moff inside received news of several Imperial prison ships that have begun the unloading process. Categorize them. Norcor’s only immediate response to the message. There was no need for further specification, everyone under his leadership knows the drill. The security personnel gained their experience gathering and employing POWs from the Clone Wars before moving onto the non-human races on this planet. It would take a few hours to be complete but once the prisoners’ identification has been completed and archived, they would be integrated into the labor workforce to finish the reconstruction of this war-torn planet.

Several more holograms appeared before the governor’s face. Given how usual the messages are, Norcor only kept the meetings brief. He accepted another shipment of prisoners that the Emperor wants to re-educate, gave a stiff congratulations to his officer for reporting him the news that 300,000 laborers were given early retirement after completing another colossal armaments factory, and nodded once when an academy headmaster reported that 71 new Imperial officers have been accepted. Only 3 cadets were rejected this month. The Imperial curriculum already proving wonders in creating loyal citizens.

Of course, the holograms themselves were the only marvels in Room 101. Like Norcor’s diet, the interior was plain of decorations. There were only ceiling lights, computers, and interfaces inhabiting the room. It was just a simple desk yet it gave the Imperial Moff unlimited control over the fates of tens of billions of people that live on this world. Almost like how the Emperor is, sitting on his throne, and overlooking the entire galaxy. But here, Randon is Norcor’s own personal kingdom to mold to fulfill the vision of the Imperial Truth.

Reviewing his documents for another umpteenth time, Norcor was satisfied with the statistics gathered by the officers and overseers. The Black Hole Initiative was already producing wonderful results in speeding up recovery and squashing Republican dissent. Although work accidents are common, the overabundance of laborers ensures that no disaster would stall the vision of the Emperor in his pursuit of galactic security and prosperity. The Imperial Moff smiled to himself as he continued reading through his documents. The first prong of his Trident Agenda proved to be sharp and effective and every factory and infrastructure built would allow for the second and third prong to be finalized.

To govern and protect its worlds from foreign or internal invasion, it’s common sense for the Empire to maintain a vast Army and Navy. But for Norcor, given his experience in the Clone Wars, knew that it was not big enough. That’s where the second prong came in. The Red Giant Policy would ensure that the Empire would never run out of volunteers in Randon to recruit from. By dedicating the entire populace towards warfare, the Imperial Navy and Army would greatly benefit from incorporating Randonians into their ranks. No cowards, no traitors, just loyal and capable soldiers of the Empire.
Only after the reconstruction and the birth of a new Randon does the third prong can be completed. Project Supernova would make the Emperor proud and Norcor, the hero of the Empire.

[Atlannia]

Kirin Shahara

Aboard the freighter Moklar's Prosperity, Approaching Kalgan, Aurora Sector,

Kirin was currently upside down, at least in relation to the artificial gravity of the [i]Moklar''s Prosperity but she didn't really mind, she was busy hunting. For the last week or so, though it was always hard to tell in space, Kirin had been patiently stalking a reported miscalibration in one of the auxiliary vector thrusters. Moklar's Prsoperity was an ageing relic of a freighter but it did not usually list a few degrees to port side when placed on autopilot. Granted this was because Borgo, the owner captain of the vessel was so cheap that any fuel wasted on course corrections represented a grave wound to his psyche, but it still meant that the thruster issue was priority one for the maintenance crew, which right now consisted of Kirin and a decrepit old droid that needed almost as much fixing as the the ship; it couldn't even get to the auxiliary vector thrusters anyway. Accessing them from inside of the ship required removing some panelling from the back of the rear cargo hold; lowering oneself down into the gap and then snaking under a ventilation pipe to reach up blindly and fiddle with the side configuration of the thruster with the tips of ones fingers. Kirin supposed that if she removed enough extraneous parts from the droid she might actually be able to lower it down into the crawl space, but that would be almost as much work as just climbing down here herself and in the first place Borgo had more or less forbidden her from tinkering with the droid: he'd won it in a rare victory at the pazaak table and was rather attached to the bot as a result.

Kirin didn't mind. Despite being upside down; despite her spine being contorted into such an odd positions; despite only barely being able to stretch her fingertips up to the access panel Kirin was at ease. There was something reassuring about a mechanical problem: There was a clear goal and all the pieces were at hand, one had only to puzzle out what the issue was and put everything back together the way it should be. Sure you might need to find a new part or jury rig together a solution but if you were patient and persistent you could always restore a machine to working order and the parts themselves wouldn't ever get bent out of shape waiting for you to figure things out. It was not quiet down here in the bowls of the ship but the sounds that were present: clanks, hisses and whirrs, could all be filtered out and the task at hand commanded Kirin's attention; quieting the parts of her mind that had been anxious and restless of late.

Kirin's slender, lavender fingers found the thruster's access panel and curled their way in; splaying outwards to probe for defects. Suddenly Kirin's pinky hit something flat at an odd angle and her expression brightened in the dark and cramped crawlspace. Something was wedged in here, on the list of probable culprits for the miscalibration this one was relatively easy to solve: the foreign object just had to be removed. Kirin shifted her weight onto her left shoulder and stretched her right up, back towards the thruster, stretching out with her arm until her joints ached and a sharp pain lanced through her shoulder.

Kirin let out a hiss and went limp, retreating to consider her options. Even if she could stretch up a few more inches Kirin wasn't in a position where should she could exert much force and the object, whatever it was, was lodged in place pretty tightly. Kirin sighed quietly andd then strained her ears to listen for any nearby crew, hearing nobody. Probably safe to try that then. Kirin closed her eyes, focusing on the physical sensations of her centre, then out to her arms and her fingertips. Then Kirin willed her senses out further, past her body, feeling up through the metal shaft of the thruster towards what Kirin could now feel was an old hydrospanner still latched onto a bolt. Kirin stretched her perception out further, feeling the space and energy around the hydrospanner and gently twisting that same energy around the tool and tugging it towards her. There was a faint scraping sound of metal on metal, but the hydrospanner remained stuck.Kirin breathed out slowly and tried again and this time felt a tiny bit of give, although it was accompanied by a faint prickling coming from somewhere...outside her? Kirin pushed aside the sensation and opened herself up to the force more, gathering her concentration for one, last tug and-

DARKNESS: EYES, BURNING RED: ANCIENT. UNENDING ENMITY

Kirin gasped and let out a spasm of force energy and physical contortion, slamming her head into the bulk head underneath causing white, hot pain to blossom across her head and stars to flash across her vision.

"Nylla? You okay down there?" called a voice, deep and croaky, stumbling awkwardly over the galactic common words that had not been designed for the ithorian vocal apparatus

"I'm... I'm okay," Kirin said weakly after a while. It had taken Kirin a few seconds to compose herself enough to respond to false name she'd given the crew and somewhere in that time she realiese she was covered in a thin layer of sweat despite the cool temperature of the crawlspace. "I just bumped my head," Kirin called up to Fenn, the ithorian crew member standing by where her feet were sticking up into the corridor. Kirin glanced around the crawlspace and noticed the hydrospanner lying by her elbow and snatched it up. "I'm down here now though," Kirin called up to Fenn. "Pull me up?"

"Oh uhh sure," Kirin heard Fenn say with good natured bemusement. A moment later Kirin felt strong, thick hands on her ankles and she was pulled upwards and out like an uprooted vegetable until she was blinking in the light.

"I fixed that problem with the auxiliary vecotr thruster," Kirin said blearily to Fenn's midesection, which she was now level with, raising the hydro spanner up to show it off.

"Oh that's great," Fenn said gently, slowly lowering Kirin to the floor of the corridor and then, once she had wriggled herself into a sitting position, offering her a hand lift her up to her feet. "You shouldn't have gone to the trouble right at the end of your contract though. Captain wanted me to let you know we're pulling into port since this is where you're planning to get off.

"Oh cool," said Kirin, massaging her throbbing head. "I'll go get my stuff,"

Fenn's jawline shifted slightly. Kirin was not good with ithorian facial expressions but had gotten to know Fenn well enough to detect paternalistic concern; one of the ithorian's most common modes of expression.

"Look are you sure you wouldn't consider signing on for another trip? I know Borgo talks a big game being cheap but he likes you, the whole crew does and its hard to find a good mechanic: I'm sure I could talk him into a better rate,"

Kirin felt a stab of guiilt. Fenn had gone to a lot of trouble to make Kirin's stay on the Prosperity as comfortable as it could be, the old alien was warm and friendly without ever prying or pushing her boundaries and now he was plainly worried about dropping her off in a strange port. In truth Kirin was tempted to stay, the Prosperity's crew was pretty gruff but they were no smugglers or blockade runner, just good, honest people trying to make a living. Working with them had been simple and straightforward, intoxicatingly so. But staying with any one crew for too long was dangerous, not just for Kirin but for anyone around her too. The Chancellor, no the Emperor, Kirin reminded herself, had his forces trawling the galaxy for jedi and even though she had fled that life before the end of the war and the Emperor's dramatic coup Kirin doubted the authorities would care to make the distinction. No Kirin was still very much a fugitive, it was just that whatever was left of the jedi order had been forced to join her on the run.

"I really can't stay," Kirin said to Fenn, flashing him a warm smile that she had trouble pulling all the way up to her eyes. "I have some people waiting for me here," Kirin lied easily. "And besides if I have to pull another three months eating Yippo's cooking I'll probably go insane anyway.

Fenn let out a deep, rumbling chuckle. "Oh it's not so bad once you get used to it, but I guess I can't change your mind so I'll just wish you well. Take care little one,"

"Yeah you too big guy," Kirin said, lightly punching Fenn in the arm. "Maybe I'll see you guys around sometime, who knows?"

---

Despite having said her goodbyes already, it was nearly four hours before Kirin was planetside. Borgo steadfastly refused to pay more than the absolute minimum of necessary bribes to grease the wheels of the local bureaucracy; not because he was an honest man but because he was a cheap one and so the Moklar's Prosperity had languished in customs for hours before finally being granted a berth and touching down: Allowing Kirin to emerge on solid ground and natural sunlight for the first time in months.

Kirin didn't know much about the Aurora sector in general, or Kalgan in particular, except she noted with a shiver that it was colder than she preferred; but it didn't really matter. From what she'd seen so far the spaceport was pretty similar to the hundreds of spaceports dotted allover the Outer Rim and Kirin wasn't planning on staying long enough to pick up on the finer points of the local culture. Kirin planned to find somewhere anonymous to crash for a few weeks, just until she could wrangle another gig on an outgoing ship and then in a few months she'd be somewhere else doing the same thing again. It wasn't much to look forward to but it was safest this way, not staying anywhere long enough to get tied up with anything or anyone, just another drifter in a galaxy full of drifters. This was for the best, Kirin was sure.

[Plzen]

Despite having said her goodbyes already, it was nearly four hours before Kirin was planetside. Borgo steadfastly refused to pay more than the absolute minimum of necessary bribes to grease the wheels of the local bureaucracy; not because he was an honest man but because he was a cheap one and so the Moklar's Prosperity had languished in customs for hours before finally being granted a berth and touching down: Allowing Kirin to emerge on solid ground and natural sunlight for the first time in months.

Kirin didn't know much about the Aurora sector in general, or Kalgan in particular, except she noted with a shiver that it was colder than she preferred; but it didn't really matter. From what she'd seen so far the spaceport was pretty similar to the hundreds of spaceports dotted allover the Outer Rim and Kirin wasn't planning on staying long enough to pick up on the finer points of the local culture. Kirin planned to find somewhere anonymous to crash for a few weeks, just until she could wrangle another gig on an outgoing ship and then in a few months she'd be somewhere else doing the same thing again. It wasn't much to look forward to but it was safest this way, not staying anywhere long enough to get tied up with anything or anyone, just another drifter in a galaxy full of drifters. This was for the best, Kirin was sure.

Northshore Spaceport, Kalgan, Aurora System, Auroran Sector

Some of the more spiritual inhabitants of the Free City of Northshore, the administrative capital of the planet of Kalgan and the only city on the world notable enough to have a full Spaceport, would say that it is an auspicious sign that a newcomer to the Aurora system would touch down on one of Dawnlight's moons on just the right day to see one of the most breathtaking visages the Sector had to offer, which Northshore only saw perhaps three days a year.

The Dawn Ring.

It was perhaps two or three hours after Kirin stepped out of the intensive scrutiny of the Customs Service when Kalgan's orbit took it into Dawnlight's shadow, the skies turned first a vibrant violet, then much darker as Aurora's warm glow hid behind Dawnlight's purple bulk. Then, Dawnlight dominated the sky. The planet itself was also dark, a black patch hiding the stars behind it, but around it... around the planet, Dawnlight's atmosphere lit up under the light that it received but denied to the world behind it.

It looked as if a shining purple ring was inscribed into the stars.

Perhaps something metaphorical could be said about the event, something something Jedi padawan being on the run only to run out of sunlight, something something the darkness taking over the world, something something an eye in the heavens that sees all and lets none hide.

Or perhaps something rather different, a reminder that even in the depths of darkness there is always a beacon of light.

The streetlights sparked on. It made for a strange sight to those who was unused to living on a moon, men and women going about their normal daytime businesses, having lunch on the streetside cafes, people in everything from rags to uniforms rushing about in some hurry, even as the world fell in darkness as if it was night, bringing the nighttime chill with it.

The commercial traffic that the Sector saw was concentrated in its largest spaceport, the Soundstead Spaceport on planet Lystena, to which small tugboats delivered fuel and minerals from across the Sector and from which the same tugboats delivered the comforts and luxuries of the greater Galaxy. The military traffic, the vast warships of the Imperial Navy that even now was rumoured to be preparing for some renewed campaign across the stars, those tended to be more interested in the military base at Comporellon.

But there was a third type of traffic, which dominated Kalgan and her Northshore Spaceport. The Auroran Sector was not on a major hyperspace lane, which meant few people passed through the Sector en route to somewhere else, but was very close to one, which made it a convenient stopping point nonetheless. Ships suffering unexpected maintenance failures came here for repairs and spare parts. Ships harassed by the many criminals and petty warlords that so infested the Outer Rim came here for replacement crews or to hire escorts. Those lucky enough to have nothing unfortunate befall them on their own voyages, well, for them hypermatter was a fraction of the cost here, where it was produced and refined in bulk, than it was in the larger commerce-dominated planets lucky enough to be positioned on hyperlane junctions and intersections.

It was perhaps no surprise, then, that services around Northshore Spaceport tended to cater to a more rougher sort of clientele than the posh affairs of Lystena. Mechanics and deckhands, stewardesses and independent traders of speedy merchant ships or aging cargo vessels needed some fresh, ground-side food in their stomachs, a solid bed in an actual building behind their backs, and entertainment that couldn't be found on a small ship no less than the wealthy businessmen, holidaygoers, and the like that stepped off passenger liners.

Perhaps one could say that it was a practical sort of city and a practical sort of planet compared to its neighbours closer to Dawnlight. Here, function was valued over form, substance over hot air, for who had time for nonsense under the world's harsh and chilling mountain winds?

Here, a place could be found for anyone with an experienced pair of working hands.

[Zoygaria]

Imperial Venator class Star Destroyer Tranquillty

The shrill beeps of the alarm roused the barracks from their slumber. Vos woke with a start, inhaling sharply as a result from the surprise awakening. 5:00 A.M, exactly. He rose from his bed and gazed out at the rest of the barracks. A tired and dazed group of men looked back at him, many with glossy eyes and hunched stature. Still struggling to rid the sleep from his conscience, he barked "Report to the mess hall, then gear up and get in formation." Feeling generous, he added, "You have two hours."

Imperial schedules were often harsh on the soldiers and pilots on Star Destroyers. Vos knew this, and knew what high command had planned for them today. Today he was in command of both Plague Squadron and Arrow Squadron, and he wanted to ensure all of the pilots under his watch were sufficiently prepared for the long day ahead. He dressed himself in a Class B uniform, and walked down the corridor to the Droid storage. He entered the dimly lit room and flicked on the lights, revealing an array of twelve Astromech droids. He walked over to a charging station containing an astromech of a brilliant silver with black and white accents, and roused the droid. It came to life with a few clicks and whistles, and rolled forward an inch.
"Good morning, R2." The droid responded in kind with an enthusiastic trill, its mood sensor a vibrant blue. "I'm glad to see you're ready for the day," Vos said with a slight smile. "I have a little task for you. I need you to go make sure the female barracks is awake and that all stragglers report to the mess hall and suit up within two hours. Afterwards, meet me in the hangar. Can you do that for me?" The droid clicked in the affirmative, and rolled off to complete its task.

Vos had no doubt that his Droid would do its job. He set off down the corridor towards the mess hall where he ate breakfast in silence. There would be 23 pilots under his command instead of just 11, and to say he was anxious was an understatement. He was excited for more than one reason. The first and foremost was that it was Empire Day, a time to celebrate the Empire he so loved. However, high command had special orders for the occasion. The Tranquility was to sit in the sky alongside nineteen other destroyers, overlooking the massive cityscape of Courscant. Grand Moff Tarkin himself had organized each and every unit that was to attend the celebration on Courscant, which of course included those aboard the Tranquility. Vos was to lead Plague Squadron and Arrow Squadron as one formation during the parade. They were to do a flyby over the crowd, escorting Tarkin's shuttle to its designated landing spot, before breaking off with a showy twirl to patrol the area the parade would cover. The unit had practiced this set of maneuvers over and over again to ensure everything went according to plan. "24 V-Wings," he thought. It seemed a bit much to be escorting a singular shuttle, as Emperor Palpatine himself was usually only accompanied by three V-Wing escorts. However, considering it was to be a massive parade where the Imperial Army and Navy could be shown off in all of their glory, it made sense to have an excess of fighters. "It's to please the crowd," Vos thought. Anyone foolish enough to cause a disturbance would see the near full might of the Inner Rim Imperial forces upon them. He was unsure if the Emperor or his mysterious apprentice would be attending, but he had reason to believe at least the Emperor would. After all, Courscant was the Capital of the Empire. If the Grand Moff would be attending, it would make sense that the Emperor would too.

