=I Am Empire= [Maintenance | Closed]

[Thrashia]

OOC Note: This is meant to be an in-character national maintenance thread for the Empire of Thrashia. As it is closed for outside posting, unless I specifically give permission, please refrain from posting. Questions may be directed via telegram.

Date System
ICly speaking the Empire of Thrashia has recently changed galaxies, uprooting it's citizens to try and find a safer place in the greater universe. Starting from the day in which the first migration fleets arrived at their new home in the Beta Quadrant of the Milky Way Galaxy, a new calendar was adopted as well as a dating system. This system is known as the 'New Imperial Era', with the year starting at '1'. It then goes by day-month-year. Such that [23.4.001] would be the twenty-third day of the fourth month of the first year of the New Imperial Era.

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Current and Active Threads & Additional Links

In Pursuit of Knowledge

• A science, exploration, and diplomatic character rp where my empire is sending out Trek-like missions to explore the new Beta Quadrant and beyond.

Birthed of Tragedy and Violence

• A personal character rp that is developing details about my nation on a PoV perspective, exploring my use of 'the Force' from SW in my nation, and developing PCs that are important for future stories and rps on NS.

Beyond Borders and Schadenfreude

• Just recently finished (in most terms), was this RP where the Empire of Thrashia had intended to annex former territories belonging to the North Mackian Empire, that had fallen into chaos due to galaxy-wide migrations and piratical activity. After helping to fend off said pirates, the resurgent North Mackians were given back their planetary system.

The Grand Migration - The New Era

• The thread where my nation ICly makes its way back into the Beta Quadrant for the first time in (IC) centuries as a major power.

A Friendly Visit

• A diplomatic thread between the Thrashian Empire and several other powers within the Beta Quadrant.

Red Moon Rising

• An outbreak of the Karax virus erupts in an Imperial border system.

Thrashia's IIwiki Page

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Territory & Maps

Map of the Thrashian Empire's Major Systems and Sectors

Imperial Naval Headquarters | Macht-Bastion City | New Bastion/Imperial Center
23.1.001 NIE

Admiral Ishin Koga took off his service cap and tucked it into his belt. Most of the officers filing into the room did likewise. It was summer time on this part of New Bastion and even with the air conditioning it was still humid. Admiral Chiraneau was visibly and profusely sweating. Koga smiled at his opposite number. “You'll get use to it, soon enough.”

“I'd rather be back aboard my ship,” grunted Chiraneau.

“No wonder the ground pounders make fun of us Navy guys,” smiled Koga, “We always want our climate-controlled starship bridges instead of anything else.”

“They're more than welcome to this swelter,” groused Chiraneau. The other, junior, officers around them all chuckled and made noises of agreement.

The briefing room had a holo-projector table in the center. Koga motioned to one of his men to get it online. Within moments, the New Bastion system was floating in mid-air before them. Koga nodded toward it and began his brief as the other officers began sitting in the raised seating surrounding the projector.

“So, here is the center of all our operations – our regional capital...well, I guess it's Imperial Center now,” began Koga. That garnered a small laugh from the officers. “New Bastion. It is in what has been designated as the R-V Sector. When we arrived in this Milky Way Galaxy, we adhered to a local tradition of dividing up the galaxy according to a grid system of mapping.”

As he spoke, the image of the New Bastion System was replaced with a galaxy wide, wide angle image – graph lines crisscrossing it. It zoomed in onto the R-V sector of space in what the projector was labeling the 'Beta Quadrant'.

“Surprisingly, while they have fewer sectors than we are use to back in the home galaxy, the density of systems within a single sector is much higher. Within the R-V sector alone, we have 20,349,000 star systems; but of those, only a little less than a few thousand have naturally habitable planets. If you check section A, sub-section 1-1 on your datapad brief packets, you'll find a list of them. We've colonized half of those within the R-V sector and patrol the other half regularly. The other systems are barren star systems - empty and useless for settlement, but good for industrial purposes.”

Chiraneau looked up from his datapad. “Two hundred star systems isn't going to be enough for proper settlement...not by a long shot. We've hundreds of trillions of beings that will be flooding into here.”

“Yes, we've been aware of that problem,” nodded Koga. The holomap increased in size, showing surrounding sectors of space around the R-V Sector. “Which is why we've also mapped out and investigated nearby sectors of space. If you will, gentlemen and gentlewomen, check through Section B of your brief packets, you'll see the number of sectors, habitable systems each contains, etc.”

“Eleven full sectors...” Chiraneau was impressed. “On average 500-1,000 habitable systems, a further five thousand that could be made habitable with terraforming...this could work.”

“In terms of settlement, yes, and the new Settlement Bureau can handle the fine details” agreed Koga. “But it makes our job that much more difficult, or at least more complex. Now, we've established regular patrols in all these sectors, predominantly with probe droids. Practically half of the Beta Quadrant has, by now, been seeded with holonet transceivers, so you could be in the next quadrant over and expect your message to reach New Bastion within a relatively short amount of time.”

“What about the ansible technology?” asked a vice admiral sitting next to Chiraneau. Lacroix was looking at Koga closely.

“We've all had it for some time, but haven't made use of it except in extreme situations,” replied Koga. “You knew this as well as we did, seeing as how it was old Parlim and then the Colonials who gave us that technology. We just simply haven't used it, except strategically.”

“We'll definitely be using it more,” said Chiraneau with finality. “What defensive plans have you formulated?”

“Each sub-sector, at least in the R-V sector, has a deep space, secretly located naval base. Think of it as a way station for the Navy forces in the area. They're quite nice, really. R&R facilities, stores, restaurants, bars -- you name it, they got it. But they also act as assembly areas. Each deep space station, DSS, has an Enemy Action Response Team – or EART – ready to go within less than thirty minutes. Those ships not on patrols, R&R, or refit usually take rotation as part of an EART.”

“And I assume it's been tested?”

“Down to the minute. We faced a few major incursions from a rogue migration of pirates, known as the Ravagers, recently. The EARTs managed to keep more than six colonies from being ransacked.”

“Casualties?”

“Minimal, mostly civilian ships that didn't run away in time. Each colony is provided with a planetary-grade shield generator in return for tax deductibles on Imperial goods sold to the colony. I'm told it's profitable in the long run. Either way, it forces a lot of enemy forces to face us in space.”

“We won't be able to count on that for the near future,” said Vice Admiral Lacroix. “We don't have nearly enough stock to give each planet we settle a shield generator. At least not on the planetary-grade.”

“It was something we expected,” countered Koga, as if he had been waiting for the vice admiral to voice these words. “And have therefore been furiously training the EARTs. With the addition of the entire Imperial Navy now in the Beta Quadrant, I'm quite confident that we can keep any planet from being subject to occupation – though they may suffer in the initial attack.”

Chiraneau nodded. “That will be unavoidable, unfortunately. But necessary for now. I applaud your efforts, Admiral Koga – you and your men have prepared well.” The officers around Chiraneau bobbed their heads in agreement and an impromptu round of applause broke out. Koga smiled and gave a dramatic bow, creating more chuckles.

Koga adjusted the holo-projector again. “If you look now in your brief at Section C...”

[Thrashia]

Imperial Palace | Bastion City | Bastion
21.4.005 NIE

"Please! Let me go! I didn't--."

