Star Wars: The Empire's Finest (IC)

[Bolslania]

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

The Captain did not raise her voice, but it was clear that the tone had become as cold as space, as she said, "Mister Ette, while I invited my officers to relax, I did not invite profanity. That medal does not entitle you to act like a spoiled child, either. Also, I don't enjoy repeating myself, so when I tell you that this ship got what was available in the line of small attack craft, take the inference that I wasn't given a choice."

It had seemed to be going so well, earlier, Raphe had thought. That illusion was now shattered. It was time for a dramatic exit with an important suggestion for them all to consider an order.

"Squadron Leaders, the Flight Deck Crews are well trained and will tend to your craft with speed and efficiency, so if you can't clear the bay with speed it will be your fault," she said. "Because of the differences in the squadrons I expect you to spend some time figuring out how you will cooperate and support one another." The Captain briefly paused and looked at her officers. "The ship will be underway, soon. Make ready. I am headed down to the flight deck to meet the arriving shuttle. Ladies and gentlemen, you are dismissed."

With that, Raphe left the Officer's Mess, pinned her hair back and went to do her job.

Ette sighed internally, he'd allowed his emotions to get away from him. He looked st the door the Captain had went through, more in his head than paying attention to the others. After a moment, he turned to the other commanders.

"Gentlemen, I apologize for my behavior, I believe that we are all stressed and tired, and to you Commander Leatel, I believe we are similar people, and that will inevitably lead to conflict, but I hope we can mitigate it and follow the Captain's advice." He said in his usual impassive voice, he stood up "Gentlemen." He said with a nod, put on his cap, and went to change into standard fatigues.

As he was leaving his quarters, he got waylayed by his senior most flight commander, Eric Gurti.

"Well, sir" he asked.

"She doesn't know much, as is to be expected, all she know is were flying escort. Leatel and Vex are presumably taking lead." He replied, he was heading to the flight deck to talk to the flight crews.

"Well,shit." Gurti said quietly.

As they reached the deck, some flight crew men dropped a load of bombs that rolled across the floor, one fetching up on Ette's feet. He sighed internally for the second time in an hour.

"Pick this up, check it out, and make sure my men and I can use it." Ette said firmly. He walked towards the flight crew HQ on this deck, he entered, closed the door behind him, and turned to the man sitting behind the desk.

"Gotta say lieutenant, I am not impressed with your men's work. We are flying escort for a convoy, and we need to be able to scramble in a minute, fix up your men so they can do that for us, I will handle mine. Good day lieutenant." Ette said, barely giving the lieutenant time to process what happened. "Ye-yes sir," came the reply.

Ette walked to where his men were lounging by their bombers. They stood up when he walked in.

"Right, so, we're flying escort for a convoy, the captain wants us ready to go in a minute or less, I've spoken to the flight crew already, so you should have no problem with them. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." They replied.

"Excellent." With that, he walked to his bomber, which w as was closest to the comm station, and sat down reading a book, waiting for a message over the comm.

[/spoiler]


Ette rubbed at his eyes, looked at his watch, and sighed, internally, again. He set down his book, stood up, stretched, and grabbed the comm link communicator.

"Azure squadron, we need cot and bed provisions on the flight deck for readiness, over." he said.

"Copy, on the way down. Out." came the reply. Ette hung up. He walked over to his men

"Alright, we are staying on readiness," Collective groan "But.... I have ordered cots and bed provisions ordered, so we'll be a little more comfortable that way."

"Why are we on readiness, sir?" Lieutenant Klostern said from his bomber.
Ette turned to him, sighed internally, and answered.

"Because, Lieutenant, the cargo the convoy is hauling is valuable, before you ask, I do not know what it is. BUT, it is valuable, so it is a target for the rebs, therefore, we are on readiness. Understood." He said sternly.


"Understood, sir." the Lieutenant replied to the snickers of his comrades.

"Right, keep it down to a dull roar, pay attention, stay out of the flight crews way, and get some rest. Dismissed." Ette finished off.

When the cots arrived, Ette rubbed his eyes, lay down, and settled into a good, but light, sleep.

[Aeritai]

ISD Judgement
How long do we have to wait for those ships to link up with us? Keijohn thought as he walked down the long hallways of the ship trying to get to the crew quarters to update them.