The more Vos thought, the more skeptical he became. Surely Tarkin would suspect some risk of flying across a crowd of people, and he never was one to sympathize with Imperial Citizens. It was entirety possible that the shuttle they ended up escorting was a decoy, with the real Tarkin attending to important business elsewhere.

Vos finished his meal and departed for the armory, where he found his flight suit. He quickly geared up and holstered his pistol. He always insisted on carrying a pistol when flying. After all, you never knew when you would need to defend your position after a crash. He then quickly made his way to the large hangar of the Venator where a small group belonging to his unit was already in formation. He set his helmet on the table next to him, and looked over at his Droid whilst waiting for the rest of the Platoon to assemble before him. R2-Q2 was its name, an Imperial intelligence Droid with the most up to date map of the galaxy within his databanks, doubling as a Starfighter co-pilot. Often times the Empire mandated the use of spherical Q-7 series Astromechs for V-Wing co-pilots, but some R2 units fit snug into the socket, R2-Q2 being one of them. The droid always cheered him up, and it had saved him on more than one occasion. Other pilots didn't care as much about their co-pilots, some opting to use newer models of V-Wing which had no Astromech socket at all, which Vos found to be an absolute disadvantage. Granted, Q-7 units often broke down and needed near constant repulsorlift repair, but R2 units were sturdy and reliable, a testament to the expertise of Industrial Automata.

"Platoon!" He yelled with a start. "Attention!" The entire hangar floor snapped to attention in one fluid motion. They said the Creed, and then Vos ordered them At Ease. "I'm sure you all know what we're doing today, but in case you've by some stretch of the mind forgotten, allow me to enlighten you. Today we will be escorting the Shuttle of Grand Moff Tarkin himself over the parade on Courscant. Afterwards, we will maneuver as we practiced and patrol the area for anything suspicious. It is our number one priority that we keep the brass safe, especially the Emperor. I doubt anyone would be foolish enough to try anything, but I've seen quite a bit of foolhardy assassination attempts in my time. Report to your V-Wings, be prepared for anything. Fuel up, load your Concussion Missiles, socket your droids, and charge your guns. Treat it as an operation. Arrow Squadron, I may not be your normal Commander, but today you're all Plague Squadron. Hooah?" The floor erupted with a massive "HOOAH!" before Vos spoke again. "Fall out. Be prepared to take off when Tarkin's shuttle docks in the hangar. We'll fuel it back up, and then we're off."

The Platoon dissipated as 23 pilots walked various directions, preparing their craft for the task ahead. Vos walked over to his grey and black V-Wing. He checked the landing gear, S-Foils, Reflector Shields, guns, missiles, engines, and cockpit. All was in order, and he waved an attendant over to fuel the fighter. All of the pilots had replaced their helmets and vacuum sealed them, a necessary precaution when flying a ship without life support. Vos replaced his helmet and sealed it as his V-Wing fueled up. A magnetic arm lifted R2-Q2 from the ground and into the socket, where two technicians guided him on his way down, ensuring everything was in order. The fluorescent blue lights of the Venator's hangar bay left no shadows, and every V-Wing, Gunship, and ARC-170 was visible. They would be arriving at Courscant soon, and would deploy soon after. Vos nodded at the technicians after his craft finished refueling, and he was left alone with his obsidian black fighter. He looked over at the Scissor wings in the landing position that concealed the guns from an outside view. "Everything will go according to plan" Vos said to himself.

[Beutarch]

Ryder Charon | COMPNOR Arcology, Coruscant

Five thousand, one hundred and twenty-seven urban levels above Coruscant's natural ground rested the Imperial City, the pulsating heart of the Galactic Empire. It was estimated that upwards of 1 trillion individuals populated the city, and that number was expected to rise, due to the day's festivities. Through a million cameras, microphones, wiretaps, data-miners, moles and agents, the Imperial Security Bureau monitored the city's happenings. Each of those cameras and wiretaps fed into the databanks of the COMPNOR arcology, one of the chief bureaucratic centers of Imperial governance. The ISB's wing of the arcology, alone, could be considered a city on any other world, but on Coruscant, it was just another large, government cubicle farm. While many businesses had been shuttered for Empire Day, the opposite was true for the arcology. Between the influx of military personnel for the parade, Tarkin's public appearance, and the presence of several dozen prominent Imperial Senators, the Empire's intelligence agencies had their hands full.

In the midst of hallways clogged with additional auxiliary staff and stressed surveillance agents, Charon winded his way through the complex. Having stayed awake for the previous 24 hours preparing patrol routes and personally inspecting the Grand Moff's landing pad, he was currently running on what was probably an unhealthy amount of Caf, mixed with a mild stimulant. For the time being, however, his work was more important than sleep. The safety of the Empire's leading men could not be trusted to beat cops or stormtrooper grunts. Charon's own overseer had hardly batted an eye, that level of dedication was a prerequisite for working in the ISB. Though, unlike the past hours of work, Charon had not received an additional task to complete. Instead, he was ordered to return to the Arcology and to speak with Dispatch Officer for further information.

He found the officer hunched over a phonebank in his office, seemingly talking to four different agents simultaneously. Escaping the chaos of the hallways, the doors slid shut as he entered the office space. Charon waited in silence as the man ended his calls, one after the other, reassuring each that he'd tackle whatever deployment issues they were contacting him about.

"Ah, Section Chief, happy Empire Day," said the officer, fixing his cap and giving a tired salute.

"Indeed. What do you have for me?" Charon replied, returning the gesture.

The officer returned to his seat, taking a moment to fish around his desk. At length, he settled on a tablet, placing it on the desktop. He activated the tablet's miniature holo-projector, causing a number of small blue spheres to populate the air between the two men.

"This is the Auroran Sector, an Imperial vassal state in the Outer Rim. Previously, there was an Imperial Intelligence station on a moon in the system, attached to the garrison. As of three months ago, however, the station's commanding officer retired and those fools in the other end of the Arcology didn't bother to fill his position. Evidently the locals had managed to keep the wool over their eyes for some time, and nobody wanted to admit it. Some of the boys in Internal Affairs were auditing Intelligence's operations, noted their errors, and now the Auroran station is under the direction of the ISB. Serves them right, anyhow, Aurora's part of the Empire. Internal security is our business."

He motioned to the planets, "Right, so, this is Dawnlight. The only real population centers surround it, here. Lystena, Synnax, Kalgan. The garrison, and the station inside of it, are here. On Comporellon."

"I can get the astronomy lesson from a report, what was I summoned here for?"

The Dispatch Officer shut off the projector, looking somewhat disappointed.

"Right, of course. You're to head up the ISB's presence there. The Emperor's eyes and ears, you know the line. In any case, it's good you made me get to the point. There's a Sentinel scheduled to depart with you in three hours. Don't protest. The Empire Day proceedings are well in hand-"

One of the handsets in the bank of communication devices began to bleep. The officer shuffled around to pick up the device, shoving the tablet into Charon's hands and waving him out the door.

"Tell your Section to meet you at the platform, Chief. Platform 13-37. Yes? Who is this? Always a pleasure to speak with you, Field Security Agent..." He trailed off, now speaking wholly to the person on the other end of the phone line.

---

Charon's Section was about three dozen strong, containing a tactical unit, a dozen uniformed field agents and a handful of analysts and support staff. Three hours after Charon was informed of his new assignment, his unit arrived at the COMPNOR's landing and departure zones, pad 13-37. Within short order they boarded the promised Sentinel-class. The tactical unit took up the most space, having brought a considerable amount of ammunition in anticipation of the supply issues endemic to the Empire's outposts in the Outer Rim. The sub-unit was largely made up of Clones, at Charon's personal insistence. Proper Kaminoan raised Clones, too, none of those Spaarti-bred halfwits. He had nothing against stormtroopers, but it would take a lot of talent to compensate for the experience and skill that the Clones had gained as veterans of the last major Galactic war. Several of the Clones, having been trained by Charon years previously, were personally loyal to the man, raising some eyebrows among other members of the ISB. Charon, however, could not care less. Their combat record spoke for them. They weren't ARCs, but Charon figured they could fight just was well as one, and they talked less, too.

Senior Special Agent Gohan boarded the vessel last, alongside the Section Chief. He served as Charon's adjutant and, on rare occasions, personal friend. Today was not one of those occasions, however, and the two men got down to the business at hand once the craft's loading door closed. As the ship rose past the spires and peaks of Coruscant's Federal District, the two studied the information on the tablet given to Charon during his impromptu briefing.

The more the two men read, the more impressed they were that the system had not collapsed in on itself. It seemed that having the system do just that was the Emperor's original plan, on a macro-scale. Disintegrate the ruling bodies, causing the powerful men who remained to fight among themselves, as the Empire's troops swept in to put an end to the civil war which would follow. Instead, the disintegration of political institutions in the system had allowed a strongman to emerge without any bloodshed. That strongman was a blue-haired 27 year old woman, not exactly the Imperial Non-HuMan ideal. To her credit, however, she had managed to keep Imperial influence in the region at a minimum, blinding the local Imperial Intelligence station to the point of obscurity, while also reducing what had previously been a Republican stronghold to a despot's playground in about as much time as the Emperor had served as Chancellor of the Republic.

Charon would have to meet this woman, after he familiarized himself with Comporellon. As the Chief finished that thought, the ship passed through the final layer of Coruscant's atmosphere. Points of light hung in space, passengers pressed into their seats, and suddenly the Sentinel entered Hyperspace.

[Cheye]

Natalya Sadaar - Gehena’s Prize, Munificent-class Star Frigate - The Kaliida Nebula

Thud.

Nat groaned, sliding open an amber eye only to be met by the glare of the Hosnian chandelier overhead.

Thud.

She grimaced as her stomach churned. Her vision was still fuzzy as the furnishings of her lavish quarters steadily materialised around her.

Thud.

What’s with all the banging? She growled softly to herself, before rolling over and attempting to bury her head under her pillow to drown out the noise.

Thud.

It didn’t work.

Thud.

“Alright, alright! I’m coming!” She roared, throwing her pillow across the room as she leapt up, deftly maneuvering around the pile of clothes next to her bed before crossing towards the door.

She paused as she caught sight of herself in the expansive viewport to the left. Her lithe pale blue form reflecting back at her. She needed to dress-

Thud.

-and fast.

She diverted to her expansive wardrobe unit, and quickly selected an elegant if-somewhat-simple black top and tights, before pulling on her pencil skirt that sat lying in wait on the room floor with the other remnants of last night’s outfit. As she picked it up and pulled it on, images flashed through her head of the night before, of the ostentatious party she had held for her guests and of the scenes of carnal debauchery that she had witnessed before she had eventually blacked out. As she reflected on this a few things remained a mystery to her however, mired by the alcohol-induced fog in her mind. Firstly, how she had made it to her quarters and to bed, and secondly how her clothes had ended up on the floor. The answers to both of these mysteries could prove to be either entertaining or embarrassing, and as her forehead pulsed, the Pantoran wasn’t particularly ready for answers yet.

Thud.

But, just like the incessant banging, come the answers would...

She grabbed her bright red jacket with the long collar from the wardrobe and allowed another four thuds to go by as she brushed her shimmering blue-black hair and tidied up her make-up from the night before. She slid on her red nerf-skin boots, and finally she collected her choker necklace from the bedside table and affixed it in place snuggly around her neck.

Just as the thud was about to come again, she raced to the doorway and keyed the panel. The door opened with a mechanical hiss.

No thud.

A C1 astromech unit, presumably the thing that had been throwing itself at the door for goodness knows how long and causing that awful racket, wheeled in through the doorway at pace. The droid looked beaten and smoking, sporting carbon scoring as though it had been shot and dents all along its outer plate. With its pathway now clear of obstacles, the thing wheeled dramatically in a straight line across the room before slamming into the wide viewport opposite, producing a loud dinging sound, before the droid toppled over from the impact onto its side and went lifeless.

Nat shook her head, which made her a little dizzy so she stopped and simply let out a weary sigh before making her way over to the fallen droid. She recognised its bronze plating well.

“C1-45C!” She barked, taking care to stress each and every syllable of the droid’s formal designation.

The C1 unit did not respond, it just lay lifeless on its side.

“Great… Static’s gone and killed himself. Fantastic.” She scoffed as she turned on her heel and stormed out through the doorway to the hallway beyond, trying to ignore the way both her head and stomach protested against her as she went.

In the hallway she was greeted by more signs of the prior evening’s depravity. Alien bodies lay where they had passed out and the smell of dozens of different exotic liquors combined to give the ship’s recycled air its own unique heavy flavour.

The officer’s quarters, or penthouses as Nat called them, were on the level below the command - or casino deck. That was where Nat knew she’d find her answers to her original two mystery questions, and to the third new one that bounced around inside her hungover head - who had tampered with her droid?

She passed strange sounds coming from some of the other rooms as she made her way to the turbolift, sounds that were at once both intriguing and disturbing, and that was when she remembered exactly who her clientele were on this trip, and the task they had asked her to assist them with...

She quickened her pace to the turbolift.

As the lift doors slid open, she heard a frightened yelp from within and saw a twi’lek girl and a well-dressed human man wrapped in an intimate embrace.

“Ugh… sorry to disturb you!” Nat smirked, averting her gaze politely as she stepped into the turbolift beside them and keyed for the command deck.

The two untangled their limbs and adjusted their clothing as they made a hasty departure into the hallway.

“If the two of you need a room, you can use mine! Fourth door on the left!” She called after them. “Just don’t touch anything! Oh… and don’t mind the dead astromech. He’s seen worse!”

Nat had to stop herself from laughing for fear of what it might do to her headache as the two lovebirds awkwardly shuffled away and the turbolift doors hissed shut, and then she was hurtling upwards towards the command deck. No, the casino deck.

Between the turbolift and the bridge, she passed a few staggering drunk Weequay and a passed-out Nemoidian. Then the blast doors opened, revealing the spectacular view beyond and Nat almost immediately felt cured of her hangover. The pink hues of the Kaliida Nebula would be a beautiful sight on any vessel, but emphasised and enhanced as they were by the panoramic viewports of the former-seperatist ship’s command bridge, the nebula was transformed into something truly awe-inspiring. Seeing those panoramic viewports for the first time had inspired Nat to turn her ship, and now subsequently her little fleet, into casino ships, creating pleasure barges for hire by the big players of the galactic underworld. Seeing them again now, with the swirling pink clouds of Kaliida pulsating with the outlines of gently swaying Neebray Mantas beyond, took her breath away.

“Commodore on deck!” The gruff voice of Jirin Drovar, who served as the Chief of Security aboard Gehena’s Prize rang out as the burly one-eyed Karkarodon nodded to her from his security console near the door.

That was about as military as it got aboard her fleet though. Certainly, the rest of the bridge no longer resembled the nerve-centre of a warship, but rather the interior of a luxury casino. A long sabacc table dominated the upper tier of the bridge while smaller dejarik boards and pazaak tables lined the next level down in place of the command consoles that had once sat in those same positions. At the lowest tier, closest to the panoramic viewports, a bar and seating area had been arranged, allowing those who were between games of chance to wet their whistle and blow off steam, but not without also utilising the arsenal of slot machines that lined the edges of the tier.

Without taking her eyes off the picturesque nebula, Nat addressed the Security Chief; “Jirin, I’d like to know who tampered with Static last night, and when you find out, would you be a dear and have Grish and Grack throw them out the airlock, please.”

“Ehh…”The Karkarodon exhaled audibly. “There might be one small issue with that Commodore...”

“Commodore?” A half-asleep Neimoidian glanced up from the dejarik board he hunched over. “Ah, Miss Sadaar!” he rose to his feet, patting down his creased and dishevelled looking gown.

“Representative Luuil.” Nat nodded back, still not over the exquisite view. Still, the Nemoidian’s sudden comment had caused her to avert her gaze for but a second as she glanced to him, and then she forgot all about the view. The sight of the alien’s beady little eyes sent her back to the night before, and the memories flooded back like water pouring through a drain straight into her head…

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Night Before...

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The gathered crowd stomped and clapped and clicked in time to the music pulsating throughout the casino deck as the sabacc players placed their bets. Beyond the panoramic bridge viewports the swirling clouds of the Kaliida Nebula and the flying Neebray Mantas painted a spectacular view.

“I’ll see your ten thousand.” Nat grinned, running a blue finger up her leg against the soft fabric of her pencil skirt in what she hoped to convey as a false tell to the myriad collection of other players who were trying to read her right now. “And I’ll raise you twenty five thousand on top of that.”

“This is an outrage!” The Neimoidian, whose beady eyes had been locked on her the entire time gestured wildly, much to the amusement of the crowd. “Once again, I will have to fold!”

“De-wonna macha-pulcha.” The looming Hutt to the left of the table rumbled loudly.

“The illustrious Hargal the Hutt will match that paltry bet.” A metallic protocol droid translated.

“Decchini-wong-petote mala mu-ra!?”

“He would also like to request another round of species-appropriate shots for the table, to reduce the present tension.”

“More shots sounds good.” Nat smirked. She knew what Hargal was doing. The Neimoidians might have been shrewd businessmen once upon a time, but they were terrible gamblers. Hargal needed this Representative Luuil fellow to get a lot more drunk before they could get him to open up...

Seven rounds later…

“And so we lost everything!” The Neimodian declared boldly, slamming his fist on the table. “The once proud Trade Federation; you know the company that bankrolled the entire colo-... -hic- colonization of the outer rim, reduced to rubble by Palpatine and his stupid -hic- Empire! Most of the top officials have all been rounded up you know! Executed some say. I know for a fact that Viceroy Gunray was murdered -hic-, probably on Palpatine’s orders! Now we flee like beasts trying to avoid the slaughter…. -hic-...”