A shock baton was placed into the back of the man, cutting short his protest. Two Imperial Guard members picked the man back up from where he had fallen to the floor. The vibrant crimson of the thick silk carpet beneath them meant that the man's fall was soundless. Beyond the edge of the carpet that led from the great doors three hundred meters behind them all the way to the throne topped dais. Sitting atop the throne with a calm, if severe, look upon her face was Empress Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo. Courtiers and various functionaries stood on the periphery of the throne room. To either side of the chamber where the carpet ended were great columns of green veined white marble. A veranda extended outwards from there, which left the throne room open to the wind that coursed through, keeping the spring air crisp and cool.

"Moff Erktana, you have been found guilty of high crimes -- most of which are Class A," said Empress Dheinalia.

As she spoke a small droid hovered next to the throne and projected a holo-screen. Upon it was displayed images of Moff Erktana. First was one showing him order a squad of arms-men to gun down several bound and kneeling people. The next showed the moff shaking hands with a scarred-faced man, a known criminal of the Zann Syndicate. Another showed the disfigured and unmoving corpses of two women who had been working as servants in the moff's palace upon the world that he had ruled. Bank statements showing money increases and cash exchanges that went far beyond the normal wages that a moff would normally accrue. Testimonies of citizens who had been forced out of homes due to the moff's agents declaring them criminals, making way for new building projects that favored the moff and his cronies. It was a litany of crimes.

The moff hung his head in silence.

"Have you anything further to say in this matter?" asked the Empress.

The moff glanced up, his eyes seething with hatred as he stared up at Dheinalia.

"For the crimes of rape, murder, piracy and theft of Imperial property, embezzlement of Imperial public funds, collusion with criminal syndicates, and more...I, Empress Dheinalia Vera Nuruodo, Ruler of the Thrashian Empire, and Sovereign of the Constituent Client Kingdoms, sentence you to death."

The Imperial Guard gripped the fallen moff tighter and turned around. They began to drag the man away, a small holonet cam-droid following along. He began to thrash around and yell, continuing to protest against the sentence. Those courtiers with enough bravery simply stared at the dragged felon with contempt. Those that perhaps had a guilty conscious for various reasons, looked elsewhere.

The sentence was far from harsh. When Dheinalia had first received reports about Moff Erktana's activities from her Imperial Seekers she had been shocked. She had always expected better from the Moffs of her Empire, especially since they were well paid and allowed to own private businesses -- so long as that did not violate any laws. The fact that Erktana's greed had sunken him so low as to become a murderer. Dheinalia turned her head slightly and spoke to the shadowed figure behind her throne. "Order an increase of surveillance on all moffs within the same sector. Increase efforts by the local ISB to take down any criminal enterprises therein." The shadow bowed it's head and then disappeared.

[Thrashia]

Vismanus Sector - Flare Up Of Pirate Groups, Fears Increasing

In the past two weeks the Vismanus Sector authorities have captured twenty-three individuals connected to the Zann Consortium, an illegal crime syndicate that originated in the Old Galaxy. In an operation designed to lure them out, Sector Authorities coordinated their efforts between the Imperial Navy and the Imperial Security Bureau. Five cargo ships of various size and description were impounded, their goods confiscated and detailed for destruction; the monetary value of the illegal cargo estimated at 30,000,000 or more. ISB Colonel Fritzgerald Nuone fielded questions by holonet journos at steps of the Sector Courthouse on Montressor. According to the announcements made there and the official press releases thereafter, this security operation has crippled the Consortium's efforts within the sector for some time to come. "I hope only that we can all remain vigilant," said Colonel Fritzgerald Nuone, "Never forget to report any wrongdoings you may happen to witness. Your local constabulary or ISB agents are always prepared to mete out justice."

It has raised many concerns among citizens, not only within the sector affected, but also within the empire at large. Almost without exception, Thrashians believe that violent crime is increasing. In the short run, they are right: Violent crime did increase between this time last year and in the immediate aftermath of the Grand Migration. But what really worries most people is not the short-run trend but their sense that violent crime has been climbing steadily for a long time and that the future will only bring further increases. Such worries are linked to anxiety about drugs, hedonism, academic scandals, the growth of a non-citizen underclass, and our collective inability to completely forget the tragedies of the Chaos War. Taken together, these fears have convinced many sensible people that Thrashian society is at a crossroads.

However, much remains strong. While the scale of violent crime has markedly decreased compared to the levels that had been within the Empire before the Grand Migration, the fact that it remains has encouraged many Thrashian citizens to act upon their consciences. Recruitment within the Imperial Security Bureau has exceeded it's quotas by a margin of 6% for the past three years running. The same trends are seen across all branches of the Imperial Military as well.





Second Orbital Ring Completed - New Kuat Celebrates!


In a ceremony marking the start of festivities Grand Moff Noventa and Imperial Baron Dorn van Kuat, CEO and owner of Kuat Drive Yards, cut the ribbons for entry by the general public of the second orbital yard ring to be placed above New Kuat. The new ring wraps around and above the former, older docking ring that had been transplanted from the Old Galaxy to here. Speaking with reporters after the ceremony Baron Kuat boasted of the increasing productivity of the Empire and how he (KDY) were helping to fuel that growth. "We've always been the primary supplier for the Imperial Military and general public. You're just not somebody unless you've got one of our craft taking you places," Dorn van Kuat's son, Jean van Kuat, said at the festivities. The young scion of the Kuat family name is currently the only heir of the KDY family fortune and operations. Speculation as to whether or not he would succeed his father were seemingly put to rest when last year the young man was made a member of KDY's board of directors. According to rumors, it was Jean van Kuat's persistence and drive that saw New Kuat's facilities increased two-fold.

Grand Moff Noventa declared that ceremony would mark the beginning of a new Imperial Holiday in the Praesidium Sector: "Construction Day". What all the new holiday will entail is yet to be released, but a three day holiday was declared by Imperial Writ from the office of the Grand Moff.

Others have speculated that it was foreign investment that helped fuel the expansion further. It is no secret, any longer, that a large consignment of ships had been built and sold to the Aumani within the Solarian Reaches. Rival companies such as Rendili Stardrive, Sienar Fleet Systems, and the Corellian Engineering Corporation have congratulated KDY on it's success -- though only slightly. Competition is ramping up, especially as these same rivals are constantly shifting about to increase sales and stamp their competition out within any given system, sub-sector, or sector.

"We'll see how things go," said Izax Rendal, CEO of Thrashia's CEC branch. "This is a day for KDY to strut it's stuff, but only for today."

New Kuat - Home Of Kuat Drive Yards

[Thrashia]

Colonial Republic-Imperial Bi-annual Military Exercises Commence

For the tenth year running, the Dornalian military has played host to an Imperial strike group and several other components of the Imperial Military for joint exercises between the two allied powers. Vice Admiral Jorj Tanbris of the Victorious is leading the Thrashian contingent, as well as Lieutenant General Bromhide of the Imperial Army and Commander Xeltarn of the 90th Clone Legion. More than four thousand Naval stormtroopers got their boots wet during the first day of the exercise as they stormed a heavily defended beach, their nefarious foe composed of Republic infantry and Imperial Army troopers that joined formations at the squad level. According to a spokesperson for the Imperial Military, at the Imperial Military Headquarters in Nova Bassilos, such exercises are a vital component of military readiness for the Empire as well as a great way to maintain strong ties between the Colonial Republic and the Empire.

"The Colonial Republic is one of the Empire's longest standing allies and the exercises are a tradition of cooperation between us," said Captain CT-2901, "Reverend" of the 90th Legion.

"It is," agreed Lt. Colonel Josephine Rodriguez, the Colonial Republic military attache that is based with the Dornalian embassy in Nova Bassilos.