Keijohn had been walking all over the ship talking to different officers about the planet they were heading to and asking if there are any other ships that would be joining up with Judgement's fleet. According to some of the officers they were heading to the planet of Q'rak in the Vonkar System, the planet itself is a dense and humid jungle planet where large man eating creatures are common to see. As Keijohn reads the data pad he held in his hands, a look of confusion spread on his face as the report talks about the Rebels making an old CIS military complex their current base in the Vonkar System. As he kept reading he noticed the report also mentions that the Rebels were able to activate some droids that were never online. Keijohn has heard about the droids when his father would tell him about the Clone Wars, from the stories he was told the droids were a serious threat during the war.

So, we're dealing with both the Rebels and a bunch of tin cans? Shouldn't be a problem for the invasion force, those droids wouldn't last long against our current technology they're nothing, but old relics. Keijohn thought to himself as he reached the crew quarters opening the door.

Once he entered the quarters he informed his squad what enemies they would be facing off against once they landed with the invasion force. He then later informed his squad that the fleet is waiting for one more ship a Imperial Acclamator called 'Amidala' to arrive.

"So, droids and rebels huh?" One Trooper asked as he bit into a alien like blue fruit.

"And here I was thinking we got rid of those tin cans."

"Not all of them, while the Emperor forced the CIS to stop the production of all droids there are still some hidden factories and military complexs out there some where in the Outer Rim." Keijohn explained.

"According to the reports, the base on Q'Rak was abandoned early on during the Clone Wars the droids there were never active."

"Sounds like a piece of cake to me Sarge." Another Trooper commented.

"I mean come on those droids are just Clone War era technology they'll all be gunned down by our blasters in seconds."

"Still even if the enemies we'll be facing are no problem, we can't be reckless during this operation." Keijohn said as he laid the data pad down on one of the tables.

"Now, do any of you have any questions about the mission?"

There was a long pause of silence, Keijohn knew that each of his squadmates were battle ready he could tell by seeing the determination in each of their eyes. Keijohn and his squad have been in many tough battles with both pirates and rebels, fighting a few droids won't change that. With a nod of approval, Keijohn dismissed the meeting with his squad and walked out of the crew quarters to go get lunch. Keijohn never got a chance to eat lunch ever since he and his squad landed in the hanger bay, and with Keijohn walking all over the ship to speak to certain officers he was ready to sit down and eat. Keijohn hopes that he'll get a chance to eat before the Amidala arrives to join up with the fleet and then they'll be off to the Vonkar System within two days.

[The Litan Imperium]

ISD Judgementg

Finally arriving on the Judgement after their several hour long transit from their headquarters on felucia, Darius along with the rest of his squad had finally arrived. Back on Felucia, Darius' platoon leader informed him and the rest of the platoon that half of them were to be attached to the Imperial forces aboard the ISD Judgement in order to assist in a ground assault against a rebel stronghold. One of reasons for their unit being sent is their experience both with jungle warfare and combating dangerous wildlife. Another (and likely the main reason) is the EVO Regiment commander, Colonel Capron, volunteering his troopers for almost every operation that could involve hazardous combat conditions or even just heavy combat.

Finally stepping off the lambda class shuttle, The whole squad was marched onto the hanger both in formation and in cadence by their platoon leader Rikka. This being much to the chagrin of Darius who saw the young officer as a woman more interested in looking pretty and acting a boss than considering efficiency or acting like a leader. She even had a tendency of taking duties that are traditionally handled by the Platoon Sergeant upon herself and completely botching them, though always shifting the blame on someone else. He personally thought she had no place being in charge of his unit due to her inexperience, incompetence, and that she never went the same EVO training that the rest of the platoon went through. Despite his thoughts about her, and his wish that she'd end up letting her booksmarts get the better of her and catch a blaster bolt to the head, he just kept his head down to lead his team and let his squad leader deal with the poor leadership.

After marching off the vessel and making themselves both the center of attention and the laughing stocks in the hanger, the Officer brought the platoon to a halt.

"Platoon! Attention!" Rikka sounded off with in a voice that attempted and failed to convey authority while the squad leader smiled behind his helmet. As she commanded everyone, including Darius snapped to the position of attention and awaited her brief.