“There there.” Nat slid another shot containing some form of disgustingly odoured Neimoidian liquor across the table.

“Me chuspa-nemoi decha?”

“The illustrious Hargal asks if Representative Luuil would like to fold?”

“Bah! I have nothing else left to lose. All in!” The Neimoidian grunted, thrusting his casino chips and credit chits forward in a fluid motion.”

There was a big roar of entertainment from the amassed onlookers, who had mostly quietened during Luuil’s rant.

“He’s raised, Static!” Nat exclaimed, mouth agape. She glanced at Hargal. The Hutt was grinning from ear to podgy ear. Nat closed her eyes, trying to picture what cards the Hutt might have to make him smile like that. It was a technique that worked surprisingly well for her under normal circumstances. But these weren’t normal circumstances. Hargal’s attempts to get the neimoidian drunk had gotten everyone else intoxicated too, including Nat, and she couldn’t concentrate hard enough to picture the cards.

Grunting, Nat necked her next shot. She’d have to take a leap of faith.

“What’d you think Static, play or fold?” She muttered to the C1 unit as she wiped her lip. The droid leaned in closer to the table and muttered a string of quiet beeps and whistles into her ear.

Nodding, Nat chuckled; “I’ll see that bet.” stroking the bronzium droid’s hull with one hand as she pushed her chips forward with the other.

“The mighty Hargal will also match the bet.”

“Let’s see some cards.” Nat grinned at both the Hutt and the Neimoidian.

“Catcha-pon-sabaaci.”

“His majestic self, Hargal the Hutt has Full Sabacc!”

“Oh kriff.” Nat growled, noting that her cards were good, but not quite that good.

Static beeped a line of warbles that sounded incredibly close to laughter. Had the droid goaded her into betting when he knew she'd lose?

“Why you stupid little astro-droid!”

“I’m afraid -hic-, that I have won.” The Neimoidian said suddenly.

“Huh?”

All eyes turned to Representative Luuil. Sure enough, as he splayed his cards he revealed the only hand that could beat Full Sabaac; an Idiot’s Array. The rarest possible hand.

The Hutt warbled a groan inaudible to Nat, as the crowd went wild.

Nat turned to shoot her Karkarodon Security Chief a look but he just nodded back, if the Neimoidian had somehow cheated, he hadn’t used one of the six-hundred thousand methods their security systems could detect, a lucky win then, or he'd been playing them this whole time, and in her inebriated state she had fallen for it, losing what for her would have once been about a decade’s worth of savings. Well, more correctly, Static had lost what would have once been a decade’s worth of savings. And the droid was as sober as a… well as a droid!

“I’m gonna rip out your motivator core you little rustball!” Nat yelled, alcohol-induced rage rising inside her as she leapt from her seat at the sabaac table and jumped right on top of the C1 unit. It wriggled beneath her, warbling a string of protesting beeps and whistles as she tried to latch onto it with and also swing some drunken punches down at it’s bronzium plating. The droid squealed and attempted to flee, but Nat had wrapped her left leg firmly around its own leg-strut and managed to raise her other one off the ground, so she was practically riding the droid as he squealed and attempted to retreat from the bridge, attracting a flurry of panicked and amused reactions from the crowd.

It was a graceless display. Particularly as the droid shook itself free from her grip and she fell onto her back just before the blast doors.

“A thousand credits to whoever destroys that astromech!” Nat yelled, without rising from the floor. A handful of patrons and security enforcers turned to look her way, but the general hubbub of the casino did not die down.

She rose to her knees; “I SAID A THOUSAND CREDITS TO WHOEVER KILLS MY DROID!”

The music stopped, heads turned. Nobody moved.

“...And free drinks for any who try?!”

They roared to life, a large group swarming past her to give chase to the astromech, who had already bounded to the turbolifts in fear, ready to flee to another part of the ship.

An hour after that…

She was standing on the sabacc table. A well-built Zabrak stood next to her, the crowd were all gathered around, cheering them on.

“Ladies and gentle beings! I -hic-, I give you -hic-, The man who came the closest to killing my droid!”

There was a roar of applause.

“Now the damn scraphead got into the ventilation, so you can’t get the thousand credits -hic-, but you sir, managed to rip his sensor dish off, so I’ll give you a prize of anything you like up to that -hic-... up to that value! Just name it?”

“Hmmm….” The zabrak smiled wickedly as the crowd fell silent.

Across the deck, she could faintly make out Hargal the Hutt and Representative Luuil, they seemed to be having a private conversation on the lower tier of the bridge. She tried to make out what they were saying.

The Zabrak raised a hand towards her, and in her drunken state the sudden motion distracted her from her quarry; “How about a night with the Commodore herself?”

Despite losing sight of the Trade Federation lackey and the Hutt crime lord, Nat couldn’t control her giggle.

“Excuse me! -hic- Are you suggesting that a night with me is worth less than a thousand credits?” Nat scoffed back.

“We could soon find out…?” The Zabrak raised an eyebrow.

She liked his style, but she couldn’t let it show. Besides she was too drunk to know what she was doing; “You couldn’t handle me hotshot -hic-, not for all the credits on Nar Shaddaa.”

“So what is worth a thousand credits then?” He took a step towards her, his gaze locked on hers. “A kiss?”

“Perhaps that would be a more suitable prize...” Nat grinned as the crowd roared in drunken agreement, stepping closer to the Zabrak herself.

She leaned in close, close enough to feel his breath on her face. She closed her eyes….

Then she was… falling? Falling from the sabaac table? Really?

The next thing she remembered was Chief Drovar cradling her like a baby loth-cat as the giant alien carried her to her room and tucked her into bed.

Then in the night she got too hot and threw her clothes off.

Really, that was the story? On an evening of such fantastic debauchery?

_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Back in the present...

“Miss Sadaar. Please, allow me to thank you again for providing such excellent entertainment for us all last night.”

“Congratulations again on your victory at the sabacc table, Luuil. You played very well.”

“My people are known to be cowardly and well, not very spontaneous in nature, it makes it a lot easier to lure my opponents at the card tables into a false sense of security.” He chuckled. “Sincerely though, you have no idea what it has been like for us, these last few months. Imperial spies track our every movement. Those of us who helped build the Trade Federation have lost everything. So to actually get a chance to relax and unwind like that, well it has become very rare, indeed. Especially on a day like this...”

“Did I see you talking to Hargal after the game?” Nat asked curiously.

“You did indeed. We took advantage of the distraction your droid caused to formulate a deal of sorts. You work with the Hutts yes?”

“My organisation retains a loose association, yes.”

“Good. Because Hargal has basically agreed to help me get some of the Federation’s more high-profile leadership out of Imperial territory. Help them to disappear before they go the way of Gunray and the others. In return, I have offered him the contents of some of our off-the-record accounts. It is a deal that benefits both of us.”

“I am pleased you were able to work such an arrangement out.”

“We could not have done it without you facilitating this meeting Miss Sadaar. I know we paid your organisation for the hiring of the ship, but I would like to offer you a personal bonus for the role you played in bringing us together at the card table. How does 25% of the hire fee sound?”

“That’s more than generous.” She replied, they both knew the ‘bonus’ was a sham. The Neimoidian was paying her for her silence. That was just how business was for his type these days. Still, she added; “You can rest assured that you have my full discretion on this matter. I hope your people can catch a break soon.”

Did she really? The Trade Federation used to bankrupt planets for sport. Mean it or not, she still reasoned with herself that it didn’t matter as long as the credits were good. To be honest, she hadn't really had to try to earn them, she'd just played some cards before getting black-out drunk and falling off a table, but professionalism demanded that she suppress that thought.

The neimoidian nodded politely and then returned to his seat.

“Jirin.” She turned back to the Karkarodon.

“You still want us to airlock half the passengers and crew, Commodore? Because I’m thinking Grish and Grack might struggle.”

“No Jirin… It’s all come back to me now… Just get us back to Orondia and I’ll deal with Static myself.” Nat sighed.

She paused, slumping into her seat at the head of the sabacc table, and placing her feet upon it, lying back as the Security Chief relayed her orders and then the lumbering warship shuddered around, aligning itself for a jump to hyperspace.

She watched as the faint pink patterns of the Kaliida Nebula disappeared, giving rise to the inky black of space. And then the inky black was gone too. And Nat was on her way home.

[Revlona]

Tattoine
3 Weeks before Empire Day

"No! No, no, and just in case you didn't hear me Grall, no I am not taking this job!" The Blonde haired young woman shouted across the table at the Dark skinned human male across from her. She had kept a good control on her emotions but for those close listeners they could potentially here the real terror slipping into her tone, for Savannah Storm, former Jedi Knight, truly was terrified at what her boss had just ordered her to do.

The small cantina in the hive of villainy that was Mos Esisley came to a sudden silence. Most of the patrons there knew Savannah and her boss Grall, and most knew that no sane being took that tone with Grall. Surprisingly enough to those people, Grall responded in an even tone to compliment the Girls shout.

"Really Savannah, I don't quite understand why you are attempting to refuse," Everyone knew his last words were true, Savannah would do the Job or be out on the street, they knew it, Grall knew it, and Savannah knew it. She still tried though, "Any other job Grall, any place, any pay, I can't go to that place." She said, hoping against hope that Grall would concede the matter and allow her a different job.

That small spark of hope was immediately crushed by the mans next words, "No Savannah, you take the job or we are done, that's how things are and you know it. Don't worry about looking for a new job if you do refuse as well, I'll make sure no one is hiring." He said, anger seeping into his voice now.

Savannah knew that the game was up now and knew her boss was speaking the truth, every word. She bowed her head and fought to keep the tears in for several seconds. Finally she regained control of herself and looked Grall in the eye again, she dreaded the words that were about to come from her mouth but spoke them anyways, she knew to allow fear to consume her was to allow herself to be set down a dark path.

"So...so...when do you want the spice to be on coruscant?" She said, her eyes widening in surprise as Grall spoke the worst words of the day, "Empire day, exactly." he said.

Coruscant
Three weeks later

Savannah had spent a long time during the trip to the Empires capital in meditation, her crew was good and didn't need her commands for most things. No, they were content to allow their young Captain who had won them over with her Charm, Humor, and Intellect time to herself. They could tell this trip and job was difficult to her for some reason but were kind or practical enough to not bring it up with her, no, they allowed her peace.

In her meditation she focused on finding peace with her raging emotions, fear at what she would find, anguish for those she had lost, and hatred for those had took them all vied for control with each other and her. She fought them off one by one, regaining almost full control of herself in their journey to the capital.

In this battle came an understanding as well, an understanding of something she must do alone on coruscant, something that could very well get her killed. She needed to see the temple, she knew her heart and soul would never truly have a chance at peace unless she accepted what had happened and this was the first step to that.

That was how she had found herself peering out of a lone window high in the Capitol city at the ruined Jedi Temple, tears flowed freely down her cheeks as the long memories came flooding back, her first lessons in lightsaber combat, the many meditation sessions she had shared with her master, the friendships she had forged and had torn away from her, and finally her Knighting Ceremony.

It was still fresh on her mind, Several of the council had been there, she could see their smiles as they welcomed a knew Knight into the order in her mind, she could still here their words of encouragement and advice. She could still hear and see them even though they were most likely dead, she had felt so much death on that day a year ago and death was all she could sense from the temple now, death and...no that couldn't be right.

Her head shot up as she sensed something else, something wonderfully familiar.

Had another...no that would be suicide...but she had done the same. For the first time in a long time, a small fleck of hope welled up in the young womans heart, the tears stopped and she hardened herself to what she might find, however she knew she had to do what she was about to do.

The force had guided her here and had allowed her to sense and feel what she had just felt, she had to believe in the force and for the first time in nearly a year, she did. Their was another Jedi out there somewhere and Savannah was determined to find them.

[Ormata]

C.I.S.
ADM KSS'SSIV
NEMESIS, 84TH FLEET
SYSTEM C7C-193, AURORA SECTOR

"Start the clock."

One second, all was usual. A singular Imperial class vessel of that new province, the Challenger, loomed over the small flotilla of cargo vessels and its escort of two CR-70 corvettes. It was a strange, heavier than normal compliment for the freighters and transports as that fleet charged its hyperdrives and readied the next series of coordinates. V-wing flights flew in their patrols about the fleet, their routes lazy and routine. Stranger still was the location, unguarded and unpopulated as it was. The system lacked a name in Basic, having only a designation of C7C-193, for three mined-out gas giants orbited about that dying star and the few debris fields present lacked resources in appreciable enough quantity as to warrant a station. No transmissions came from the convoy, none of the usual chatter. They were silent. They had been ordered to be so. There was no reason to talk and talk, especially when the cargo was such that the loss may very well outdo local issues in scale. The cargo itself was quite simple, a shipment of light turbolaser cannons in their disassembled state, missiles, explosives, and ready-made fortifications destined for a new Outer Rim post of the Empire. Such was the issue in establishing such posts that it was determined that secrecy would aid then, that a heavy escort would ensure the arrival of the equipment, crews, and troops.

This had been their outdoing. The preparations had been noticed, the set schedule known, and that trap laid. One second, all was usual. The next second, warning klaxons were screaming aboard the Imperial vessels. A fleet of Confederate warships entered the system, running lights dim against the stars, and they made for that readying formation at best speeds. Fighters were launched from the main vessel in the hundreds, Vultures and Tri-Droids alike as the main battleship came about with her engines flaring. Immediately comms jamming spun up, just as planned, as the Imperial sensor arrays were hit with feedback loops. The freighters began turning away, intent on getting enough distance from the enemy that they might be able to jump, and the rest of Challenger's fighters were launched and flew to intercept the enemy. They wouldn't be enough though, Confederate starfighters surging forward in a vast wave, wouldn't be enough even as the forward elements began to fire away missile salvos. Dirty trails marked that distance between the clouds as the fighters broke formation to evade, turning annoying pickings into easy ones for the following Tri-Droids and their heavy repeater cannons. Aboard one vesel, a chuckle as everything was going correctly.

With that thin screen stripped away, the nearly seven hundred strong strike force began their various assaults. Fighters engaged the ISD at nearly point blank ranges, missiles targeting the reactor dome and sensor globes, all while others disabled engine systems aboard the freighters. The CR-70s, cheap and weakly armed as they were, felt the cannons of the frigates instead. Longe range turbolaser fire blanketed the two small hulls, crashing against one until you could barely see the ship underneath it all. The Star Destroyer maneuvered to engage her main foe she could, for all that was worth, and heavy turbolaser reached out against the behemoth. Soon, though, a response was felt in kind as the shields of the Challenger failed under continuous fighter attack and the Nemesis, long silent, finally did say her word. Massed broadsides opened up as holes were quickly punched against the enemy, torpedoes launched as the ISD was overwhelmed by concentrated firepower. Her bridge was smashed again and again by fire, opening up into the void, and after some time the enemy ceased their fire. The CR-70s were long destroyed, reactors bleeding into space, and the transports were easily secured, crews vented into the same and boarded.

The last phase began, tractor beams and cables dragging the dead hulls of the Star Destroyer and her escorts into the orbiting gas giant. It was not particularly easy work, by all means it wasn't, and yet…there would be no witnesses. This was most important. In the destroyer, compartments yet carried crew who would survive for some time, crew who had a story to tell. This could not be allowed. As the Imperials slipped down and away, down and down to be crushed and erased, the Confederate fleet turned away and departed that system. Their work was done and that clock was, after twenty three minutes and seventeen seconds, ended.

Was it pretty? No. It never was. It was war, he told himself, and war was meant to be ugly. The Nemesis was a good ship though, good enough that he was satisfied with her and some few others for the task at hand. Any more would prove an impediment. Sighing in the simple chair, Kss'ssiv leaned back and considered it all. He had taken in a heavy amount of weaponry and ordinance, most destined to be equipped onto legal, no record freighters to act as commerce raiders for the future, while the fortifications gotten were largely useless save for barter. He had no interest in establishing a solitary location and yet a good amount of other organizations were so interested. It might net a few fighters, all things considered. Meanwhile, the networks had steadily gone more and more quiet about those they could rescue.

The war continued, after all.

[Brusia]

Martius Shan
Odessen

Martius stood in a large clearing in the forest surrounding the ancient Alliance base he now called home and closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he worked to clear his mind of all his thoughts; of the concerns of leaving Odessen in a seemingly hopeless endeavor to rebuild a fallen Order, of the nagging feeling of failure for being unable to prevent the rise of the Empire that plagued him everyday, and of the constant, still searing pain of losing all those he once held dear. He took another deep breath, and then another, continuing until his mind was purged of all except the flow of the Force in the living things all around him, and of the now ignited blade in his hand. Opening his eyes, he assumed a ready stance, and for the next few hours would practice running through his saber forms and sparring with a few ancient training droids he'd manage to get up and running under the ever watchful eye of his ancestor's projection; just as he had done nearly every day over the last several months. In truth, Martius' frequent drilling was as much catharsis as practice; waking up early to train each day was something his Master Meetra had long ago required of him, and it now provided both a means of grounding himself in something familiar despite living in a Galaxy radically different to the one he'd known his entire life and of forgetting his troubles, however briefly, as the training required his undivided attention. That said, the fact that he was also able to learn some new techniques from a former Jedi Grand Master was certainly a benefit as well.

"Very good" Satele stated "You've certainly shown improvement, but I think that will be enough for today; there is still much to do before your departure."

"Indeed" Martius stated as he deactivated his lightsaber and returned it to its place on his belt "I suppose it's time we start heading back." Though a Master in title, Martius knew there was always still much left to learn and approached the lessons taught by Satele's holocron, from lightsaber techniques, to Galactic history, and meditating on the nature of the Force, with the enthusiasm of an Initiate. Perhaps the most valuable lessons he learned from his ancestor however were in how to run, hide, and survive in the face of an overwhelming foe; just as she had been forced to do in the war against the Eternal Empire millennia ago.