Some pundits in the various HoloNews programs have expressed concern over the military expenditure for such "adventures" (as they claim them to be). However, such concerns hold little water as the entire function is funded jointly between the two nations so that the financial burden is not overwhelming for any that may be so concerned.

"These exercises represent a continuing commitment to supporting a major ally in the Beta Quadrant, as well as a continuing reminder of the CRE's commitments vis-a-vis other more potentially aggressive powers," continued Colonel Rodriguez.

This allusion to the well known threat of the Welded, a fanatical scourge upon the galaxy at large, is not one missed by anyone at these exercises or back on Nova Bassilos.

Stormtroopers of the 12th Naval Storm Regiment assaulting the beaches on the tropical world of Pendleton.
Some complained of food tasting strange as an after affect of being hit by stun bolts.

Imperial Foreign Ministry Hosts Diplomatic Summit

Led by the esteemed Foreign Minister Tiaan Jerjerrod, the Empire is currently hosting more than half a dozen star nations of the Beta Quadrant. Rumors abound as for the cause of the sudden summit, though many speculate that it has much to do with the recent skirmish coreward of the Empire's territory regarding the Precursor device that was discovered there. With many new conflicts arising within the quadrant, as well as rumors of war in neighboring quadrants, the Empress has made clear that the Empire needs to tighten it's borders and strengthen bonds with new and old friends alike. The Galactic Commerce Corridor union has been one of the driving factors toward cooperation between our newly arrived Empire and the other star nations of the galaxy that reside near our borders. Though it has not been widely published or noted, the GCC trade show that was funded by the Imperial Foreign Ministry was a less than stellar success. Many of the Foreign Ministry's detractors believe that this may be a new attempt by the Foreign Ministry to silence it's critics.

[Thrashia]

Residential Wing, Imperial Palace | New Bastion


Empress Dheinalia breathed a small sigh, allowing herself to relax as she walked back into the residential wing of the palace. No courtiers or government functionaries were allowed in this area, only the personal servants of the Imperial Family and their guardians. The decoration was glorious in a rote kind of fashion, appealing to an expectation of ostentation that one had when walking through the personal living quarters of a monarch's palace. The only difference though was the enormous amount of artwork that filled the walls, table tops, and niches. Exquisite pieces from over a thousand different cultures filled the area, many of which had been donated or bought at personal expense. Dheinalia felt a deep melancholy when she allowed herself to dwell on the artwork, especially those pieces that had been chosen to reside near where her son's rooms were. A fire crystal sculpture from Corellia stood to either side of the ante chamber, filled with an eternal pulse of shivering fire. The formation of the crystals were not immobile, as the name 'sculpture' would suggest, but were rather formed from a unique substance indigenous to the Corellian System. Dheinalia's husband, Thrawn, had never quite figured out how to replicate it with other materials.

She paused in the doorway, looking at one. At that moment it was shaped like a blooming orchid, with tongues of red-yellow material arching high above it, as if an explosion had launched them outwards. According to what her husband had once said, the fire crystals reacted to the emotions of those that looked upon them the longest. Dheinalia shook off her revery and stepped into her son's apartments. His bedchamber door was open, but his private study's was nearly closed.

As she stepped up to the door and brought her hand to the handle (an archaic method of opening that she had chosen for her son's apartments personally) and paused. A familiar voice, melodic in it's syncopation and tone, came from beyond the cracked door.

The voice of a dead person, of a ghost. It was the voice of her deceased husband, Mitth'raw'nuruodo.

She peaked in and saw that her son was seated upon a meditation couch with his legs crossed. Before her son was a holoprojector, showing a life-sized representation of the Chiss male that had been the love of her life and the father of her son. Tanaris seemed engrossed in the recording and did not hear the door open slightly wider.

"-these are but a few important points to remember, my son," said the ghostly image of the dead Chiss grand admiral. It was a programmed recording, designed by Thrawn when he had decided to help out the Imperial Academy years and years before. It recorded a great deal of his thoughts and ideas, tactics and strategy, and a special recording had been created by Thrawn before his death. Dheinalia hated him a little bit for that. It was typical of that male to have prepared something in the event of his own death. He had never spared himself from harm's way when it came to combat. The fact that his sacrifice had saved the Empire, if not the entire galaxy, was small recompense for the time and comfort it robbed from her and Tanaris.

"How should I learn from them in the moment, father?" Tanaris asked. His voice was steady and calm, unusually so for a young being of only eleven cycles age.

The hologram of Grand Admiral Thrawn adopted an all too familiar pose: one hand cupping the elbow while the supported hand went to rest under the chin, a contemplative look. The hand gestured outwards with confidence.

"Look upon every enemy action as a revelation. Every attack and maneuver discloses motive, means, and intent. Should the foe's strike be successful, unless it results in your defeat, it is now the most detailed knowledge in your possession of the enemy's tactics, weapons and strength. Remember that the enemy is also learning from you. It is the consciousness of this accumulation of knowledge that becomes the critical point. The commander who's understanding is swiftest, and most finely developed, will turn the enemy's strength into a weakness and thus achieve victory."

Tanaris seemed to absorb this and nodded.

From where she stood she could see a slight profile to her son. The line of his chin was a mirror to that of his father's. Tanaris' jaw was set in a way that indicated determination. It made her motherly heart swell with pride to see him so.

"Is that why you always studied their artwork?"

"It was one avenue to understanding the multitude of other paths into an enemy's psyche, society, and likely action," replied the hologram.

"Should I do the same? I'm not sure if I will understand things the way you did."

"Experimentation is to be encouraged. Limits will always be exactly that -- limits. Never accept them as the norm and always seek to expand them, but an eye toward the practical implications."

"I see. Thank you...father."

The hologram paused and did not immediately reply. Dheinalia was speechless for a moment, as she saw an open expression come across the recording of her dead husband. There was a look of sorrow upon that noble brow and a set to the mouth that, for Dheinalia who had known him so well in life, she knew to be consternation -- frustration.

"I am but a recording of your father, Tanaris Nuruodo. A program. I am not a replacement, but a teaching tool. But I am programmed with a special message for you from your father. If you are to hear it, you must speak the command override. Otherwise it will not be accessible to you until you have reached sixteen years of age."

Dheinalia gasped aloud, shocked at that knowledge. She had a recording that had been made on the battlefield, a last farewell from her lover and friend, but had no knowledge that he had prepared something for their child.

Tanaris turned. His red-tinted eyes shined in the low light of the study. "Mother! I didn't hear you enter. Are you OK?"

Dheinalia smiled at her son, small crystals of tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes.

"Of course I'm fine. I'm just surprised to see you studying so late."

Tanaris frowned and looked down at her feet, a sure sign that he was feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry, Mother. I...I would have turned the program off if I knew you were here. I don't want you to be in pain."

Dheinalia swept forward and hugged her son tight. He accepted it with all the aplomb any young boy his age might -- warm at first and then with a sudden embarrassed realization that he was 'too old for that sort of thing'. She let him out of the hug but kept her hands on the sides of his face, kneeling down to sit next to her son so that they were face-to-face. She glanced at the recording. The hologram figure was unmoving and it's dull eyes seemed to be looking over her and Tanaris' heads. She looked back at her son and smiled.

"It is never painful for me to see your father's image, Tanaris. When I learned that he'd left behind this training program for you I was shocked, but pleased. He was always thinking ahead and more clever than the rest of us. If he left a message for you in the program then it is your choice when to accept it, or to wait until the appointed time," she said.

Tanaris nodded.