"You're certain you'll be alright here alone?" Martius asked Satele as he carried the holocron back to the base. "I can't really be certain how long I'll be gone."

"I made it more than 3500 years here on my own Martius" Satele replied with a chuckle "I think I can manage."

Martius blushed a little as he realized how ridiculous his question was. In his year of isolation Satele's projection had also been the closest thing he'd had to a friend, to family, and at times he forgot she was a device that could simply be switched on and off; or perhaps he just wanted to forget. After returning to the base, he set about re-sealing all the entrances to keep the local wildlife out while he was gone, then changed into a set of clothes he'd found in a vacuum sealed crate. Given their age, they weren't exactly the most inconspicuous dregs around, but they would certainly draw less attention than his Jedi robes, and the hat did make it a little easier to conceal his identity. Once he'd finished, he found a good hiding place for the holocron, but before he stashed it away, activated it one more time:

"Satele, in case I don't make it back, I just wanted to thank you for your instruction and company; this year hasn't exactly been an easy one and I'm not certain I could have made it through on my own."

"Don't sell yourself short Martius" Satele's projection replied "As I've stated before I am only a program with a personality imprint, so you have survived on your own, and I have no doubt you can continue to do so. Just remember your training, the lessons I've taught you, and most importantly: trust in the Force."

"I will..." Martius solemnly replied as he deactivated the holocron and placed it in its hiding place. Once he finished, he made his way to the meditation room in the base where he decided to reach out with the Force one last time in the hopes of at least finding somewhere to start his search to rebuild the Order...

[Plzen]

-snip-

Rayne Solengard
Free City of Northshore, Kalgan, Aurora System, Auroran Sector

The pounding headache that has been bothering her all day intensified, and the almost clinical mood created by the blue-white internal lighting under the Purple Ring was not helping.

"Please tell me this is a joke," she finally spoke, making an attempt at levity even as she continued flipping past the back pages of the report.

She didn't make a serious effort at reading it all. It wasn't that she trusted the people who wrote the fine text that formed the bulk of the report, not really - if there was anything she learned about the nature of sentient beings in her thirteen years of managing men and resources, it was that there was no such thing as an incorruptible official - but she didn't really have a choice. They would have to be believed whether she trusted them or not, unless she wanted to pick another fight in the court.

She, after all, suffered from the same problem that the Emperor in Coruscant suffered, only one step down. Namely, that she had too many men to oversee and not nearly enough eyes to oversee them.

The investigation of a major incident like this would involve hundreds of police officers, scores of fighter pilots, dozens of investigators and forensic specialists, and the inevitable tail of any such operation: bureaucrats to organise the entire affair and managers to direct them all. Most of whom had an expertise that she was not remotely qualified to question, all doing work that was no less complex than her own.

"I'm afraid not," her aide replied, perhaps more amused than was strictly appropriate at his boss' exhaustion.

Her underlings would never hold back information from her, oh no. Certainly not any more than she held back information from the Empire. Holding back information from their superiors was what traitors did, and the Civil Service was utterly loyal. No... it was merely that it was entirely understandable that the Lord High Commissioner could not possibly be expected to read through the hundreds and hundreds of pages of reports and paperwork that such an incident naturally generated, and that certain interested and helpful parties simply refrained from choosing certain details that might implicate certain people in certain wrongdoings to be included in the short summary report, or that information was arranged and phrased in such a way as to naturally imply a certain narrative that might motivate certain decisions.

Traitors held back information. The Civil Service merely made the loyal decision to refrain from mentioning certain less important details.

Yeah, sure, call her a hypocrite if you wish, but for all that she did it to the Emperor's lackeys, she did not appreciate having it done to her. Her meticulous dual-bureaucratic organisation helped, but not by that much.

"The new ISB Section chief is arriving tomorrow," the Commissioner grumbled. "This has to be the absolute worst time for this to happen."

A convoy, a military convoy escorted by Star Destroyers, ambushed and destroyed with no survivors in Sector space. What a nightmare. It was terrible news in so many different ways. First, and perhaps most obviously, was the increased attention this would inevitably bring to the Sector. The autonomy of the Sector and her independence as its Lord High Commissioner was aided when Aurora could bury itself among the millions of stars lying within the borders of the new Empire; it was rather hindered when powerful people were motivated to peer closely into events transpiring within the Sector.

The second... well. This would inevitably prompt an increase in the police budget, and the mob was bound to have questions if the Secretary of Internal Security started approving the acquisition of military heavy arms for the police. What do the police need star destroyers for, they might question, when the garrison is responsible for our external borders? Are those weapons, perhaps, intended to be pointed at us?

Idiots. Of course the Imperial garrison in Comporellon was supposed to hold the Sector's external borders, while the police focused themselves on internal security. And as usual what was supposed to happen and what was actually good for everyone were two different things.

"Look alive, boys and girls," she shouted outside. "We're working overtime tonight!"

A collection of groans, moaning, and general complaints returned from the offices outside. Just like any other successful leader within the Auroran Sector, Rayne Solengard was a woman of many masks. One of vulnerable affection for her friends and her lover, one of strength and stony determination to her rivals and her partners, one of competence and compliance to the Empire... but to her own Civil Service?

Well, it was said that nothing built solidarity faster than shared misery. Her underlings had to see her as a crass sort, someone who would suffer right alongside them in sharing their burden, and still have the wherewithal to laugh and jape on the way. Someone who was informal and let certain things slide, even if not exactly a fun kind of person.

This would have to be reported to the Empire, she reflected. While the garrison on Comporellon would no doubt submit a report of their own investigation, such an investigation was bound to be more on the military side of things - how the ambush occurred, what the convoy's response and defence has been, what kind of weaponry and equipment were used on part of the ambushes and where they might have gotten hold on those. There was no way Coruscant wouldn't want to see the Civil Service's take on the issue. After all, it was the Civil Service, not Comporellon, that had familiarity with the Sector and her policing resources, it was the Civil Service that had familiarity with previous incidents and civilian intelligence, and it was the Civil Service that had the comprehensive paperwork on what should and should not have been out there.

The question then naturally became what they were going to tell the Empire.

First of all was the issue of why the ambush wasn't caught by patrols. The military intelligence suggested that the ambush was likely lying prepared in wait for some time before it struck, and since this was the sort of fact that couldn't be hidden from the military eggheads that the Imperial Navy had in great abundance, questions were bound to be raised on why they weren't caught or at least detected in advance.

Honestly, if Rayne had her guess, it was probably just sheer bad luck or good planning on the rebels' part. The Sector was large and her resources stretched thin - it just wasn't possible to get a cruiser on every star, nebula, and deep space station across the entire Sector. But the Imperial Senate definitely wouldn't take 'it was an accident, oops' as any kind of explanation. Someone, or hopefully something, would be found responsible for the incident. The blame would likely fall on either the Sector garrison or the Sector police force... well, she certainly knew what she preferred.

Her pen met paper. Yes, it wasn't the fastest or most efficient way to take notes, and the Auroran Sector was not so far out of touch as to not have abundant access to things like computers and hologram touchpads, but Rayne found that when it came to brainstorming, nothing sharpened the mind better than that physical texture of stylus sliding over the roughness of plant fibre.

The summary report sent to Coruscant would definitely have to mention that system C7C-193 was uninhabited prominently in the first overview paragraph of the report, then. That would imply that the star was out of police responsibility... no. That was a bad idea. Making that implication would have the hidden assumption that the police couldn't be trusted upon to act in systems that were not inhabited, and that was bound to lead to greater Imperial authority and reduced Sector autonomy in the future.

Perhaps it was better instead to focus on the location, and the responsibility of the garrison to hold the Sector borders. That would have to be mentioned, the little map inset would have to be drawn in a way as to emphasise the system's proximity to the Sector's outer borders and resistance space... and definitely mention how well protected the convoy was. If the resistance around the Auroran Sector - don't give the possibility that the attackers might have originated from inside the Sector more than a dismissive passing mention - was strong enough to overcome imperial star destroyers, then perhaps some recommendations can be made that the Auroran Sector police, who have been let down by the garrison commander's inability to maintain patrols so far out as C7C-193 during a time of great strife, needs to possess the means to defend themselves and the Sector's critical civilian resources and that this may be done by the Imperial government in Coruscant expanding the arsenal of equipment that the Auroran police force are permitted to purchase.

But make sure there is no implication of the garrison commander's incompetence, merely the lacklustre nature of the garrison he commands over. The report would be more credible if the commander at Comporellon doesn't dispute it tooth and nail, and he'd be more likely to nod and agree with the Civil Service's version of the story if the story that we paint of him is that of an overworked and loyal commander who tried his best but just didn't have enough to work with.

Very much doubt that the Senate was going to approve the recommendation that the police be allowed to have access to heavy weapons, let alone the Emperor, but would get their minds thinking about the role of the police in this Sector with regards counter-insurgency and... hmm...

Perhaps also make references to internal recommendations that the police expand their patrol routes further out towards the borders of the Sector and thereby emphasise their role in Sector security - never mind how meaningless that proposal actually is when you know the details... with the added benefit of making sure everyone knows how seriously they and the Civil Service are both taking the issue.

There was an art to this. An art of saying things and not saying things. It was surprising to many people outside the Civil Service how easy it was to have a report say something without making it look like it was saying it.

Hmm... yes. It was likely to be a very long day indeed.

She supposed that she should let Jay know that she would likely be returning late that evening.

[Puertollano]

GEHENA | DEEP SPACE
before the end of the Clone Wars

A notice came through to the Deck of the Lucrehulk-class Battleship, the Super Tactical Droid, after having inspected the cooling cylinders on the lower decks arrived at the notification of it arrival. Since her mission in Orondia, Gehena has been relocated to better and more important work, but still in the communications-side of the Clone Wars. Her (if you could say that, about a droid) distinguished actions following a crash at no fault of her own awarded a higher position, with command over large ships and a bigger crew with that too. The large receivers attached to the Battleship were transmitting and sending Confederacy information into the Outer Rim, openly defying an attempt by the Republic to censor their materials. This work, after all, was important. The Confederacy did have an army of droids, artificial clankers to run their war machine, but the touch of a living being was still integral to the entire war. It would be the small systems, Outer Rim backwaters and oppressed masses that still made the Confederacy of Independent Systems possible. That was never truer than in the case of the Republic invasion of Umbara, which had catastrophically turned for the worst not only for the Jedi but the Senate and the Chancellor. The brave defensive counter-attacks by the local Umbarans were the perfect subject for propaganda material, but that was beside the point. A notification had arrived that would change all of that. It opened in front of Gehena as she arrived on the Deck.

///\\\ DE-CODED MESSAGE FROM THE SEPARATIST COUNCIL///\\\
--||-- CONFIRMATION DIAL: 03BX6561 --||--
THE FOLLOWING ACTION IS TO BE CONDUCTED BY ALL FORCES OPERATING A DROID ARMY FOR THE WAR EFFORT.
The war has finished. The Separatist Council has been destroyed on Mustafa. This is an immediate message that all droids must be deactivated as of this message. If this is not done, an automatic shut-down will occur in T:00:15 to clear the remaining forces.

The diagnostic cogs were buzzing in the head of Gehena. A Tactical Droid approached Gehena from behind. It too read the notice. "Should I prepare for the deactivation, Captain?" The Droid asked, its mouth piece glowing as it spoke. Gehena, in all her intimidating glory, turned around and looked down to the inferior Tactical Droid. Incorrect. This is clearly subversive Republican intelligence propaganda. The Confederacy of Independent Systems is winning the war, and convincingly so, against the Galactic Republic. There is no reason for surrender now, especially without the terms of any surrender," the Super Tactical Droid responded. The other Droids on the deck continued to tap away on their screens, as to keep the Lucrehulk and its fleet operational. "There is, of course, concern about how they reached us," she conceded to the Tactical Droid. "I have no doubt in my mind that this message is false, however, I do believe the Republic may have the ability to shut down the Droid Forces in the given deadline. Instead, what we must do, is decouple all of the current Droids in the fleet from the central command computing that lies with the Separatist Council. As to salvage what we have left if the Republic do attempt a Galaxy-wide deactivation." By now, a few other droids had gathered around to hear from Gehena. "I need all hands on Deck as to re-route the central command bases in the mainframes of our forces to this here Lucrehulk Battleship's own transmission capabilities. Will will have to cease our efforts in propaganda, but it is for the best. To save what we have left. This order is immediate," Gehena commanded. The Droids hurried away to their posts. The large dishes on the Battleship began to move to direct itself inwards, towards the other frigates at the Battleship itself. A new message was communicated to all Droids that overrides any other command, whether it be from Mustafa or Corsucant. The Droids have been returned to factory settings and controlled remotely from the command ship that was the Lucrehulk, entire localized within the ship. Gehena realised the inherent power she now had, where there once was a kill-switch against this mind of mechanism, Gehena's cunning intelligence outwitted such.

Deactivation. Droids across the galaxy slumped. A deafening silence filled the battlefields of the Clone Wars. There was not of that in the fleet, still patrolling the deep space of the Outer Rim. Gehena and her crew had survived. But for how long? The question remained clear. There was no communications from the rest of the Confederacy, the Republic, none. While floating in the emptiness of space, Gehena was blissfully unaware of the emergence of the Galactic Empire, sporadic Rebels and the re-emergence of the Sith. Little did she know, either, that other Super Tactical Battle Droids survived the shut-down too. In was a new Galaxy - the Galactic Empire was hunting the Jedi, Separatist hold-outs, Rebel pockets. But for now, Gehena and her crew floated. Floated in space.

the current

"We will be ready in twenty-five minutes," the Tactical Droid said to Gehena. Gehena looked through into the blankness of space. Surely, she thought, the probability of more Separatist hold-outs was strong. It was not long ago that the Confederacy held support in the Outer Rim and amassed an army of millions of living organisms. But, no matter the response, it was looking grim for the Confederacy. The minutes flew by as the message downloaded itself into holotape form and the satellites aligned. The twenty-five minutes of waiting soon dissipated. The Super Tactical Battle Droid gave the final word on that message. It was sent. Any ship, whether it be battleship or not, that is connected to old CIS communications line would be able to receive the incoming message. This includes salvaged ships from the Clone Wars, they too would still have connection to this dormant mode of communication after the CIS was all but complete destroyed. The following message was sent.

BROADCAST BEGIN.
------

"This is Gehena, Captain in the Confederacy of Independent Systems Navy. This following message is to reach out with any remaining, or surviving forces of the CIS. Any who respond should meet at the co-ordinates established in this communication, as we must re-build our forces in the face of near destruction. After twenty-four hours, this recorded message will delete itself. Long live the Confederacy."

------
BROADCAST END.

[Jedi Council]

---

Shaak Ti
Jedi Temple | Coruscant | 19 BBY

---

The Force was like a river. It had eddies, and currents, places where energy would rush like the rapids, or stagnate, and gather in pools of unknowable depth. Navigating this river, knowing the twists and turns, its ebbs and flows, was key to being a Jedi. For one to achieve the rank of Jedi Master, they had to demonstrate that they could control its movements, and immerse themselves in it's waters, without losing control. They had to see what the currents told, and what the depths held fast. They had to understand it. Control it. Feel it. As the sun set over Coruscant, Shaak Ti's view of the river was murky. The currents this night were unpredictable, blowing this way, then that. Ensconced as she was in the highest meditation chamber in the central spire of the Jedi Temple, one of the most peaceful places in the entire structure, Ti could still not focus. Her mind cast out, wading into the river, only to be lost, confused by the strange vibrations held within, confounded by the conflicting signs. Her eyes flicked open.

The last shreds of sunlight were disappearing over the horizon, and the first hints of starlight had begun to poke through into the bright Coruscanti night. She had retired to the Chamber, hoping to find peace, serenity, to make some sense of these past few days. The news that General Grievous had been destroyed had lightened her mood, but Master Windu's departure had evaporated this relief prematurely. Sidious knew that the Jedi were close behind him, he knew that Ti and Windu had been mere steps from unmasking him. Master Yoda's departure to Kashyyyk had been approved by the Council; they had hoped that would be enough to convince Sidious to strike, overconfident as the Sith were. After all, even with Yoda offworld, Windu, and many Councillor's yet remained at the Temple. But, to openly challenge the Chancellor, to openly defy the clear will of the Senate, was rash. It was overconfident. If Sidious truly was in control of the Senate, if he had engineered the war from the start, then he was responsible for Palpatine's emergency powers, and the centralization of power that he had enjoyed for years. Threatening him so suddenly, so swiftly, was dangerous.

If Sidious strikes, we will be ready.

Unable to concentrate, the Togrutan master unfurled her legs, and stood, taking a moment to stretch as she stood. Slowly, she walked over the the large transparisteel window, and placed a hand on its cool surface. From this vantage point, Ti could see for miles, but it was what she saw directly below that interested her most. A small battalion of men, dressed in the black and grey uniform of Temple Security, were marching around the perimeter of the Temple Precinct. Such a blatant display may not dissuade a committed attacker, but it certainly would give them second thoughts. The mobilization of the Security force was only one step that Shaak Ti had taken in the hours after Master Windu departed to see Chancellor Palpatine. The Temple was on lockdown, the Younglings were locked in the Council chambers, and every Jedi Padawan or older had been given a position to patrol, should the Sith challenge them openly as Mace had hoped.

I hope we are enough

Ti shook the doubt from her mind. Even with Master Windu and his four compatriots gone, the Temple was well defended. Even if Sidious were to come himself, he would be outnumbered, hundreds of Jedi remained in the Temple, despite the war. Stationed below in the Temple Ziggurat, Master Drallig was no doubt overseeing the execution of Ti's plan. She had ordered the Battlemaster to organize the defensive efforts, while Coleman Kcaj and a handful of Padawans were specifically to defend the younglings.

Moving back from the window, Ti shook her head. The Dark Side was strong now. Everyone could sense it, a gleeful shadow a thousand years in the making. The Jedi Master crossed her legs again, and took a long, measured, breath. Slowly she closed her eyes, and released herself once again into the River of the Force.

---

Shaak Ti
Jedi Temple | Coruscant | 18 BBY

---

Accompanied only by shadows and dust, Master Ti slowly made her way through the pitch black ruin of the Jedi Temple, her sapphire blue lightsaber held aloft as a makeshift lantern. She had veered off the main concourse long ago, and was now wandering through what was once the Jedi Archives. The damage was greater than she had feared; while the holobooks had long since been plundered, the shelving units were largely destroyed, either collapsed, or charred beyond recognition. The long tables where Ti had once spent hours studying for the Jedi Trials all those years ago were pockmarked with blaster holes and the occasional lightsaber scorch mark. The accumulated knowledge of the Jedi, centuries of secrets and information curated by dedicated scholars, was now no doubt collecting dust beneath the Imperial Palace. As she approached the end of the primary Archival Hall, Ti raised her blade, shedding slightly more light on the large door ahead. Circular in shape, the thick metal blast door was twisted and warped, no doubt the result of a massive explosion, and was now leaned up against the wall from from its hinges.

What did I expect, Ti thought, peering into the void beyond the now ruined threshold. The room was empty, devoid of its former contents. Not even the holocrons were saved.

The Togrutan turned, and made her way West, along a side corridor for several hundred metres. The walls here were even more damaged than in other areas of the temple; no doubt many Jedi had fled to the Archives to make a final stand during the Sack. They must have come this way. Approaching the end of the corridor, the passageway branched off in either direction, with a large turbolift door occupying the forked wall. The doors themselves were badly dented, and did not look particularly pliable. As it was, without power, they would not have opened in any case. Lower her sabre, Ti went to work cutting a large circle into the door, big enought for the Jedi Master to ease her way through without scorching her own flesh. She was in luck; the Turbolift was at the top of the shaft, to get to the Ninth Level, it was only going to be a mere matter of climbing. Removing the ascension cable from her belt, the Jedi Master squinted, and fired it into the air. A moment of silence was followed by a resounding click as it latched on to a support beam somewhere in the gloom.

Ti's thoughts flicked back to the Battle of Hypori, and the weeks she had spent maneuvering through cavernous ruins of several Acclamator Class Assault ships.

Just like old times.

Affixing the cable to her belt, Ti leapt into the darkness, hitting the far shaft wall, and began to pull herself upwards, her feet kicking at the walls of the shaft to keep her moving. By the time she reached the Ninth Level, she was breathing hard, her chest rising and falling in a frenetic pattern.

Lets not do that again.

Taking but a moment to calm her body, the Jedi Master leaned against another battle scored wall. Hall was narrow, and long, punctuated by a series of identical doorways. The carpet, which had once been an elaborate pattern of cream and smoky blue, was covered in debris and ash. The Jedi Living Quarters may have been somewhat spartan by the measure of the Capital, but to see them like this. Ti shook her head, and once more raised her blade. She was getting close. Her light footfalls echoed in the gloom, as she gracefully walked down the hall, glancing left and right and the doors she passed by. She knew most of the Jedi that had lived in these quarters by name, and indeed, many still bore identification plaques, albeit, covered in dust and soot. She paused about halfway down the corridor, and peered through a doorway. The door itself had been blasted apart, and the room inside obviously searched for anything of value. Most of the furniture had been torn apart, and the window boarded up.

Luminara would have hated the idea of strangers going through her things, the Jedi thought with a bittersweet smile.

Continuing on, it was not long before she arrived at Room 2412, one of the last rooms on the left hand side of the hall. Despite her station of as a Council Master, Ti had never moved out of her Master's Apartments; the room had been her home for years before her admittance to the Council, and it was her sanctuary. With a deeo breath, ShaaK Ti steeled herself, and began cutting through the heavily dented door. With a slight crash, the door fell inwards, and she stepped into what had once been her quarters.

It was very much as she had expected. The Togrutan art that had adorned its walls was gone, replaced by bare durasteel. The furniture was smashed to pieces, even the small stool Master Yoda had carved for her out of wroshyr wood had been splintered apart. The drawers of the Jedi's wall mounted dresser had been pulled loose, and the bedding was sliced apart. Ti took it all in, and focused her mind.

The past is the past. I cannot change what happened by dwelling upon it. This is not your home anymore. You have a job to do.

Shaking herself from her reverie, the Togrutan Master approached the far back wall, near the ruins of what had once been her bed. At first glance, the wall was solid durasteel, through, when Ti had last seen it, a large painting of an Akul had hung here. Shaak ran a red hand along the wall, reaching out into the cool metal with the Force.

Come on, come on, you have to be here.

Suddenly, her mind hit something. A void, a black space where she should have sensed solid metal.

Aha

Removing her hand from the wall, Ti reached out, calling upon the force. A small oval line appeared in the wall, and slowly began to retract, revealing a hidden compartment. Only accessible through the Force, the drawer appeared to fuse back into the wall when closed. Only the most diligent of investigators would have noticed its presence, and even then, could not have accessed it. Setting the drawer down on what remained of her bed, Ti signed, and gently waved a hand over its surface. With a click, the drawer opened, and a dim blue light filled the room. Within, set within a deep blue satin lining, sat a small cube of some crystalline substance. A Holocron.

Gotcha, the Master throught with a grin, as she swiftly put the small cube into the side pouch of her belt. Now let's get out of here, I have had enough of Ghosts for one day.

[Great Confederacy of Commonwealth States]

Geonosis - 18 BBY - 501st Imperial Clone Legion

Left. Right. Left. Up. Up. Down. Barrel roll.

The asteroids of the Geonosian Belt flung past the Eta-2 Actis starfighter. It responded with tremendous agility to even the slightest nudges of the rudder, built to deal with the almost magical premonitions of the pilot. Anakin Skywalker, sensing the whole of the movement of the Geonosian Belt, darted here and there between the hurtling rocks, some the size of battlecruisers. But Skywalker was not only attempting to evade the rocks. If that had been his goal, he would have taken a different route. Extending his feeling within the force, he was looking for mistakes to make. Situations that could prove dangerous, and then steering right into the maws of the warning. His nimble fighter just managed to fling itself between two asteroids before they collided, the force of the collision hurling small rocks that chipped the black paint off his starfighter.

Up ahead, he felt the possibility of hubris approaching fast. A large asteroid, perhaps the size of a lucrehulk, drifted over the planet like a mellow cloud. It was pockmarked, and through it ran a series of tunnels. Skywalker closed his eyes and extended his feeling towards those tunnels, and felt that some had exits, while some had not. And it was impossible to tell which was exactly which. At least, not if he went in at top speeds. Using his telekinesis, Skywalker pushed down the throttle levers, and the Jedi felt himself being pushed back into his chair. His craft flung itself forward, and one agile roll later it fell into one of the holes. The lights on the starfighter came on with a flicker, illuminating a slight sliver of the asteroid. Anakin had only seconds to respond to every twist and turn, and had to constantly focus. The universe outside the asteroid faded as he focussed more and more on his struggle with the asteroid. Left. Right. Up. Down. Roll.

Wrong turn.

He felt it just a second too late. The tunnel he was in had no exit. A dead end, leading almost to the surface of the asteroid. Only a few feet thick, the porous rock could give way with a few blaster bolts. Anakin felt his finger slide onto the trigger, and then… he hesitated. The grey-brown mass of wall came hurtling towards him. He did not have to fire. While porous, the wall would still destroy his lightly-armoured vessel. He would be dead on impact. His finger rested on the trigger, sliding off again. The black mass came closer and closer. He could almost hear the voices in the constant zoom of his engines…

“Anakin…”

Then, his finger gripped the trigger tightly, and red blasts pulverised the outer shell of the asteroid, a hole just wide enough to allow his fighter to pass through. Immediately, his concentration vanished, and he pulled his fighter out of the Geonosian Belt. The whole universe returned, the sprawling force reconnecting with Skywalker. He could feel the Galaxy again, the burning stars and freezing void, the Empire, the distant, ever-present pull of Palpatine in the centre of it all…

His fighter pulled into the open hangar bay of a venator, its once red markings long overtaken by the imperial black. The blue of the present clone troopers had been replaced by black as well, and their republican markings changed for imperial ones. As Anakin got out of his craft, he felt the heavy weight of his suit wear him down, a weight that was easily forgotten when flying a starfighter. His cape unfurled and was caressed by a slight breeze that Anakin would never feel again. The dopamine of his trip was quickly filtered out of his blood, both by his depressing circumstances and purpose-built filters in his mask.

“Lord Vader, welcome back”

The voice of captain Dodonna was as unwelcome as the dopamine crash Vader experienced. The commanding officer of his personal star destroyer was one of many Republican commanders who had seamlessly morphed into imperial service. His new uniform fit him well, and he perhaps wore it with even more pride than his former Republican trappings. It was as if he had not noticed the change of the guard. No-one in the Navy seemed to, from the lowest clone troopers to the highest Moffs. With one exception, of course. The man who revelled in his newfound power.

“And right on time, too. Grand Moff Tarkin was awaiting your return”

When Vader entered his personal holographic room, the blue-hued image of Tarkin had turned its back to him. Purposefully, Vader new. The higher in rank you were, the more eager the Grand Moff was to let you know how beneath him you were. Between Tarkin and Vader, there had always existed the question who was higher in rank, and while Vader had no interest in pursuing that matter, Tarkin had been all the more interested in asserting his personal dominance.

“Governor” Vader said simply, attracting the attention of the holographic projection.

“Ah, Vader” Tarkin said, purposefully avoiding his honorary title.

“I hear the 501st has returned to its bases on Geonosis. Correct?” The Grand Moff inquired.

“That is correct” Vader responded. Not that that was necessary, the informants of the Grand Moff were many, and few outside of the emperor had a better overview of the exact tactical situation throughout the galaxy.

“The Wookies provided considerable opposition, but could not stand up to continuous assault”

Tarkin nodded. “I hope it has taught you a lesson about keeping the peace through fear, instead of winning battles through fear. Had you maintained order in the first place, we would not have lost so much valuable equipment”

“Our fleets are now freed up from having to patrol Kashyyyk. The instigators have been hanged, the warriors dispersed, and those able to work have been enslaved. A momentary investment of men and resources will allow us greater tactical…”

“I am not here to discuss matters that have been settled by the Joint Chiefs, Vader” Tarkin said, cutting him off. Before his Doctrine had been adopted by imperial decree, Tarkin had been continuously critical of the decisions of the Joint Chiefs. Now that his Doctrine was law, he treated the body with more reverence than it deserved.

“I have noticed that the productivity of Project Stardust has decreased significantly. I hope you have an explanation for this” Tarkin said. Again, the net of spies Tarkin had at his disposal meant that he knew perfectly well what was going on.

“The blame lies solely at the high production quotas and the rigid disciplinary rules you have set” Vader responded forcefully. While not going out of his way to exert his position, he would also not take Tarkin’s abuse lying down.

“The labour forces are thinned by overwork and executions. Under those circumstances…”

“The execution of one slave increases the combined productivity of the others more than that of one slave” Tarkin responded.

“Be that as it may, we have executed hundreds of slaves, and the Geonosians are dying in droves having to keep up with Wookie labour, as per your decree” Vader retorted. The working conditions on Project Stardust were extremely harsh, both on the planetside foundries and in space, where the project was being assembled. The need for secrecy and security meant that the guards, mostly drawn from the 501st, were allowed to shoot on sight, with mistakes occurring all too often. The labour camp conditions were such that Tarkin could not have designed a better way of exterminating these people if he tried. At least, not until Project Stardust was complete.

For the first time, Tarkin was silent. He turned away from Vader sideways, placing his hand under his chin supported by his other arm, as was his signature. His long, bony fingers tapped lightly against his cheek.

“Then the old labour must be replaced by new labour. Improving conditions now would be a sign of weakness among the labour” he said, turning back to Vader.

“By my calculations, there are several populations of alien life suited for hard labour, and if we force labour contributions from those species on a rotating basis, the first species will have replenished by the time they are due for another contribution”

There was a moment of silence as Vader stared into the holographic eyes of Tarkin, sunken deep into his skull-like face.

“Did you receive my last comment?” Tarkin asked after a few seconds. Vader merely bowed his head.

“Yes, Governor” he uttered. “I will ensure the continued viability of Project Stardust”

At that moment, Vader did not mind accepting an order. Strategically limiting his own choice in the matter was the best option here, not having to think too much about the repercussions of what he was about to embark on.

“Then we understand one another. Stardust cannot suffer more delays” Tarkin added. “I will inform the Capital that you will not be able to partake in Empire Day, and I will ensure suitable replacements for the 501st in the procession” he added. Then, his hologram petered out like a flame, leaving only light dust particles to float about the room. The final stab Tarkin made was left unanswered. Tarkin would not mind participating in a triumph on Coruscant without Vader’s presence. The Empire was not big enough for two martial heroes.

Vader entered his bridge silently. The regular chit-chat of the command centre failed to register through his helmet, and more importantly, through the thoughts whirling through his head. Images flashed through his mind, of the great sand dunes of Tatooine. Of a junkyard in Mos Espa, a woman and her son… Labouring for a Toydarian under the blistering suns.

“What course, my Lord?” came the hapless voice of captain Dordonna, blissfully uncaring about the morality of his position. Vader thought for a moment.

“Set a course for Zygerria. There is high value war contraband on the planet we are meant to secure”

[Cheye]

Natalya Sadaar - Gehena’s Prize, Munificent-class Star Frigate - En Route to Orondia

“Blast!” Nat cried from behind her visor.

Sparks poured from the welding torch as her hand slipped, etching a deep burn mark into the outer plating of her bronzium-shelled astromech droid. She was no mechanic, not by a long shot. Still, she felt guilty about how she had treated Static the night before, and that guilt made her want to be the one to fix him up.

She steadied her hand, leaning closer, she pushed the welding torch in through the droids opened access panels, looking to find the more serious internal damage once again.

Down there, alone in the engineering bay, a large and almost empty room that might once have been utilised by scores of battle droids, Nat lost track of time altogether. Her mind wandered. First it drifted to the Neimoidians and the Trade Federation grandees she had just done business with. She pondered how such a seemingly-powerful and certainly-influential group of people could suddenly find themselves left with nothing, on the run and forced to do business with Hutts to survive.

She thought about the murky poster that had been pinned to the wall of Orondia Station’s Cantina when she had first arrived on the dust bowl. A defunct advertisement for the InterGalactic Banking Clan. They were another group that had gone from the height of power to the depths of irrelevance recently, their assets nationalised by Palpatine in the final months of the war. Perhaps that should have served as a warning for the Trade Federation. To Nat, as she sat fixing her busted droid, it seemed as though the war had ended up consuming the very profiteers who unleashed it upon the galaxy. Their money, influence and power all proved finite in the end...

And that thought brought her to the Empire. Luuil and the Trade Feds hoped the Hutts would hide them from it, but she had once assumed their position in the galaxy was indomitable just as everyone now assumed the Empire was. Perhaps Palpatine had won the war and gained a throne for himself in the process, but he was just a man, wasn’t he? Fallible as any other. If all it took was one lousy war to slay the behemoths of the Trade Federation and the Banking Clan, it would probably take a lot less to bring down a single man.

Not that she particularly cared. The ebbs and flows of galactic politics made for a nice distraction, and also provided the occasional business opportunity as her trip to the Kaliida Nebula had proven, but to a girl who had grown up in the lowest levels of Coruscant’s undercity and then spent her formative years slumming it on Nar Shaddaa, whether Palpatine organised his playground into a democratic republic or a martial empire was the least of her concerns.

Still, she mused, as she cut power to the welding torch and flicked her visor up, it’d be nice to get her casino ships licenced with the Empire so that they could operate more widely and bring in more business. The holonet had provided countless solutions to this procedural roadblock, but they all involved a considerable amount of paperwork and having to deal with bureaucrats and officials on a sector-by-sector basis, and the Pantoran gambler was too impatient for bureaucracy. Just the thought that there were entire sectors of the galaxy administered by jumped-up civil servants made Nat’s skin crawl. Perhaps there was some merit to concentrating power in the hands of a single person after all…

Closing the C1 Unit’s panels, Nat flicked a switch on the front of the Astromech’s chassis and waited to see if it would come to life. Nothing happened, so she gave the droid a firm but not too violent smack and a light flashed on. The direct approach always worked for her. It was the direct approach she’d need for her licence too. Rather than jump through regulatory hoops, Nat just needed to find the right set of palms to grease, someone who walked the corridors of power and who needed a friend in the seedy underworld she thrived in. But there’d be time for that later…

Something vibrated deep within the Astromech’s core and after a few seconds Static slowly warbled to life. Seeing Nat stood over him, he quickly drew his shock prod, sparks crackling to life as the Pantoran’s yellow eyes widened.

“Wait Static! I’m sorr-” She wasn’t able to articulate her apology before the droid closed the distance between them, warbling sadistically as the shock prod extended and electricity coursed through her body.

“Nghhhuhh!” Nat couldn’t help but exclaim as she was electrocuted. The droid seemed to enjoy exacting his revenge and she lost her balance, falling hard to the floor from the intensity of the shocks washing over her. At that the droid ceased his assault, beeping curiously.

Nat sensed this was her only chance to communicate; “Static, I’m sorry for trying to get you dismantled... I’d just had a few too many drinks and don’t lie; you did goad me into losing that game.”

Electricity pulsed from the end of the shock prod again.

“Gahh!” Nat wailed. “Alright, alright! I guess that wasn’t an excuse for getting half the ship to chase you into the vents. I was upset, drunk and reeling from a loss but most of all it was the wrong thing to do.”