"Then I guess I will wait. There are several more modules for me to go through in the training program. I don't think I want to hear the message until I finish them."

"I guess you might become wise and clever enough to match him," Dheinalia said, a single tear slipping free to fall down her cheek.

She hugged Tanaris again and then stood up.

"Now come along! It's time for dinner and I know the kitchen staff have made your favorite bantha steak pie for the main course."

They left the room and Dheinalia paused at the door. She turned back to meet the holographic gaze of her dead husband.

"End program."

[Thrashia]

Imperial Naval Officer Academy | New Carida


The collection of officers within the auditorium ran the full gamut of ranks. Most were newly minted captains and a few commanders, cycling back to the NOA for training to soon take command of their own ships or act as executive officers aboard larger capital ships than what they had formerly served aboard. There were whispered conversations; discussions about recent deployments to the Vismanus Sector, scuttlebutt revolving around a recent scandal involving an admiral and a popular HoloDrama starlet, and other smaller details about the previous lecture. All of the voices quieted down almost instantly when Senior Instructor Qarmack stepped in.

The senior instructor was a veteran of over forty years within the Imperial Navy and widely respected. It had been found, through his long service, that he was one of those types of beings that was capable of guiding others, teaching them, and grounding them in solid naval tactics for which he himself had become renown. A veteran of two major wars, including the most recent Chaos War, Qarmack was easily spotted by the bionic left arm he had. The arm itself could easily have been replaced by a life-like prosthesis hardly any different from the real flesh and bone he'd once had, but he had refused. "I keep this metal arm as a reminder of my failings," he said when interviewed before taking his position at the New Carida NOA.

Once silence had fallen on the assembled officers, Qarmack spoke up.

"Tell me, my fine young marauders: what is the weakest part to target of an Imperial Star Destroyer?"

Officers exchanged glances, a few with raised eyebrows. A few arms began to rise.

"Yes, you there -- Ms. Finien," he called out, pointing to a dark-skinned female officer two rows from the front.

"Either the engines or the command bridge?" she asked.

Qarmack smiled somewhat, his right cheek twisted by a scar into a permanent smirk. "Doubting yourself, Ms. Finien?"

"No, sir! The engines or the command bridge are the weakest points."

"Incorrect," replied Qarmack, turning to look for more raised hands. "Anyone else? Can someone tell me why Ms. Finien was mistaken?"

Another raised hand.

"Mr. Ro'lar'en?"

The towering, bi-horned Forn officer lowered his hand, his black eyes blinking rapidly in a fashion that was habitual to his species. "The reactor or shield generator are more vitally important."

"Incorrect," Qarmack, said with some savage glee. He strode up and down the ranks of officers. "Well, anyone else?"

"No one else wants to try and make a guess?"

"But sir!" A young looking commander raised his hand, the small metallic cybernetic implants in his temples a giveaway that he was an Elorian. Unusual to see one in military service. "Both Captain Finien and Captain Ro'lar'en are correct, aren't they?"

Qarmack cupped his right elbow into his metallic palm and raised his hand, one finger extended. "Ah! Now we're getting closer to the truth. You're quite close, Mr. Anigna, quite close."

He scanned the seated officers and another hand rose, though hesitantly.

"Yes, Ms. Raala?"

"Are you suggesting, Instructor Qarmack, that the entire ship is a weakness?" Her long, braided hair was set in a neat side queue that kept it up and out of her way. It reminded Qarmack of his daughter's hair in a small moment of distraction.

"Yes. Ms. Raala is correct."

There was an uproar of voices at that response. Qarmack smiled through it all.

"What do you mean, sir?"

"That's not possible!"

"You've got to be joking."

Qarmack snapped his metallic fingers. The sound was like a primitive slug gunshot. It cut through the rising tide of voices and brought them all back down to silence. Another good reason for why I never had them put synth-flesh on this thing, he mused.

"Tell me, Mr. Ro'lar'en -- are you a TIE pilot?"

The fur around the Forn's head and long neck waved about, an indication among his species that he was either flustered or nearing anger. "No, Senior Instructor Qarmack, I am not a TIE pilot."

"How about you, Ms. Finien? Are you a TIE pilot?"

"No, Instructor Qarmack."

He smacked his flesh fist into the flat of his metallic one, then spread his hands in a gesture of mock desperation.

"Then stop thinking like one! All of you! You are all soon to be the next generation of ship captains. A TIE pilot might have the luxury of managing to get close enough to his target to specifically pin-point a target such as a ship's engines, bridge, reactor, or any type of shield generator. Specific targeting of a ship's systems in ship-to-ship combat is, essentially, useless at the standard range of engagements. Ninety-nine percent of the time you will not be close enough, nor moving slow enough, to make such choices.

"And if any pupil of mine that goes out there and is foolish enough to try to only engage enemy ships at what amounts to knife-fighting range..."

He let the threat hang in the air for a moment, sweeping his eyes back and forth across the gathered officers.

"...they will soon find themselves brought before a board of inquiry at New Bastion, with yours truly leading the panel."

A projection of an ISD popped up upon haptic command and Qarmack manipulted the image to zoom outwards, showing a randomly generated star system.

"Tell me, Ms. Finien, what does the doctrine manual say about ship-to-ship combat ranges?"

She started speaking as if it was a recitation. Qarmack knew that Captain Finien had an eidetic memory and could trust her to answer exactly as she would have read in her training manuals.

"When encountering a hostile ship, it is best to seek fire superiority by the rapid increase of power-to-weapon reactor output. Ship captains should remain at five or up to ten light-seconds from the hostile ship, only moving to engage closer if the hostile has superior maneuverability and acceleration. Distance should never be closer than one light-second and the ideal is five light-seconds."

Qarmack nodded.

"Very good, Ms. Finien, thank you. She is correct. No ship at a distance of five to ten light-seconds will be close enough for you to target anything more than center mass. I don't care what any gunnery officer might say otherwise, but frankly I find it mildly embarrassing for them. A specifically aimed shot will miss 999/1000 times, whereas a center-mass shot has a much greater chance. Just like when you were all hauled through basic personal weapons training and taught how to fire a blaster -- you aim for center mass. Head shots are for civilians who think they know better."

He looked about again.

"Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir, senior instructor!" they chorused.

"Good, now let's continue our lecture from last time regarding the use of planetary bodies and maneuver warfare..."

[Thrashia]

"The Beginning of the End"

The unpublished memoirs of Moff Banston Creed detailing the events of the Great Chaos War.

I must pen these last remarks while the memories are still fresh. The ark vessel which will soon be transporting my family, my household servants, and myself is prepared to depart within the hour. But I feel compelled to remark upon the events that led up to this point -- the emigration of an entire empire from what had been it's home galaxy for well over three centuries.

It was soon learned by the collective intelligence organizations of the galaxy that our Chaotic foes had prepared the ground well. Insurgents and dark covens had been spread across hundreds of vital worlds and the gathering of Chaos Space Marine war flotillas and warbands within the outer, darker reaches of Wild Space had been coordinated to strike almost simultaneously. After the burning of Bastion and the daemonic attack upon Coruscant, most of the galaxy was thrown into, pardon the pun, chaos. While there are many who were familiar with Chaos, from the ancient days of the Chronosian Empire and the Emperor Remiel De Draken, most had forgotten or never before encountered our foes. Their patient, pent-up ferocity was to be their greatest weapon.