Static beeped his scepticism. The shock-prod remained extended centimetres above Nat’s head.

“I buffed out the dents and removed most of the carbon scoring! And I got you back online, which for a girl with next to no mechanical experience wasn’t easy!”

The droid beeped, she could tell he was performing an internal system’s check. After a few long seconds, the shock prod slowly retracted.

“When we get to Orondia, Kidern can get you a new sensor dish and adjust anything that doesn’t feel right, but until then can we call a truce?”

The droid let out a beep that was more akin to a grunt than anything coherent, but it then warbled in the affirmative. Which was good, because if he hadn't agreed she'd probably have had to arrange for a memory wipe, and neither of them wanted that hassle.

Nat pushed herself up, just as the door to the engineering bay hissed open.

“Commodore.” It was Jirin Drovar. “There is a matter that requires your attention, urgently.”

Nat dusted herself off and turned to face the Karkarodon, the electrocution had left her tongue feeling dry so she licked her lips emphatically, attracting a curious glance from the Security Chief’s one good eye. “What is it Jirin?”

“A transmission, Commodore.”

“From Orondia, or Nal Hutta? Oh no, it isn’t Sianni is it? Please tell me that idiot doesn’t need rescuing again? Because I ain’t doing it.”

“None of them.” Jirin’s distinctive Karkarodon brow creased, and Nat knew that whatever he was about to say, it was serious. “It came in on one of the ship’s old comm channels, one used for high priority messages by the Separatists during the war… It’s… Well, you’ll want to see it.” He extended a webbed hand, enclosed in which sat a datapad on which the broadcast had been downloaded.

Nat hit play. A familiar metallic ‘face’, appeared in tiny hologram form. Static beeped an ‘uh-oh’ from her side.

"This is Gehena, Captain in the Confederacy of Independent Systems Navy. This following message is to reach out with any remaining, or surviving forces of the CIS. Any who respond should meet at the co-ordinates established in this communication, as we must re-build our forces in the face of near destruction. After twenty-four hours, this recorded message will delete itself. Long live the Confederacy."

As she listened to the Super Tactical Droid’s message, Nat’s jaw dropped. So Gehena had survived the Battle of Orondia. Further, the droid had survived the end of the war. Nat had been under the impression that the Droid Army had been completely shut down. Although this fascinated Nat, a slight sense of dread began to build in the pit of her stomach, and she knew this time it wasn’t hangover related.

“Do you think she wants her ship back?” Nat quipped to Jirin, who scoffed. Static mumbled a string of beeps and whistles in mockery.

Nat had technically made a fair deal with Gehena, securing ownership the Munificent-class frigate they were currently standing aboard in return for helping the Super Tactical Droid get off Orondia, but when Republic troops had arrived at the same time as the Separatist forces sent to retrieve Gehena, chaos had broken loose in the skies above Orondia Station and the war quickly found its way to the surface. Some criminals had also tried to seize the opportunity to launch a coup and as anarchy reigned a Rathtar that had been haphazardly stored in one of the cargo bays had gotten loose, killing everything in its path. Nat’s only recourse had been to rally what survivors she could and flee to the frigate, leaving Gehena and her droid counterparts to the full fury of the Republic. It had been a little traumatic at the time, but she'd moved on.

Until now, the Pantoran had never worried about whether or not the droid’s logic circuits might interpret her actions as a betrayal of their deal or not, or for that matter if the droid had ever planned to honour the deal in the first place. Either way she had the ship, and when she’d returned to Orondia and not found Gehena’s body among the wreckage, she’d assumed the Super Tactical Droid’s parts had just been taken away by the Clones for study.

“I suspect that the other former-separatist ships in our possession will have received similar messages.” Jirin mused.

Static beeped, something cheeky about how he’d be able to check for them if his sensor array hadn’t been shot off.

Nat ignored him, her mind had begun to wander again, there were lots of ways she could use this information. The Empire might be interested in a Super Tactical Droid running about attempting to rally surviving Separatists. Equally, these Separatists were likely as broken and on the run as the Neimoidians, perhaps they might pay well for up-to-date intel on places they could hide within Hutt Space, beyond the reach of the Empire. They had ships too... More ships than they could crew if most of their droids had indeed been shut down. Whichever way she played this out in her head, the odds of a win seemed high.

“Contact the Board and the Captains of the Casino Fleet, I want to meet as soon as we get back to Orondia. This is a top priority.”

“As you wish, Commodore.”Jirin nodded, taking back the datapad and turning to leave.

“One more thing Jirin.” Nat added, running a hand through her blue-black hair thoughtfully. “It just occurred to me that we have somebody aboard who might know a thing or two about what’s going on, given the their relationship with the CIS and the maufacurers of these droids. Ask Representative Luuil to meet me in my quarters...”

The Karkarodon eyed her as though he didn’t quite understand her intentions. Nat finished stroking her hair and clasped her hands behind her back, looking back at him with a steely resolve.

“...Tell him I want to know everything there is to know about Super Tactical Droids... And I mean everything.”

[Revlona]

Coruscant

Finding the other Jedi was turning out harder than Savannah had imagined it would be, for whatever reason, the Jedi she could feel was in the Jedi Temple, a small beacon of light in a place which was now only death and despair. Savannah wasn't going to go to the temple, it was the one thing she would not do to find the other Jedi, that place held to many memories for the young woman to deal with in a situation where she needed a calm and collected self. So Savannah could only wait, she moved frequently, walking through thick crowds of people anticipating the coming celebration of the Empires mass murder. Hatred entered Savannahs heart then, a hatred for those who had betrayed the order and who had killed her friends, a hatred of herself for surviving and running like a coward, a hatred for many things, a hatred she did not try to push away with any real effort.

Savannah found herself in a Small bar that was some distance from the Temple, its location should keep from raising suspicions on who she was and why she was there, it would also serve as a fine spot to set off after the other Jedi when they left the temple. As Savannah drank, making sure to not become inebriated, she self consciously checked the pocket sewn into her jacket above her left breast. She felt the metallic creation she had forged as a Padawan was still there and breathed a sigh of releif.

If it came to combat Savannah would use to DC-17 blaster that sat on her hip in most cases, the Saberstaff was there only if the worst of circumstances occurred, for even wielding a Lightsaber would mark her as a jedi and signal her out for immediate execution by the Clones and officers who patrolled the capital.

It was all Savannah could do for the other Jedi, whoever it was, at the moment, drink and wait. Forced to watch the celebration of her peoples murder, drink and wait.

[G-Tech Corporation]

Low Orbit, Farstine, Five Veils Route, Mid Rim

"Ignition, primary batteries seventeen through twenty-four. Fire for effect."

Tiberius' voice carried throughout the bridge of the Rampant, and the underofficers dutifully obeyed. One of the men, a young lieutenant with platinum blonde hair peaking out from beneath his regulation cap, glanced up at the white-vested Grand Admiral, before depressing the solutions indicated on his monitor. Good men, even the new recruits. No compunctions, no hesitation in firing on the verdant acreages of Farstine.

"Is that strictly necessary, Kuat?"

The half-sneer from Grant recalled the officer from his gaze at the surface auspex, and he nodded absentmindedly. One of the niceties of having the good Grant along on this campaign had been constantly having to answer his wheedling questions, but it was an inconvenience that was more than made up for by the presence of his command. The odds had spun far more favorably, to Tiberius' mind, with the two fleets combined to run down the Federation remnants. Casualties would have been much higher without strictly overwhelming force.

"Scout companies report that droid activity has not ceased in the Vendrian Wetlands. I shall not see us returning here in three years to fight another army of secessionist scum, risen from hidden factories. And a ground campaign would be prohibitive on our schedule. Thus - as you see - I have rectified the problem."

Grant's flickering blue hologram audibly sighed. The Tapani nobleman had romantic sensibilities, and sometime shied away from the dirty realities of war. Tiberius braced himself for another interminable lecture, but the speech was interrupted as Grant turned slightly, obviously listening to someone speaking aboard his own flagship.

"A discussion of the ecological damage you are inflicting on Farstine will have to wait, Kuat. The Recuscant has just showed up a Nemoidian skiff making for high orbit from not far away from where your ships are firing."

The Grand Admiral strode forward a few paces, gazing at the forward viewscreen. The Rampant, unlike most KDY ships, had been built with external vision in optical range as fairly unimportant, and a quick sweep of the vidfeeds did not show up any such ship. Still, it was only a few seconds later before one of the sensors officers sang out.

"Contact confirmed. Three thousand standards and climbing fast, bearing antispinwards."

"Tasking fighters to intercept - no, she's gone."

Grant's hologram gave out a low whistle.

"Ten to one that's Vooro making a run for it. Nothing else they would have had could have hit hyperspace that deep into the planet's gravity well. I'll go after him while you finish up here. We'll meet again, say, at Enarc? With luck, we can give the Emperor a fine Empire Day present of the end of the Trade Federation and the last Nemoidian vizier's head on a silver platter."

Kuat calculated the vectors quickly, then nodded.

"As you say, Octavian. My ships navicomputer puts that skiff heading out into the Hook Nebula. Good hunting. We'll finish cleaning up this mess."

It wasn't a glamorous job, and part of Tiberius resented the lost glory as Grant's forces began jumping away in pursuit of the last vestiges of the rebellion here. But both ensuring Farstine had been appropriately cleansed, and cutting down the last Trade Federation vizier - both were tasks that could not be neglected. If Vooro escaped, with his access credentials and activation codes, he would no doubt raise another droid army. And the galaxy had had enough of droid armies, far more than enough.

Tiberius drummed his fingers on the forward console of the Mandator-II, before humming softly to himself, a habit he had adopted when deep in thought. Below the firestorm of Farstine only amplified, the heavy bombardment of the low-flying Rampant kindling the hydrocarbon-heavy atmosphere herself.

"Take us up to twelve batteries, and work the grids, not strategic sites. I want the crust glassed down to five kilometers anywhere within a klick of a designated droid contact since we entered orbit."

The officers dutifully obeyed, and the firepower the dreadnought rained down on the surface of the trading world's empty regions swiftly amplified to a holocaust. Between the debris of the orbital engagement tumbling out of destroyed vectors over the next few years, and the radiative energy Kuat's fleet dumped into the biosphere in the next seven and a half hours, Farstine's ocean temperatures would rise by a degree sufficient to render twelve hundred major aquatic species extinct within the next five years.

But no droid activity was reported by the Imperial garrison placed on the world's surface in the weeks following the end of the Five Veils campaign. And that was the important part to the Grand Admiral. Farstine wasn't a particularly fine jewel to present to the Emperor, a world amongst billions, but the end of the Trade Federation - ah, that was no small prize.

As the bombardment continued, Kuat eventually paced back toward the rear of the battleship, leaving his second to oversee the sterilization campaign. He spoke one final time before retiring to his quarters.

"Task our smaller escorts with the destruction of the remnants of the enemy fleet. Better that we ensure all of this junk is so much expanding plasma, not salvageable war assets or an orbital impact waiting to happen. Transmit word of our... largesse... to the planetary governor."

As Tiberius laid down for a well deserved rest after twenty three hours of constant warfare, the Second Campaign Fleet began the arduous task of systematically destroying the remains of the seventeen Lucrehulk-class vessels that were slowly crumbling above the system, as well as the numerous lesser frigates, destroyers, and other vessels which had been shattered or destroyed during the conflict. A good day.

[Jedi Council]

---

Shaak Ti
Jedi Temple | Coruscant | 19 BBY

---

Pain. Terrible pain. Fear. Loss. Betrayal. Confusion. Anger. Above all, anger.

The currents of the Force washed over Master Shaak Ti like a hurricane, her mind adrift in the torrent of emotions that were rushing through the living her. She steadied her mind, hoping to peer through the darkness, but to no avail. The feelings were too strong, as though they were being fed by an open wound, a wound in the Force. A pang of alarm rang through the current, her connection to the Force registering a disturbance.

Easy she thought, trying to brace herself against the clouds in her mind. What is going on?

Suddenly, it came. A veritable tidal wave in the Force, a rush of energy, that nearly toppled the Jedi's mental barriers. Ti's eyes flicked open with a start, and she raised a hand to her chest. Her breaths were coming in short, ragged bursts, and a bead of sweat threaded its way down her neck. She blinked. Once. Then twice. A third time. Her breathing remained uneven. Such a disturbance in the Force was unnatural, no phenomena the Jedi Order was aware could have produced such a seismic shift in the balance of power. The Togrutan Master whetted her lips, which, only now she realzied, had dried and cracked from the exertion of her meditations. A pit began to gnaw in Ti's stomach, as she uncurled her legs, and stood, swaying slightly from the effort. Something had happened, something dark, and evil. It was dark out now, a particularly clear, and eerie night.

Reaching into the folds of her robes, Shaak Ti pulled out a small communicator, of standard Jedi issue, and opened the channel.
"Master Windu, this is Master Ti, come in."
No response.
"Master Windu?"
No response.
"Master Fisto, this is Master Ti, please respond?"
No response.
"Master Kolar? Saesee?"
Nothing.

The pit in Ti's stomach roiled, anxiety suddenly rising into her throat. This was a secure Jedi channel, one that few, if any, could have jammed. if something had happened to the Masters, if something had happened to the Chancellor, the Republic would be thrown into chaos, the Order would be irrevocably damaged. Ti pressed the communicator again, her eyes wide with concern.

"Master Drallig come in, have you had..."

The Master's soft voice was drowned out by a massive explosion, fiery red light pouring into the room, and vibrations running through the central spire. Ti's jaw hung wide, her eyes blinded by the shocking scene before her. Through the transparisteel window of the Meditation Chamber, an enormous column of black smoke now billowed from the Northern Temple Gate. An attack.

Sidious, Shaak's mind snarled, as she unclipped her lightsaber hilt and made for the door. He's making his move.

As the Master entered the turbolift, her communicator buzzed.
"Master... zzzz... come in, Shaa... zzzz... Come in!"
Ti recongnized the panicked, if familiar voice of Coleman Kcaj.

"Master Kcaj," she replied urgently, hoping the sound of the turbolift did not drown out her words. "What is it, what has happened?"

"Mas... zzz... Ti ... attacked the main ga... zzzzz... Jurokk is dead... zzzzz... Its... clone troopers... zzzz... its Skywalker!"

Another blast rattled the turbolift, as Ti's communicator failed for good. Someone was jamming it, there could be no doubt. But Clone Troopers? Skywalker? This made no sense. The Togrutan pressed the turbolift button, willing the elevator itself to go faster. As she neared the base of the spire, she heard blaster fire, and the acrid smell of smoke began to fill her nostrils. Ti's mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to connect the dots. Skywalker was secluded in the Council Chambers, by the order of Master Windu. What did the Clone Troopers have to do with this? As if in answer to her question, the turbo lift ground to a halt, and its doors swung open, allowing a cloud of black smoke to enter the small chamber. Ti smelt burnt flesh, and the tell tale sound of blaster fire was echoing through the hall.

Shaking her head, Shaak Ti ignited her blade and stepped into the hall. Her eyes widened as she took in what she saw. The primary spire elavator exited on a mezzanine overlooking the central Temple concourse, which had become a veritable vattlefield. From her position, she could see the flash of lightsabers far below, as what Jedi that remained in the Temple brandished their weapons against their white plated attackers.

Clones! Ti's mind screamed. The inhibitor chips!

"Freeze!"

The familiar voice of Jango Fett rang in Ti's ear, as she slowly turned to her left, eyes wide in disbelief. Along the edge of the mezzanine, a squad of Clones stood, weapons at the ready, emblazoned with the infamous blue markings of the 501st Legion. Before the Clone Lieutenant could utter another word, the Togrutan Master was a blur of motion. Rushing forwards, Ti ignited her sapphire blue saber, and lept into the air, striking downwards as she fell. She caught the Lieutenant right above his left collarbone, her blade leaving a blazing red trail down from his shoulder to his navel, before being pulled from his lifeless body. The squard began to fire, but the Togrutan Jedi was too quick, batting away their bolts as she continued to rush towards the remaining troopers. An acrobatic flip partnered with a horizontal slash decapitated the two nearest to the Jedi,while a swift thrust punctured the chest plate of a third. The fourth she sent to his death over the edge of the mezzanine with a small force wave, while the fifth fell to his own blaster bolt, expertly deflected off the Jedi's shimmering blade.

Ti took a breath. This was the first combat she had seen since the Battle of Coruscant, a battle where she was leading Clone Troopers, not killing them. If this was widespread, if Clones everywhere were turning on their commanders? Ti could not spare to think of it, lest she collapse into sorrow. Spinning on her heels, she began to run towards the nearest staircase. She had to rally the defense of the Temple, and the only place she could do that was the Communications Centre. Running through the smoke filled halls of the Temple, Ti slew several more troopers, knocking aside their fire with ease. But she could not help but notice the bodies, Jedi, and Clones, that became more numerous as she race towards the heart of the Temple.

Twisting elegantly around corner to avoid a hail of blue laser fire, Ti leaned up against the wall, pressing herself as close to it as she could. She was nearby now, close to the Communciatons Centre, in one of the many corridors that ran parallel to the central concourse.

"Master Ti!" A voice rang out like a clarion through the sound of battle. It was coming from further down the hall, closer to the wall of clones now pouring their fire down it. She could hear a blade swinging through the air, and swiftly joined the fray. With a wild battle cry, the Jedi Master flew around the corner, blade raised, and through herself forward with the force. Like a bullet, she twisted through the air, over the trio of Jedi that had been pinned down in the middle of the hallway, and landed in the centre of the small group of clones. As she landed, she took a clone troopers arm, then his head, while a subsuequent figure eight with her blade gracefully sliced open the backs of three troopers before they could even turn to face her. The final Clone raised his weapon, but soon lowered it, having found some three feet of lightsaber now embedded in his stomach. Pulling it free with a hiss, the Jedi master turned to see who she had rescued, as the familiar form of Coleman Kcaj walked through the smoke. The Ongree master was injured; he was holding his green bladed lightsaber in his left, rather than right hand, and his right arm was charred and singed, his robes a tattered mess.