Eight star systems, specifically chosen, had been targeted. Ylesia, Alderaan, Aleen, Centrality, Bastion, Rothana, Druckenwell, and Concord Dawn. Some were more well known than others, but by the end the entire galaxy would know their names. Each was viciously attacked and upon their surfaces unholy and bloody rites were performed by profane priests of the Dark Gods. Hundreds of millions died. Each world was a beacon. Eight worlds, matching the blasphemous numerology of their faith, that bisected at one particularly forbidding and infamous system: Ruusan.

Those that remember their history well may remember the distant past when Ruusan was the center of a particularly vicious struggle between the Jedi and Sith. It was there that the Force 'Thought Bomb' exploded, claiming the lives of nearly every Force user on the planet and an unnumbered amount of more conventional soldiers. This locus point of death was the point at which the agents of the Chaos powers intended to enact one last ceremony, connecting the beacons that had been lit prior, and unleashing a galaxy-wide tear in the fabric of reality. The Warp, that hellish ether universe that the Dark Gods and their lackeys inhabit would have become one and the same with our own.

Naturally this could not be allowed. Grand Admiral Thrawn and a United Fleet of every willing power in the galaxy was marshaled to strike. Tens of thousands of Imperial Star Destroyers and allied warships of surpassing power. It was a war fleet the likes of which has never before been gathered in the history of our galaxy, and likely never will be again. I was part of the Allied Fleet, aboard my personal Star Destroyer, Bright Lance. I'm no true strategist, but I know how to command my own ship and take orders.

But Chaos was awaiting us there.

They were almost the equal in our numbers and had had time to fortify the system in the long years of their preparation ripening to fruition.

Upon the planet surface itself a great fortress had been erected, mountains shifted to match the will of whatever demented Iron Warrior warsmith that had been commissioned to prepare. It covered an entire continent, with planetary shields, regional shields, overlapping batteries of anti-orbital firepower to match half the star fleet.

But with Grand Admiral Thrawn leading us, we engaged. We had no choice. If we didn't act, then all would be lost. The famous speech which the Grand Admiral gave before the initiation of the conflict remains on record as one of the finest ever heard. I keep a copy of it in my personal files. I'm sure her Highness does as well.

The battle raged back and forth across the system for what seemed like days and weeks. Technological terrors were employed which normally would have seen a star nation censured for possessing; only for it to be countered by the dark machinations of the seemingly infinite powers of the warp. The heroic actions of all shall be recounted forever in the Empire's history.

I was stunned when I watched an entire Chaos battle group annihilated by the clever planetary slingshot flanking maneuver performed by Nemesor Anatirakh ita Aravakh of the C'tani. They outmaneuvered and overwhelmed the Chaos brutes with an elan that I envied.

There were the honorable actions of Jedi Masters Kit Fisto and Kirak Infil'a, who helped the Dornalian Task Force Ermine Cactus to infiltrate the enemy's flagship and detonate an older 'Little Doctor' weapon device.

With the heart of the enemy fleet torn out from it's grotesque body, Grand Admiral Thrawn lanced forward deep and cut into the system proper, eventually gaining control of the space around the planet of Ruusan itself. However, as I mentioned, it's defenses were beyond imagining. Even in comparison to Bastion or any of the other formerly vaunted 'fortress worlds' of the galaxy, this was by far the most well fortified. Methods of esoteric sorcery prevented extreme measures from destroying the planet outright, as had been intended from the beginning. Even when specially designed hyperspace siege munitions were used, slamming into the planetary shields, it wasn't enough.

A ground invasion was the only way. An entire battlegroup of Imperial Star Destroyers made planetfall in the face of overwhelming firepower, creating a landing area for the Allied Forces. Seeing many of their majestic forms fall burning through the skies, stricken down by overwhelming planet-based firepower was a sight I shall never forget. The struggle was as hard now as it ever had been.





And the clock was ticking.

The Jedi Order had joined the Allied Forces in their effort to stop the ritual which would shift 5/8ths of the galaxy into the Warp, and it was they that could sense the gathering of souls and energy. Every death was bringing the ritual closer to it's crescendo. Time was running out.

The outer walls extending to almost fifty kilometers in either direction were taken by the stunning and aggressive assault of Menelmacari ground forces that launched ahead of the other Allied contingents. Pinpoint, massed supporting fire from Menel orbiting ships was key at this point. But they were thrown back by renewed counter-assaults by Chaos Space Marine armored formations. Daemonic engines of war and towering god-engines, Titans, swept from behind the great defenses to counter every thrust and attack by the Allied Forces. Clone legions performed gargantuan feats of bravery, battling tooth and nail in the face of the most destructive enemies which the Empire has perhaps ever yet faced.

Just when the clock was two seconds to midnight and our Allied armies were still a hundred kilometers from the site of the ritual, a miracle happened. Though perhaps miracle isn't the right word. It wasn't a miracle so much as the most impressive act of self sacrifice I have ever witnessed.

Unknown to all, Grand Admiral Thrawn had boarded and begun piloting the prototype experimental warsuit Perseus. It was a superlative and stunning piece of military technology, capable of destroying warships by itself -- in the hands of a capable pilot. And at that moment there were no other available pilots. Thrawn himself had been training on the thing for months prior to this final battle. How those scientists ever thought it up I'll never know, but I bless them in my prayers to the Force for their forethought.

He was like an avenging angel, a meteoric comet come crashing down, or unstoppable and elemental force of nature. The Perseus used its speed and relatively small stature to pierce down through the anti-orbital firepower of the Chaos worshipers and came down directly upon the ritual site. I've seen some of the recovered combat footage which had been uploading and linked to the warsuit. It is...stunning. Awe inspiring. I knew Thrawn had been a warrior in his own right, but with the Persues at his command he was a god of war unleashed. A hundred Chaos Space Marines died before the experimental coil-gun that was mounted on the warsuit.

And it was nearly all for naught.



Some kind of last ditch shield of psychic power prevented Thrawn from shooting down the Chaos Apostle that was the maestro of the ceremony. A daemon prince of surpassing potency and power appeared as well, no longer able to be distracted from coming to stop Thrawn's wild and sudden charge upon the ritual.

The last broadcast was made then.

"This is Grand Admiral Thrawn. All Allied units are to cease their assault at once and return to staging areas. Take cover."

That was it. Those were the last words that most heard, though I'm told that there was another broadcast he managed to make to his wife, who had bravely come to the system in her own warship.

Grand Admiral Thrawn, Hero of the Empire, defacto Emperor, grand strategist and tactician, warlord and warrior of the Chiss people...self-detonated the reactor of his experimental warsuit. The yield of the explosion was enough to created a sphere of obliterated nothingness up to fifty kilometers in all directions. It caused a continental shift in the tectonic plate that it happened upon. But more than anything else, it killed the daemon prince that was about to kill him, and it broke the last remaining psychic shield.

The ritual was stopped.

Mostly.

The Jedi were the ones that warned us. Emergency evacuation of forces, ships to make emergency jumps out of the system. An event horizon of some sort seemed to be forming at the point where the ritual had begun to take place. We recovered what we could and escaped, jumping several lightyears beyond the edge of the Ruusan system. The Allied Fleet rendezvoused together.

Our Chaos enemy had intended to create a new Eye of Terror that would engulf the galaxy. Instead, only a single system, the Ruusan System, was consumed and became a pathway to the warp.

We were saved. My family was saved. I was saved. All by that red-eyed, blue-skinned bastard that I had hated for so long as a political rival. I feel ashamed now, for the emotions I'd harbored before and then, but never after. How could I hate the man that saved the galaxy? That man that sacrificed his life for ours?

Too many memories haunt us in these star fields. Too many lost, the loved and beloved. That is why I think our new Empress decided to on our course of emigration. We all needed a new beginning. To stay would only force us back into a cycle of conflict that was already well versed, the grooves and tracks familiar and over-trodden. I hope this new galaxy, the Milky Way I believe they call it, is better than our old home. Part of me shall miss it, for it's old familiarity if nothing else. But time shall heal those wounds. Time will heal...though, I sincerely hope that the memories never fade.

[Thrashia]

Bastion City - Capital of the Empire | Upper Government District 001

Lady Baroness Diana Quincy had learned over the course of her career of the many tricks that politicians and military types used to intimidate, pressure, and otherwise put visiting beings at a psychological disadvantage. Her esteemed uncle, Grand Moff Alexandros Noventa, knew all of them.

It began with his office: the long walk from the antechamber to the large door to his office; the thick, textured carpet that dragged at a visitor's feet and threatened to trip up the unwary with each step; the sunlight glinting off corners of shelves and display stands and the desk itself, the spots shifting and flickering and distracting. The objects on the shelves and stands were the next layer: mementos of Noventa's past triumphs, a procession of reminders of his power and influence. Here and there, she spotted some ancient and valuable artifact that he had either bought, stolen, or despoiled. Yet another object lesson: the man got whatever he wanted.

It was an impressive display, especially considering that the grand moff probably only used this office a few weeks each year. His main office, the one from which he controlled the largest sector of the Empire, was probably even more intimidating.

“My dearest niece,” came the voice of her uncle.

She turned to see him entering from a side door, likely leading to a private chamber where he could sleep, eat, or otherwise rest without being disturbed or having to actually leave the office. The man was like that – a workaholic, but at least aware of it enough to prepare for it. Diana stood and made sure her court smile was plastered on as it should be. She gave a small bow and leaned forward to kiss him on either cheek, a greeting between family that was as ritualistic as it was intimate. Friends only got kissed on the right cheek; family got both.

“Esteemed uncle,” she greeted. “I must compliment your interior decorator. They seem to have outdone themselves.”

He gave her a small, knowing smile that caused his eyes to glimmer. Having been the patriarch of the Noventa family for almost half a century, he knew his family well. Diana had always been a bit of a prodigy and as such her uncle had made sure to have her sent to all of the best institutions, schools, and necessary education that could be imagined.

“Thank you, dear. I'll be sure to pass along your compliments. Please, sit and relax. I know you've had a long and rather intrepid journey.”

Alexandros moved around and sat behind his desk, linking his fingers and sitting in a manner that showed he was focused and listening with patience. To a less wary person, it might have seemed like he had made them the center of his attention – but Diana knew that this was another of his political tactics, enabling him to put a visitor at ease. She sat, smiled, and nodded.

“The quadrant at large is far more exciting and filled with peoples than I would have imagined. You should give Captain Ramius a promotion next chance you get. He did well.”

“And your cousin?”

“Damien performed better than expected, but then he is a Noventa,” Diana reported. “You should be quite proud of your grandson. I heard that Captain Ramius was putting him up for commendation and promotion.”

Alexandros nodded, allowing a smile to show.

“I am both proud and pleased. Like you said, he is a Noventa. I would have expected nothing less.”

Nor allowed anything less, Diana finished in her head. There were a few members of the Noventa family that had been relegated to obscurity due to either incompetence in whichever field that their family patriarch had chosen for them. Usually they were married off to other families or even allowed to be adopted into them.

“How is Admiral Quincy?” asked Noventa.

“My husband is doing well,” Diana said, smiling back.

The one surprise of her adult life that had been a cherished one was her husband. Theodore Quincy had seemed a somewhat humble man with few distinguishing characteristics. It wasn't until she met him during their engagement party that Diana had learned that there was a shy humor and quick wit beneath his slightly handsome exterior. As a scion of another political dynasty, one which had provided many leading military commanders to the Imperial military, Theodore had seemed like another bland face. That was until they had had a chance to talk alone.

“He sends his regards and asked me to ask after your wife, my aunt. I heard she had another bout of sickness recently?”

“Yes, unfortunately. She had to stay home during the Emperor's Day ceremonies. She was distraught by that, as you can imagine. But she is doing better. I've had her sent to a bacta spa for treatment on Kelvor III. They have some of the best medical treatments available in the Empire there, so I hope it will do some good.” His voice sounded grim and a few lines that hadn't been there before suddenly became more pronounced.

That wasn't good news, that her aunt was sick. Shella Noventa was a daughter of another moff family that had married in with the Noventa family. It was, as they always were, a political marriage. The fact that the pair of them had managed to find true affection for each other was a small miracle. If she were sick, that boded ill for the future. Shella was one of the few influences on Alexandros Noventa that helped to put a glove of silk around that gauntlet of steel. If she were to pass away...well, it just didn't bear thinking about.

“I will make a visit to the Temple of the Mother and pray for her recovery,” promised Diana. She always had liked her aunt and would never wish any ill upon her.

“That is...kind of you, Diana. Thank you.”

He cleared his throat.

“The data from the Pursuit's journey,” he finally said, “You have it?”

“I have already had a cloud copy sent to your private server and a physical copy is en route to your private estate in the possession of K4-SO.” Diana didn't change her tone or otherwise indicate a shift in her body language. They might as well have been talking about the weather.

“And your preliminary report?”

“The Beta Quadrant is ripe with opportunity, as well as rife with strife,” replied Diana. “Under the right circumstances, I believe that you may find the pretexts that you may be wishing for, dear uncle. But are you sure that her Majesty won't be opposed to such...aggressive ideas?”

Alexandros Noventa leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow and a sardonic smile.

“Hardly, if presented in the right way my dear niece. Where there is a will, there is a way.”

[Thrashia]

Western Continental Training Grounds | Imperial Fortress World | Vesporia


By 13:20 in the afternoon of the 5th, 1st Platoon, A Company, 1/62nd Armor had occupied its positions to the east of the small town of Moleville – as it was nicknamed by all the troops that cycled through the WCTG. The repulsorlift tanks were part of an Imperial armored task force moving forward to blunt and hopefully stop an anticipated enemy lunge for the vital mag-train and road junction at Neustation 15km to their rear. Moleville, on their right, occupied the highest terrain in the surrounding area, resembling physically it's eponymous name. The rest of the terrain in from of the platoon's positions were farmland, mostly gentling rolling hillocks.

“You know lieutenant, I'm not sure if we're in the best position here,” commented Sergeant Drost.

Lieutenant Nasom quirked an eyebrow up as he raised his macrobinoculars and looked at the terrain in front of them. “I know how you feel, sergeant. But if we tried setting up in Moleville, you just know we'd get taken out by artillery again. And I don't want those asshole referees breathing down our necks either.”

A line of low hills ran perpendicular to their positions about 4km in front of them, giving the “enemy” some high ground for their approach. Nasom's platoon had five tanks, four standard N-1 repuslor tanks and one N-1 MGC. The could dig in and put up refractive camouflage to avoid being immediately spotted by enemy sensors.

“Go ahead and designate this position as Alpha. After we engage for the first couple minutes we'll fall back to Bravo position, just behind the road embankment,” said Nasom. “Go ahead and tell Sergeant Vinck that he'll station his stove pipe at Bravo.”

“Sir, yes sir,” replied Drost, dryly but with a small begrudging edge of respect.