"Master Ti," he said through forced breaths, "What is going on?"

The Togrutan shook her head.
"I dont know," she said, lowering her blade. "But we cannot figure it out now, we must defend the Temple."

The Ongree shook his head.
"Master Ti, they blew through the main gate, the entire 501st Legion is here, they have gunships patrolling the perimeter of the Temple grounds! This is not an assault, this is a sacking!"

Shaak could not believe it, even as she realized Kcaj was right. Few among the Jedi, even among the Jedi High Council, knew of the Clone Troopers inhibitor chips, chips ostensibly designed to reduce aggression. Months ago, Ti had accepted the Kaminoans story, even after the efforts of Trooper Fives, and the murder of Master Tiplar.

Fives was right.

"Theres more," Kcaj's urgency stole Ti's attention from her own memories. "They are being led by Skywalker, her killed Jurokk and slew Madam Jocasta in front of my own eyes. Something has happened to him, something dark, and dangerous."

An explosion rippled through the hall, shakign loose dust and debris from the ceiling. They were running out of time.

"Where is Master Drallig," Ti asked urgently. The Ongree Jedi clenched his teeth.

"He went to confront Skywalker in the Room of a Thousand Fountains."

Before her fellow Councillor had even finished the sentence, Ti was on the move, brushing past Kcaj and jogging down the hall.
"Go Coleman," she grunted at the wounded Jedi as she passed," Get as many Younglings and Padawans to safety, and then go. You are in no shape to fight. "
She did not wait to hear his response.

I'm coming for you, Skywalker.

---

Shaak Ti
Jedi Temple | Coruscant | 18 BBY

---

"Uh yeah."
"Uh huh."
"Got it."

The familiar voice of a Clone Trooper echoed through the ruined Archives of the Jedi Temple, his hand pressed to his helmet so as to ensure better communication transmission. From her position, hidden in the half collapsed roof, Ti almost pitied them. Clearly a regular patrol the five troopers bore the hallmark red paint of Coruscanti security, and were slowly moving through the pitch, helmet lights flashing with their gaze. Ti had heard them coming a mile away, thanks to her extrasensory montrals, and has swiftly hidden, rather than confront them directly. Reports of a lightsaber wielding togruta would surely had drawn attention, given the bounty on her head.

I hope I am worth every penny; for all I know, I am the last of the Jedi Council.
The faces of her friends, Plo Koon, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Stass Allie, flashed in her mind. They gleaming green eyes of Master Yoda peering into her mind. The power behind Master Windu's voice.

Ti banished the though, and looked down on the Archive floor once again. Save for the thin beams of light which penetrated the gloom from the Trooper's faces, the darkness was suffocating.

"What was it sir," a Clone said, turning to face what appeared to be the Commander.

"Suspicious activity was reported near one of the Temple Sewage ducts, the exit grate was cut off its hinges. Command is worried we have an intruder."

A third clone laughed.
"Why would anyone come here? Its nothing but ruins and bones."
A loud crack echoes through the chamber, as the Clone moved forward, snapping something hard beneath his feet.
"See?"

The Commander did not seem pleased.
"It could be a Jedi, maybe even the woman we have been hunting. Stay alert."

The Clones had fanned out in a classic search patter, each covering a separate vector with their headlamps. Ti clenched her jaw as she considered what to do. She could not leave the Archives without the Clones seeing her, they had moved too near to the exit. No doubt, she could defeat them with her saber, but the discovery of five troopers slain by a such a weapon would have set off alarm bells all across the capital. No, this called for more subtlety. Without drawing her blade, Ti leapt from the beam she had crouched upon, and silent landed, left hand bracing against the ground for the impact. The darkness was smothering, without her saber or flashlight drawn.

I wont need my eyes, I have something better

Reaching out with her montrals passive echolocation, Ti closed her eyes, and mapped the ruined Archive in full. With her montras acting as her eyes, she could not only see everything through the shadows, she could feel it too. The Clones were well spread out by now, no doubt hoping to cover as much ground as possible before the end of their patrol. With practiced grace, Ti sneaked through the dark, dodging between collapsed holo-shelfs and battle scorched tables. As she ducked around a corner, she threw herself against the wall, a thin beam of light passing over her black clad abdomen. They hadn't seen her.

Ti's eyes remained closed, as she jumped from the wall, to a space behind what was once a large stature. A Clone walked lazily, just beyond the pedestal. Quick as a flash, Ti jumped from her hiding spot, and gripped either side of the Clone's helmet. With strength far exceeding her lithe frame, she violently twisted, until a sickening crack faintly echoed through the empty chamber. Letting the dead clone down slowly, Ti continued body pressed against the far wall. She was so close, so close to the exit now.

"Alright," the Clone Commander called out. "We're done here. Everybody move out."

The heavy footfalls of the Troopers armored bodies announced their approach, as the squad filed through the south entrance to the Archvies, and into the transept beyond.

"We are missing Striker," the Commander sighed. "Always getting himself lost. Herald, you stay, try and find him. He probably got turned around again in the far access tunnel."

"Yes sir."

The squad departed, leaving one clone, apparently called Herald, behind. His narrow headlamps provided little light, as he tentatively made his way back into the chamber. Ti pursed her lips, as he began to approach her position.

"Striker," the Trooper said over the Comms, "Striker come in."

Suddenly, Ti was moving, racing at full speed towards the Clone. At the last moment, he saw her, red and white and blue streaking towards him, fanged teeth barred in a snarl.

"Hey," he managed to scream, before raising his blaster. It was too late. The Jedi Master's hand, reinforced with the Force, struck him in the chest plate, and sent him flying. The district crack of armour, and the snapping of bone as his lifeless corpse crashed into the far was was evidence enough. He was dead.

Standing in the doorway, Ti sighed. As much as the betrayal of the Clone army hurt, she still felt something for these men. After nearly three continuous years on Kamino growing them, teaching them, molding them, she had connected with them all, on one level or another. While she may not remember their names, she knew all their faces, and she knew, they were all individuals where it counted. To take the life of a Clone, one who in all likelihood she had graduated from the Academy on Kamino, still pained Shaak. Even after the massacre at the Jedi Temple.

A small red flickering caught Ti's eye, and she crouched low. Behind the Herald's now twisted body, something was flashing a repetitive, flashing that seemed to be getting faster, and faster, and faster...

Thermal detonator!

Without even having to will it, Ti found herself moving, reaching deep into the wellspring of the Force within her, and allowing it to empower her stride. It was too late. With a cacophonous rush of ash and flame, the shockwave struck the Jedi Master straight in the back, and sent her flying, careening out of the Archive Chamber and into the darkness of the south transept.

Grunting, Ti stood. Her clothes were singed, and covered in soot, while a thin trickle of blood escaped her nose and rolled onto her upper lip. Her ears were ringing, as she stood, swaying, framed by the flickering crimson light of fire that now raged in the destroyed foyer of the Archives. Wiping the blood from her face, the Jedi shook herself, blinking away soot and ash from her eyes.

Someone will have heard that, she realized, I have to go.

After a moment spent collecting herself, and checking her hip pouch to ensure her Holocron was still intact, the Togrutan Master began to jog towards the central concourse, where she had entered her former home. Having gotten what she came for, Shaak had no intention of returning to the Temple again.

Save for with a fully restored Jedi Order.

[Revlona]

The Galactic Republic Reclamation Fleet
Near the Auroran Sector

Chapter 1: The Raid

Venator, a might ship, the mightiest vessel to grace the fleets of the republic so far, carriers who could be destroyers and destroyers which could be carriers. The Venator was the flagship of the Republic throughout the clone war, hundreds, thousands of the vessels had sworn loyalty to the republic and had promised to fight off the separatists and their droid armada. However it had been a year since the separatists defeat and the end of the clone wars and now only three of those mighty vessels still held their loyalty with the Republic. The rest had gone over to the false Galactic Empire. One of them being the Redemption, a fallen warrior with no red paint to show its allegiance to the true government. It’s grey color showed that it was a vessel of the empire and therefore a traitor to the republic, traitors deserved one fate.

A barrage of blue turbo laser beams from the three loyal vessels of the Republic is what met the Redemption as it translated out of hyperspace and right into the Republics trap. This vessel was on its way to the Aurora sector in response to some ambush that had left no survivors. It was ironic really, to be ambushed while searching for ambushers.

“Maximum firepower, Hope aim for the hanger bay, do not allow them to launch fighters. Calmora and Reclaimer aim for the turbolasers and bridge, fighters target the engines. Today is our first blow against the false empire, do not allow it to be a wasted effort.”

Unfortunately for the Redemption, it had been caught completely unprepared in what was assumed to be friendly space, it’s shields had already failed before return fire even began. This return fire sputtering and dying as the blue beams of the Republic ship began to chew away at the grey hull of the Imperial one. A desperate final attempt to escape into hyperspace was thwarted when a proton torpedo launched from a ARC-170 punched through the torn armor of the ship and slammed directly into the hyperdrive engine. It was a one in a million shot that caused and caused a catastrophic explosion, tearing what remained of the wounded ship apart.

What remained was merely salvage and debris, that which was useful was hauled into the waiting hangars of the support vessels who had not fired a single shot. That which was mere scrap was left floating in space, no attempts were made at covering their tracks as this was a message.

28 minutes after the first shots had been fired at the Imperial vessel, the Galactic Republic Reclamation Fleet slipped away from the scene and into hyperspace, diving farther into the outer rim as they attempted to disappear and plane their next move.

[Transoxthraxia]

Kala'uun
Ryloth
Siq came out of her trance shocked, but with a glimmer of hope. I had felt someone, she thought to herself. Not something - someone. Not wanting to waste any time, she began preparing herself for the day. Reflecting on her surroundings and her future, Siq thought about the time she had spent on Ryloth. It hadn't been anything special - indeed, there had been many better places that she had experienced, many places that weren't so uncomfortably hot - and truth be told, she actually missed Coruscant.

Looking around her tiny, dingy apartment, she thought of what she had sensed while meditating. Siq having received even a small proof that someone else - a Jedi of some sort - may be alive put her anxious soul at ease.

The darkness of her single-room domicile sprung her into action. The tiny, windowless apartment had been given to her rent-free, from a Twi'lek Jedi sympathizer by the name of Zek'dise. Zek'dise had lost family members to the Separatists, and certainly was no fan of the new so-called Empire, something which motivated him to actually help Siq. Grateful for any free residence, especially one as discreet at what Zek'dise was offering, Siq rarely, if ever, left the apartment complex in the underground city. Zek'dise would swing by every other week to drop by food and whatever entertainment or reading material the Twi'lek could drum up for the ex-Padawan, including a lot of reading material. Some of it was in Ryl - the native language of Ryloth, and sometimes Zek'dise would even stay for an hour or two to help teach Siq the language. She was about a quarter of the way through an amatuer history of pre-Republic slavery on the planet, all written in Ryl. Not an easy read, but fascinating, nonetheless. Or at least, she thought so, if she was reading it correctly.

However, three weeks ago, Zek'dise had mentioned that he would be heading off-planet to visit family who lived on Tatooine. Siq had secretly wanted to go with him - she was feeling claustrophobic, shut away in a small apartment in an underground city. Besides, he was the only person that Siq knew on Ryloth. Despite Zek'dise's assurances that a friend of his would be maintaining his route and no questions would be asked - the friend still hadn't shown. At first, Siq made do. She rationed, stretched her food supply out as long as she could. But she was running low even on the dried, jerky-like rycrit meat that she hated.

Out of a combination of desperation for food and the boredom of being shut in her tiny apartment-box, she decided that she would leave her apartment and explore the market sectors of Kala'uun, to feed herself, if nothing else. Having a brief shower, and changing into her disguise, she could feel her heart pounding so strongly that it felt as if it would jump right out of her chest. Despite being far from the Galactic Core, and thus the grasp of prying Imperial eyes, Ryloth was still a major population center, and was fast becoming a hub for Imperial traffic in the area. Her hiding spot wouldn't last forever, that she knew - but leaving her apartment would mean risking an early end to her refuge. But with no supplies in sight, she'd rather risk everything than starve in a dark, windowless box.

Fastening her helmet to disguise her unusual blue skin, she looked toward her lightsaber, sitting on her dresser. Largely unused for the better part of a year, her eyes looked it up and down once, before she made the call. I'll take it with me, just in case, she thought to herself. Grabbing the saber, she stuffed it beneath her robed disguise, well out of sight. She took a deep breath, and then walked out into Kala'uun.

[United Islands of Polis]

Ex-Lieutenant Cornelius Mors
Kala'uun
Gaulus Sector

Cornelius was forced to transfer to Kala'uun for two reasons. One, he could not haggle for a good price on a fusion cutter and plastoid. Two, all the manifests in the main trading hub. Luckily for him he remembered that there was another available place to get manifests, schedules, fusion cutters, and plastoid from somewhere else. After informing ATC, Cornelius was able to land the shuttle, however he did see the light presence of clone troopers, forcing Cornelius to not wear his helmet but keep it hooked onto his utility belt, hidden in his cloak.

"No markings, so they're not from any well known legions, either that or they've started 'standardizing' themselves." Cornelius thought to himself.

After waling around in the Kala'uun markets, he reminisced the one time he was on a mission to either kill or capture Wat Tambor, the deal was if the Jedi had reached him first it was to be their merit. THey had stayed on Ryloth for the better part of a week, a few days prior to the invasion force led by Master Windu, then a few days during the invasion up until his capture. An important lesson was learned then, interrogating droids is about as fruitful as attempting to eat a rock.

Entering a shop, Cornelius looked around for what he needed until he found it, a rather good shape, second hand fusion cutter. "Hey chief, how much for this?"

"250 credits." the Twi'lek store owner replied back.

"250 credits?! Like hell I'd pay money like that for a new cutter. 125 credits." Cornelius bargained back.

"200 credits, I have to make a living too, clone." the owner barked back.

"Clone? Oh I see, I'm not a photocopy. 175 credits, that's the base price for a new one." Cornelius fired back.

"225 credits, take it or leave it." the store owner put down his last bargain.

"No. You got any spare plastoid?" Cornelius put the cutter back.

"I don't sell scraps, try the next street over." the store owner gestures across the other structures.

Leaving the store, Cornelius had to wade through the people while trying to keep a distance from whatever sparse clone trooper patrols were about. He was by no means a wanted criminal by record since he never existed in Republic Intelligence files, but he was still very wary and paranoid of being recognized.

A year ago he wouldn't be used to the people asking to buy their wares or people begging him for alms or something else. But now he's all too used to it now, ignoring most and waving off some to stop trying. Eventually getting to an alleyway where he could cross into the next street, Cornelius goes ahead and dives into it. It was full of people selling things again, from street foods to more wares. Maybe he'd come by and check this place again on his return trip back to the air pads.

Eventually however while looking around, Cornelius had collided with a smaller person clad in a black coat sporting a fully enclosed helmet of the same color. Cornelius had also noticed that his helmet had fallen out of his utility belt and was now near the feet of the person he had just bumped. Rushing over in a bit of a hidden panic, hoping no clone patrol had seen it, he picked it up and re-attached the helmet to his utility belt, hidden away from the world again.

"You alright there, friend? You know by any chance where to buy a fusion cutter for an agreeable price?" Cornelius asks the person he just bumped into as they try to recover from the hit.

[Ralnis]

Lab 009,
Underground Kazark

The Super Tactical Droid was walking down with three other normal droids along the sleek hallways of the underground laboratory. Built on the backs of repurpose battle droids that were more trusted than the slave power used to build the droids needed to sell on the black market and to build their own droid forces.

Logically it meant they had the resources of the black market and the production for it however they hated the idea. The very use of organics as manpower to build their soldiers was against their beliefs of the Council. The very idea was for them to protect organic life against such things but without the droid facilities of the CIS they must deal with it. Vinnie didn’t like that the Slavers Cooperative was treating their fellow organics that way but they kept up with the increasing demand for various droids and their needs for manpower.

It was time like this that made the sapient droids wish they didn’t wish to have their photoreceptors opened to the galaxy. As they got closer to the fourth tactical droid, Vinnie had started to see the various templates of experimental droid skeletons going through testing. Many were physical stresses and simulated environment adaption as much they can on a tight budget.

“Already the budget for these droids will be more than the B1s. Which, I must say, are nothing more than expensive astromechs.” A mechanical voice, but one with a duros voice spoke.

“Sunry,” Vinnie said in a stereotypical human gangster voice,”how goes the testing and the kid?”

“Very interesting boss.” The droid comes to the window,”stress testing of the skeleton has been going very well. The new test has allowed me to reinforce the kinks but we are still able to make the damn model be more than capable for what’s needed.”

As Sunry speaks he moves to another room where a commando droid is racing one of the skeletons with a B1 and B2 Battle droid. The B1s and B2s are slower than the skeleton but the skeleton was slower than the commando droid. The very movement however came in the way that the skeleton was more fluid. It seemed that it was mimicking humanoid movement. It had extra parts in the small sections, each were moving parts such as elbows, knee caps and the like.

The very sight of a skeleton was something completely different from the skeleton of the normal battle droids. If the droids had any physical ability to express interest, they would be very interested in what they see.

“It seems that you are making strides but when will they be ready for seeding and fitting it with a kit?” The droid gangster asked.
“Hmm, about a month or two depending on the logistics. My logic drives are still trying to study the kid and how their own kit can be made en masse. Speaking of which, let me show you the development of him.” He motions them to follow.

“Him? It already has given itself a gender now?” One of the other droids, it had a deeper human voice, asked.