The platoon's senior noncom hadn't taken smoothly to Nasom's command yet, but he had earned enough respect that Nasom didn't think he had to worry about too many things. No noncom in the Imperial Army would ever be so mutinous or disrespectful of a commanding officer that they'd need be punished for it – no, the non commissioned officers of the Imperial Army had other, more creative, ways of making their displeasure known.

The N-1s, sometimes called Rhinos by the troops, were snuggled close to the ground in quickly growing hull-down positions. Seen from in front, little was visible but the turret roofs and the snouts of their Taim & Bak MS-1 fire-linked heavy laser cannon. Nasom had received comm messages from the commander of their task force that artillery support could be expected, but that it would be limited. He had also been warned to keep an eye out for retreating cavalry scouts.

Nasom clicked on his comlink and looked towards his tank, dug in as it was. “Drost, go ahead and deploy everyone's ID10s, alright? I want a screen on that hill line so we have a bit of early warning for our guests.”

* * * * * *

It was nearing 14:00 when a tight beam message from one of their forward probe droids popped up. A pair of tracked enemy scout vehicles were incautiously running up toward that small line of hills.

“Hold your fire...,” Nasom said into the platoon's joint comlink. “Hold...”

They crested the hill and, for reasons that Nasom couldn't begin to imagine, stopped.

Their ID10s were still operating from concealed positions, and sent sensor reports on size, power-plant, weaponry, and any life sign signatures. One of them reported what Nasom was expecting: a larger armored force coming up behind these scouts. Those same scouts which had moved forward off the exposed hill and were making directly for Moleville.

Nasom smiled.

“I told you, Drost! What did I tell you?”

“Everyone gets lucky eventually...sir.”

“Corporal Halleck, take those scouts,” ordered Nasom.

“Happily, sir!” came the eager reply.

Both scouts were destroyed in less than the span of three heartbeats. Halleck's tank having unleashed a sudden and pinpoint accurate bit of cannon fire. At under 2km range there was no armor that could have survived that amount of firepower.

“Tell me the good news, Frank,” Nasom asked his S-2.

“No indication that they were able to get a transmission off to their friends. Their initial transmission while on the crest of that hill was all.” The intelligence officer smile came through his voice. It was as cheerful an outcome as could be expected.

Another blurt alert from their ID10s: the enemy armored unit was approaching, strength estimated to be roughly at company level or higher.

“Now the fun begins,” Nasom said into his comlink. “Get ready gentle beings. Time to earn your pay.”

[Thrashia]

Weisman City | Planet Westerlin | Aequitas Sector

The police speeder drifted past the alleyway, pale faces under their helmets inside staring straight ahead, disinterested.

Nerf herders, Kal Torren thought. He peered after them, saw the red-banded speeder lift away and over the dome where the street curved.

Kal wore dark brown pants and tunic, and a roll-down mask on his head. He pulled it over his face, adjusted the eyeholes, and went out of the alley. The wide boulevard was deserted under the hissing lights. Some shop windows were dark, more were lit with posturing mannequins furniture, and electrical gear that no one in Kal's home district would ever own unless they stole it.

Kal darted across the street to the steel-barred, blank doorway. The lock was a Incom Mod 07. Not the hardest, not the easiest. Four numeric buttons. He would have three chances before the lock either set off an alarm or froze, depending on the store owner's paranoia and budget.

Try easy. The factory setting was 4783. He tried it, nothing happened. The owner thinks he's clever. But his salesmen open for him sometimes. Perhaps...the shop's address is 213. Blank first, blank second? Most likely first.

He punched in sequence, and the door clicked opened.

Not as clever as he might have wished.

There were a dozen clear-topped cases in the thick-carpeted room. The gems and precious stones inside caught the light from the street and reflected it back in moving, kaleidoscopic splendor as the light moved.

Kal took a com from his pouch, touched a transmit button, held it down for a count of three, then a count of one, then three once more. Half a dozen shadows ran silently toward the yawning store's door.

Kal trotted out, not looking back. He'd see the others later, get his share then.

He ran for three long blocks, then turned down a dark street. He stripped off his hood, gloves, stuffed them in his belt pouch. He was walking quickly now, nothing but a tall, slender young man, respectaby dressed, out a bit late, eager to get home and to bed.

The first blaster shot rang dully from behind him, from the boulevard, then another and a third. Someone screamed, someone shouted. A metallic hailer shouted orders, inaudible, but official.

Sith spawn!

Kal unsnapped the belt pouch and took out a leather-bound book. He resealed the pouch with his burglars tools, pitched it under a parked speeder, and went on, strolling now, his Way of the Force text held in prominent view. The Temple closed, what? An hour, no, an hour and a half ago. You missed the last trans, eh? Yes, and stopped at a vend for a snack. See, here's the wrapper in my pocket. Good.

It had better be.

He made it another ten blocks before the spotlight caught him halfway across the street, and a coil-net was spat out. One straint caught him around the waist, and a second pinned his arms, and he went down. He rolled to his side, saw legs coming toward him, the outline of a blaster.

“Do not move,” the voice said, hard, etallic, robotic. “You are being restrained by a member of the Planetary Border Police as being under suspicion and a possible threat to life and public safety. Any movement will be determined as life-threatening.”

He obeyed.

“Good. Don't even breathe.” The voice became almost human. “Eh, Wren. We have him.”

Another set of white-armored boots came out of the police speeder. A boot nudged Kal onto his back, a beam swept his brown face. One cop dragged the wiry young man to his feat by the restraints. Kal was taller than either of the men by half a head.

“Guess you didn't have squat to do with a little B&E back on Giesebachstrasse, eh? 'Bout ten minutes ago?”

“I don't have any idea what you're talking about,” Kal said.

“Yeah. Guess you don't know anyone named Lo Chen, Fulk, or Adu-bagi, either? Among some of your other friends we netted.”

Kal frowned, pretended thought, and shook his head.

“Wonder if the eye we had floating got you?” one officer asked gleefully. “Not that it matter, since we found this on you.”

He took a pocket-blaster from his boot.

“What were you going to do with it?”

“Never seen it before,” Kal blurted, cursing silently for letting them draw him.

“You have now,” the second officer said. “It fell out of your waistband when we took you down. Bad charges, Kal. Violation of curfew, being outside your district, possession of firearms without license, and I'm not sure but what you were trying to pull it on us.”

“He was, he was,” the other voice said. “I saw it clear.”

“Attempted murder, the. Guess that'll be more than enough eh?”

Kal's face was calm, blank.

The cop drove a fist into Kal's stomach, pleasure-filled eyes never leaving his face. Kal caved in letting himself fall forward, turning to take the fall on his shoulder. As he fell, his legs lashed out, sweeping across the cop's calves. The cop screeched in pain and surprise, fell, his flash-pen rolling away, sending swirls of light across the blank, dark buildings around him

Kal struggled to his knees, had one foot under him as the other cop came in and Kal saw the gloved fist smashing toward him.

Then, nothing.

* * * * *

“It would seemm,” the severe-faced woman said, “there's little point in my recommending this matter be brought to trial.” She stared again at the three screens whose display was hidden from Kal.

“All evidence appears in order, and your appointed defender advised he had nothing to offer on your behalf.”

Kal's bruised face was stone.

“You've had quite a career for someone just eighteen years old,” the woman went on. “I think it's a blessing for Empire you weren't able to reach that pistol in time.”

She paused.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself, Kal Torren?”

“I don't guess there's any point in saying anything, is there?”

“Show proper respect for the court,” a heavyset bailiff threatened from nearby. The judge touched some other sensors.

“A long and unattractive career,” she mused. “Beginning when you were just twelve. What happened to you, Kal? The file on your family shows no reason for you to be what you are.:

It wouldn't. Mother never went out until the bruises went down, and Dad bought his synth all over the city or sometimes made his own. And Marita would never tell anyone about our father's little nighttime visits. No. There's no good reason for me to be anything but what I am.

He said nothing.

“Very well. Do you have anything to say for yourself? Are there any mitigating factors? The charges are most serious, even setting aside the matter of the attempted robbery of Van Keef's with your fellow gang members. What I understand you hooligans call a 'clique'.”

None you'd recognize.

“In consideration for your age,” the woman said, her voice formal, “I offer you two options. The first, of course, is Conditioning.”

Condit? A voice inside your heard until you die, telling you just what to do. No spitting on the sidalk, Kal. No spice. No drugs. Work hard, Kal. Don't criticize the planetary government. Tell any policeman whatever he or she asks. A guaranteed job, dull eyes handing other people's credits and never thinking for a minute of slipping a handful into your own pocket for fear of that hidden voice.

I don't think so.

“The second is Transport for Life.”

It couldn't be any harder on a prison planetoid than here in Weisman City.

“You may have half an hour to reach a decision,” the woman said. “Bailiff, escort this man to a holding cell.”

The man came forward, but Kal was already on his feet.

“I know the way” Kal said.

“Wait!”

The judge was looking at another screen and then turned to him. “There is another alternative, Kal, which I'd momentarily forgotten. Although I doubt you'd ever consider it for even a moment.”

Kal raised an eyebrow.

“Have you ever considered Imperial military service?”

[Thrashia]

Akai'te | Imperial War World

The planet, when those recruits that had been lucky enough to get a look at it from orbit, was more akin to a ball of mud than any planet that Kal had seen. There was vegetation, supposedly somewhere, but nowhere that he could see. Instead there were just mountain ranges, muddy valleys, ice-cold rivers, and a type of indigenous moss that seemed to be the local equivalent of grass; and even it was dun colored, as if ashamed to be different from the mud it clung to and grew from. Kal's newest companion, Nicholas Vaansma, compared the planet to the muck that they had been serving in the troop transport's mess hall. "It even has the same gravy texture."

They were cycled through a receiving line of loud-voiced sergeants, each wearing a uniform denoting a difference in their MOS. Kal had been issued a mottled green jumpsuit of the Infantry, whereas Nick wore the black coveralls of Armor. A rather grim faced warrant officer with a data pad oversaw the disembarkation of the new recruits. He seemed to take a small bit of pleasure in directing them about like a herd of cattle -- which Ka couldn't help but agree with. A lot of the recruits were from agri worlds or ecumenopoleis. A few seemed sharp and kept their wits about them. Kal assumed that those people were probably like him: former no-do-gooders that were keeping an eye out for the next opportunity.

"Get in line! Follow the instructions of the training sergeants that present themselves to you," growled the warrant officer. "Failure to comply with orders will result in severe punishment."

Nick winked at Kal and waltzed over to the line of similarly black-clad new meat, leaving Kal to muddle his way forward to the largest line of green. Pick your digestive track and run, he thought.

It took the recruits about twenty minutes to get organized and then marched out of the receiving deck. Calling it a march would have been a bit too generous, though, as many recruits stopped to gawp or look around when they should have been focused on their front and feet. Helkeos Fortress was the largest fortification many of them had seen. It occupied an entire plateau with steelcrete reinforced walls, armored barbicans, and heavy turbolaser defense batteries every few dozen meters. The background hum of massive generators could be felt as much as heard, which argued for the idea that a rather powerful regional deflector shield generator was in constant operation. White-armored troopers marched in neat formations, moving around the base on various orders and instructions. Gunships and the occasional TIE Fighter blared overhead. It was a rather industrious looking place, though Kal was sure that there was bound to be a few seedy corners somewhere. After being settled into rather bare, but functional barracks the recruits were told to sack out for the night and be prepared for rally call at 0600 next cycle. Kal found a bunk and did his best to fall immediately to sleep.

* * * * * * * *

"Never seen so many goddamned soldiers in my whole friggen' life," Kal muttered. "Wonder what they're all here for?"

"Zip the lip," Markus said in a half-growl. "This is a solemn occasion."

All of the newest recruits were standing on a slightly raised platform wearing dress uniforms -- dark, almost midnight blue trousers, waist-length belted tunics, service caps, and yellow piping on the trouser legs, cap, and epaulettes. The trousers were bloused into black, knee-high boots. Markus, a reenlistee, had two rows of decorations above his left breast and two winged emblems on his right. All wore black-leather belts, clasped together with a metal stamped buckle that bore the Imperial cog symbol. They were all standing in the center of one of Helkeos' drill-fields, about three kilometers to a side. The field was packed with regular soldiers, troopers, and even a few clone trooper companies. Almost ten thousand, all told.

From the far side of the field marched Commandant Zwelts. Behind him marched a color guard -- three flagbearers with the banners of the Empire foremost and of the Imperial Navy and Army; then came the commandant's command staff and a regimental band at the rear, blasting for all its might. Zwelts' boot heels smashed to a halt about fifteen meters from the center block of Infantry recruits, at the front of which stood Markus and Kal. The band played for another four measures, then silence swept into the square. Kal' senses were filled with the hum of energy, the smell of new uniforms, sweat, and a faint trace of cool mountain air.

"Soldiers of the Empire," Zwelts' voice boomed from his throat and from speakers around the square. "We have come to honor those who've chosen to join us. When your name is called, step forward. Two individuals from each recruit company will swear on behalf of their company."

A few names were rattled off from the Armor, Pilot, and finally Infantry recruit companies.

"Kal Torren, Markus Slava -- forward to the colors."

Markus and Kal marched forward and stopped in front of Commandant Zwelt. Two flagbearers stepped forward, one with the Empire's flag and the second with the Imperial Army's. Without a command the Army guidon-carrier lowered his banner until it was level with the ground. The Empire's guidon-carrier lowered her banner until it was slightly higher and over the Imperial Army's. Both flags overlapped.

"You men, put your hands on the flags."

They obeyed.

"Repeat after me. I, Commandant Tobias Zwelt, do swear by all that I hold sacred, whether Goddess or gods or my own honor, I will obey the lawful commands given me by my superiors and swear to defend the Empire, its life-forms, and its way until death, or until I am released from this vow."

They repeated the vow and then Markus turned smartly, calling out to the company. "Do you so swear?"

"We swear it!" roared the voices of the company.

As they finished the oath, the band crashed into the Empire's 'Galactic Anthem'. Markus and Kal marched back to their place within the company.

"I wonder if there's any pickpockets working the crowd and if we can get a cut on the action?" Kal wondered, sotto voce.

"Shut up," replied Markus, rolling his eyes.

The band finished and minor cheers rolled across the field. The flagbearers were ordered back to their positions. Runners came forward with boxes of gear which was ceremonially being handed out to all of the recruits. The Infantry recruits were all given a lethal looking vibro-blade, 18cm long, double-edged. The handle was leather, and the butt ca and hilts were silver. It fit into their belt hooks with ease.

"Strange," Kal said.

"What?" Markus asked, an edge in his voice.

"I'm not slagging anybody," Kal said hastily. "But we get these emblems, which are all flash and filigree, and then this knife, which is damned practical."

"So?"

"Which is the real Imperial Military?"

Markus looked uncomprehending.

"Never mind," Kal said, "Let's go learn me how to sojer."