“That and even a designation for itself.”

He leads them to beyond double doors and even a little further to show a large room. It was a circular design that had racks of weapons from blasters to vibroswords and staves. There were two droids sparring with vibroswords. One droid was a commando droid that had the advantage of speed and skill against the other one but it wasn’t truly one-sided. The other was an entirely different droid.

The droid looked different, at the same height and with a slightly heavier build then the droid itself. It held the vibrosword with five fingers instead of the standard three. It had the same skeleton to that of the one getting tested in the earlier rooms but it had an armor chais that was sleeker and layered in three from the chest and the mid area. There was more armor than the commando and it had many blade scratches on the chestplate.

The battle between the two was not at all one sided but the more heavier droid was on the backfoot. The tactical droids watch each parry, slice, and thrust that the droids did as they danced around the room. After a few minutes Sunry pressed on the terminal in front of the window and activated the comms.

“IR-47, you can stop sparring with the droid. Come up and see the boss!”

The fighting stopped when the tactical spoke and the droid walked up to the hyperlift to the floor and came to meet the taller droids. It stood and put it’s clenched fist towards the left side of it’s scratched chassis and bowed.

“High Father Vinnie! It is a true honor to have the Creator of the Council in front of me. Such a blessing that my circuits are overjoyed!”

“Woah, woah there kid.” Vinnie held up his metallic hands,” no need to be like that. I just…” He turns to Sunry,” does the kid always do this?”

“I swear this is new, it happened only 3 months back.” Sunry held his hands up in surrender.

“Even still, it’s strange for a droid to have such a personality. This...zealotry is unique for someone who got seeded.” A deep voice tactical droid said.

“He isn’t that bad Scav. I mean he has a lot of love for his creators. Who wouldn’t show some love?” Sunry asked Scav.

“That,” Scav points to IR-47,”is not a normal personality to me. Such a personality would be a detriment to our cause. If we want droid rights we can’t have this.”

“How can you say such a thing in front of the kid?” Sunry walked up to him only to be stopped by their leader.

“Enough of this both of yas. We aren’t going to argue about the dynamics of the seeding. We shouldn’t be trying to denounce the personality of IR-47. We should try to be good caretakers to him.”

“Uhmm, I’m sorry Fathers if I have caused you any stress.” IR-47 bowed in the face of the group.

“No, no kid. You didn’t do anything wrong it;s just something new we haven’t seen before. If anything, you are the best thing that has happened to us and you fall right within our plans.”

“Of course High Father!” The young droid beams up and clasp his hands together,” you and the rest of the Father’s plans are the best for our kind and to make sure the Council helps the rights of the droids in the galaxy!”

“Of course kid!” Vinnie spoke with a bit of some charm,”you are all part of the grand plan that will help the Council become the first successful droid nation in this galaxy. You know that right?”

IR-47 nods,”Of course High Father! I am the template for the OH-series of droids that will be the guardians and people of the Council. With it, we will be the ones who protect the organics better than anyone else in the galaxy.”

Vinnie was still taken aback by the zealotry of the response but he kept his cool.”That’s right kid! You will be the very progenitor of the great OH-series that is being made. Better than whatever the Droid Army had or any droid that ever existed in the modern era.”

Even with the nod of arrogance that came from the super tactical droid and the other lesser forms the pride that came from the advanced droid for his Fathers were something of worth. Sunry gave the rest of the Council the diagnostic on IR-47 and the advanced droid answered everything and did the intelligence and saipence tests that were designed for the droid.

The intelligence and saipence test were different from normal droids. They usually are to designate the type of droid based on intelligence and understanding for their master’s commands when given. To IR-47, these tests were more than just understanding of commands and usage of tools. These tests were the understanding of culture and the ability to create. One of the main tests that Sunry would give the droid was to create art and to appreciate creativity. To produce art and to understand what was his intent of making it. Vinnie had noticed that the droid was getting progressively better at coping and mixing various art styles in the galaxy but was far from making his own.

The art itself shows the society of Karazak and the crime utopia it was. Another showed the supposed future where the droids of his brethren are made and help liberate the entire planet from crime. Vinnie had noticed this and thought that it would be wise to speak to the kid about this but all things were interrupted when Scav called everyone to the Council chambers.

The trip up to the upper levels on the underground tunnels that dot the slaver capital world was not as bad as usual. This came from the fact that the sentient droids mapped out the tunnels and made hidden passageways and tunnels that they can move freely and build the necessary facilities for their research.

The Council chambers weren't entirely modest. It was lined with luxury items that were bought on the black market. Commando droids and Super battle droids patrol the very grounds as the four came together and stood at their four podiums with Scav being last.

“Sorry for calling everyone boss but we just got a signal.” Scav said as he played it.

“Gehena? Another Super Tactical Droid survived the deactivation? That’s a surprise knowing that she had a 52% in being destroyed during the Battle of Coruscant.” Vinnie said.

“Not to mention that most super tactical droids could ignore the order I would think, boss.” Sunry chimed in.

“Of course we can, we would believe that the shutdown code is some Republican ruse if anything, but to know that it wasn’t would make somebody say something. But if another one of us survived with a fleet then that’s a great boon.” Vinnie said with some hint of pride in his fellow super tactical droid.

“Well boss, what do we do about this? I mean this message was blasted on a galactic scale. Not all of the holdouts we know of don’t have a fleet, let alone droids so they aren’t worth the effort of messaging. Also many of the former Seperatist navy had fallen in the hands of criminals or the Empire for melting down and recycling.” Scav thought out loud.

“I agree,” the Omikron leader looked at his lesser,” we can’t trust that there won’t be other groups looking to profit off of this or the Empire sending in their agents to dismantle this gathering before it becomes a threat. They already have destroyed what’s left of the Trade Federation fleet and we could be stepping into a trap or even Gehena herself.”

He gave it a thought then continued,” Scav, I want you on this detail. Get a platoon of disguised commandos and a smuggling ship with transponder codes that are kept from anywhere in this sector.”

“I know how to do this and got just the droids. Just got themselves modified and updated so they need a good shakedown. I’m also going to have the relay between me and the rest of us so that we can be able to handle this.”

“Just be careful with that one Scav, just because we don’t use old CIS comm links doesn’t mean we can’t still be hacked. If there’s anything wrong I want you to shut off from the network and have the commandos run their OS systems.”

“I know Vinnie, you don’t have to tell me this every time I suggest it. We may not all be Super versions of tactical droids, but we still get the job done.”

“I...I know, it’s logical for me to trust you more but it’s still my job as the boss and the general to make sure that every droid is taken care of. This isn’t the Droid Army where you are just manufactured and sent to die in the frontlines.There’s not even enough numbers where such things are an issue.”

“Don’t think we don’t know that boss. You may be the superior model and all that but we are just as capable of independent leadership. Part of that reason is that we were given free-will and creativity. But I will do what is needed to make sure we can understand the situation and see what we can do with it.” Scav reassured.

“Very well, I’ll leave it in your servos. Bo’dul!” He turns to the droid on the furthest left,” How are the talks going with those Pantoran Expansionists?”

“It has been going good so far,” a female Twi'lek voice came from the droid,” those of the more outlier rouge elements of their Assembly into feeding their black market but a true trade deal is still in the works. I will be doing a talk with the Baron Mi’cho within the next three days to discuss what we can do for his party and try to dispel some of the fears since we are still a relative unknown in the sector.”

“Good work as always Bo’dul! I’m surprised that the Baron has even decided to make an actual talk then just doing it between agents like he usually does.” Vinnie asked.

“It’s only natural boss.” The tactical droid with some pride,”we are the biggest fleet in the sector and have conquered one of the biggest centers of underworld trade in nearly three sectors in only a few months. We haven’t done anything but raise the tension of the local sector powers, including the Assembly.” The female droid explains

“I know the situation of what we have done. I’m just stating that they would take longer to truly bring to the table without having to force them to do so. I guess their reliance on Republican trade was that much.” The super tactical droid looks outward at the information.

“Understand boss that the expansionists are still the weakest of the three factions. The Patoran people still believe in trying to find trade either with the Empire or with someone else except for the local criminal elements in this sector. Such elements were part of their local history and have marked them greatly. I can respect them for their resolve if anything.” The droid responded.

“Yeah, if only they didn’t put themselves in the corner with the delegation of 2000. However I want you to handle that in the Council’s name and see what you can grab from the political party. If we can get more of a foothold on that planet and the system without barring guns on them is better for all of us.” Vinnie ordered.

“As it is Boss.”

“Alright, then everyone knows what to do. Sunry, we need to talk with IR-47 though. Might want to teach the kid some things about our goals and see how he responds. Other than that this meeting is closed.”

After they all leave to their duties Vinnie was left in his thoughts. Already the droid’s mind had been sent towards Gehena and the other possibilities of other Super Tactical Droids that had survived the shut down and perhaps contact them. They wouldn’t know what has happened in the galaxy and it would be his goal to help his fellow droid. Though this means that others would be looking their way as well.

He also had the mind to update the information of the holdouts to give to Gehena as a means of establishing some grounds. Already Scav had thought of the idea as well and perhaps was running through the logic for delivering said information without being compromised. Even if he delivered the information Gehena probably isn’t even free-thinking like the rest of the droids here are. She runs on programmed logic that has been running ever since the end of the War and Vinnie wouldn’t know how her logic drives still worked as intended to their model makeup.

All of these were variabilities that all the droids in the Council perhaps ran through and Vinnie was no different. Even if he was the most superior droid in the organization he still had to remind himself that every one of the droids are still trying to understand what their free will is and the absolute need to hide it from the local organics.

The Empire destroying the last of the Trade Federation and their navy was a clear reminder of how close the threat was to them. Droids don’t know fear usually but they didn’t need to put a lot of processing speed into knowing the need for secrecy. Even this navy and the sector they’re aiming to conquer was completely meaningless in the eyes of the Empire. It was this case that they aim to keep it so they can focus on their goals.
Though every year, the chance of that going away was getting higher and Vinnie needed to be ready for whenever that were to happen. For now the goals were already in place and time was all that was needed to work.

[Atlannia]

Northshore Spaceport, Kalgan, Aurora System, Auroran Sector

Some of the more spiritual inhabitants of the Free City of Northshore, the administrative capital of the planet of Kalgan and the only city on the world notable enough to have a full Spaceport, would say that it is an auspicious sign that a newcomer to the Aurora system would touch down on one of Dawnlight's moons on just the right day to see one of the most breathtaking visages the Sector had to offer, which Northshore only saw perhaps three days a year.

The Dawn Ring.

It was perhaps two or three hours after Kirin stepped out of the intensive scrutiny of the Customs Service when Kalgan's orbit took it into Dawnlight's shadow, the skies turned first a vibrant violet, then much darker as Aurora's warm glow hid behind Dawnlight's purple bulk. Then, Dawnlight dominated the sky. The planet itself was also dark, a black patch hiding the stars behind it, but around it... around the planet, Dawnlight's atmosphere lit up under the light that it received but denied to the world behind it.

It looked as if a shining purple ring was inscribed into the stars.

Perhaps something metaphorical could be said about the event, something something Jedi padawan being on the run only to run out of sunlight, something something the darkness taking over the world, something something an eye in the heavens that sees all and lets none hide.

Or perhaps something rather different, a reminder that even in the depths of darkness there is always a beacon of light.

The streetlights sparked on. It made for a strange sight to those who was unused to living on a moon, men and women going about their normal daytime businesses, having lunch on the streetside cafes, people in everything from rags to uniforms rushing about in some hurry, even as the world fell in darkness as if it was night, bringing the nighttime chill with it.

The commercial traffic that the Sector saw was concentrated in its largest spaceport, the Soundstead Spaceport on planet Lystena, to which small tugboats delivered fuel and minerals from across the Sector and from which the same tugboats delivered the comforts and luxuries of the greater Galaxy. The military traffic, the vast warships of the Imperial Navy that even now was rumoured to be preparing for some renewed campaign across the stars, those tended to be more interested in the military base at Comporellon.

But there was a third type of traffic, which dominated Kalgan and her Northshore Spaceport. The Auroran Sector was not on a major hyperspace lane, which meant few people passed through the Sector en route to somewhere else, but was very close to one, which made it a convenient stopping point nonetheless. Ships suffering unexpected maintenance failures came here for repairs and spare parts. Ships harassed by the many criminals and petty warlords that so infested the Outer Rim came here for replacement crews or to hire escorts. Those lucky enough to have nothing unfortunate befall them on their own voyages, well, for them hypermatter was a fraction of the cost here, where it was produced and refined in bulk, than it was in the larger commerce-dominated planets lucky enough to be positioned on hyperlane junctions and intersections.

It was perhaps no surprise, then, that services around Northshore Spaceport tended to cater to a more rougher sort of clientele than the posh affairs of Lystena. Mechanics and deckhands, stewardesses and independent traders of speedy merchant ships or aging cargo vessels needed some fresh, ground-side food in their stomachs, a solid bed in an actual building behind their backs, and entertainment that couldn't be found on a small ship no less than the wealthy businessmen, holidaygoers, and the like that stepped off passenger liners.

Perhaps one could say that it was a practical sort of city and a practical sort of planet compared to its neighbours closer to Dawnlight. Here, function was valued over form, substance over hot air, for who had time for nonsense under the world's harsh and chilling mountain winds?

Here, a place could be found for anyone with an experienced pair of working hands.

Kirin had spent enough time on ships and different planets that the sudden disruption to the planet's day and night didn't really put her off guard, though she supposed it was striking, beautiful even. The observation came to Kirin idly, as though someone else had noticed it and passed on the information but not the feeling of it. Kirin had been noticing this feeling more and more whenever she was planetside. It receded into the back of her mind among the quiet vacuum of mind, where the meditative tasks of repair work dominated her attention but on land, surrounded by life and the living Kirin's mind was free to wonder and she was able to notice the troubling sense of distance Kirin felt between herself and the things around her. What had been the first one? Kymeri? No, Miraveen. A stunning ocean where trace minerals light enough to be pulled up by the tropical storms caused near planet wide rainbows of dizzying variety and brilliance; the clones had been awestruck; Kirin even fancied that she had seen the battle droids looking up at them from time to time.

And she had felt nothing.

The separatists had been dug on Miraveen and their patient fortifications and saturated air defence had forced Kirin's master to lead her and his troops on exhausting forced marches through the jungle to loop around the droid positions to strike at the few chinks in their defences. The campaign had lasted weeks and mere days into it Kirin felt numb to anything except tactical considerations: how to fight, destroy, refuel her body to the barest level needed to keep moving and do it all over again.

Kirin's stomach rumbled as she caught a whiff of something spicy and savoury on what was now the cool, night air, cutting her reverie short.

This is pointless Kirin told herself firmly. I should get something to eat. Some real food and an actual bed and I'll feel better.

---

Kirin followed her nose away from the Spaceport, but not too far, she wanted somewhere that catered to people like her, or people like who she was pretending to be at least. Any inn or bar this close to the spaceport would be relying on space crews and other rough and tumble sorts for their business which meant Kirin would blend in nicely in her grease covered clothes and she might be able to pick up some leads on her next job. From experience Kirin knew captains tended to have much less stringent hiring criteria when they were heavily intoxicated or on a hot streak at the card table.

The Night Flyer was exactly the kind of establishment Kirin had been looking for. The little hotel was a bit rundown and jaunty, faintly sleazy music leaked out , but not so obviously shady that Kirin was worried some fool would try to rob or abduct her because she was small and female; earthy rather than outright underground. Kirin slipped in through the double doors of the hotel and found an empty stool at the bar. Inside the establishment was doing brisk business but it was not so crowded that Kirin felt claustrophobic nor did she have to wait long for someone to take her order. Kirin picked out a cheap local dish she did not recognise but was willing to gamble on and a flagon of crappy mead that was more intended as a prop for blending in than as an actual refreshment.The bartender hesitated at serving alcohol to someone so young until Kirin silently doubled his tip and then he shrugged, served her her drink and left her in peace to people watch and eavesdrop. Kirin centred her ornamental drink in front of her and focused on her hearing, trying to fish out discrete morsels of information from the sea of chatter.

The clientele was pretty much what Kirin had expected: burly spacers, tired looking travelling merchants and a smattering of locals who probably worked as labourers at the port itself. As much as such people would have been dreaming of their short stint on solid ground their talk inevitably drifted back to the stars and their ships. The talked of what cargoes they had taken and where (mostly bringing in food or other organic products that the cool, local climate had difficulty producing to swap for the cheap local fuel); they talked of which planets had been raising tariffs and which had been lowering them (The former nearly everywhere, the latter had become more or less entirely mythical since the start of the clone wars) and where it was rumoured pirates or other threats were likely to strike.

It was this last topic that seemed to be receiving the most animated and urgent discussion. The details being thrown around kept changing from patron to patron, which probably meant no one really knew what they were talking about but there seemed to be a broad consensus that some kind of large scale ambush had taken place within the Aurora sector itself, hitting a heavily armed convey of uncertain origins and cargo. A heavily intoxicated twilek captain was insisting two ambushes had actually occurred in quick succession, but no one else seemed to be willing to sign onto this idea yet so Kirin dismissed it for now. One ambush was news enough, it was hard to know what to conclude about the event with actual facts so thin on the ground but Kirin wondered if the proximity to Empire day was not coincidental. Maybe someone out there was taking pains to try and make the Emperor's sudden rise to power less of a fait accompli. More directly relevant to Kirin, she could already here some crew members sounding skittish about the idea of taking off. Piracy was a fact of life for any ship's crew but the Aurora sector had been considered relatively safe from such perils and Kirin could already hear some captains complaining about crew that wanted to stay planet-side for the time being.

It might not be too hard to find my next job Kirin thought to herself as her food arrived. After all Kirin wasn't particularly concerned about falling into an ambush, after everything that had happened it might be what she deserved.