"Roll call, sound off when you hear your designation." The Lieutenant began calling off all the squads numbers until she got to Darius. "TK-2466." She called out with no response.

"TK-2466, sound off when you hear your designation." She said and was once again greeted with silence.

"Darius quit screwing around" The squad leader sounded off in a commanding tone.

"Present and accounted for Sergeant." Corporal responded, gaining a look of disapproval and a sigh from the PL.

"Alright Gentlemen, we've been given the honor of aiding the forces aboard this star destroyer. Details regarding the specifics of the operation will be put out to you when I can. Know that while you may be attached to this force at the moment, you will still abide by my orders. I don't care if it's a damned moff, you do what I say before you even consider doing what they say. Is that clear?" The young officer briefed before awaiting the squad's acknowledgment.

"Yes Ma'am!" The 10 soldiers all shouted in unison.

"Very good. On the command of fall out, you are to retrieve your personal belongings off the shuttle and proceed to the barracks you'll be staying at. Except you 2466, I wish to have a word with you. Fall out!" The squad then got their cases off the shuttle and lift for the barracks. Darius proceeded to approach the lieutenant, crossing his arms and with a hidden face of contempt.

"What?" Darius asked rather curtly.

"Well first you can start by addressing me properly Corporal. But I'll let that slide just this once, approach or address me like that again, I'll have out of this unit before you know it." Lieutenant Rikke snapped at Darius before regaining her composure. "This mission is of dire importance to the Empire and I won't have you sabotage its execution due to your unwarranted vendetta with me. Do I make myself clear."

"Crystal." Darius moved himself to a rather half hearted position of attention after what he perceived as her nagging. "Permission to speak freely Ma'am?" The last part being uttered with palpable hate.

"Denied, I'm not going to sit here and let you insult to my face like you always try to do. Now be on your way before I have to write another disciplinary counseling on you." Lieutenant spat him before departing to speak to the commander of the star destroyer.

One of the other troopers (the other team leader) made his way to Darius with two hardcases behind him. "Come on Corporal, let's get to the barracks before all the bottom bunks are taken."

The two of them left the hanger and headed to the barracks. "Are you trying to get busted down to private?" The other trooper asked Darius. "She's already had her daddy ensure you never get promoted."

"That's the thing, I've barely anything left to lose. And she's easily proven to be the worst platoon leader we've ever had in the few weeks she's been with us. From micromanaging everything, to jumping over the NCOs and bossing around my guys directly, to actually taking command of my team herself and going on a patrol that lead to her getting injured and blaming me for letting her do so." Darius muttered bitterly. "Last PL we had was book and street smart, knew how to use her NCOs, and knew when to stay in her lane."

The two finally got to the barracks but the other trooper stopped Darius before heading in. "You and I both know the Army has some terrible leadership, but they're the exception and not the rule. Just do what I'm planning on doing and request a transfer to a new platoon after this mission. Until then let's just keep our heads down and do what EVOs do best, endure and survive." The two nodded in agreement and set their gear down at a bunk. Most of the squad went to sleep but Darius stayed up to clean his gear. Halfway through doing so, he stepped out into the hallway without his helmet and started smoking, a habit he picked up in his time in the EVOs, hoping not get chewed out by any high and mighty higher ranking personnel.

[Ormata]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

"Gentlemen, I apologize for my behavior, I believe that we are all stressed and tired, and to you Commander Leatel, I believe we are similar people, and that will inevitably lead to conflict, but I hope we can mitigate it and follow the Captain's advice. Gentlemen.”

Watching Ette leave, as well as most others exit the room,, Leatal thought to himself before also exiting the area quietly. Leatal nodded to himself. At least the Captain was considerate of everything, considering what she knew and what she could act on. At least Ette hadn’t his head so far up his ass he couldn’t remove it. Maybe there was hope for the bomber commander. Maybe. Leatal hoped as much, considering everything. He thought about it some more. He just might have to rely on the bombers, in an engagement, especially if they needed something that threatened fighters like a corvette but was meaty enough to require proton torpedoes. Yes, they just might have to rely on the bombers. That was how it was.

Getting to his, and his squadron’s, quarters the man looked about. Twelve pilots, that meant he could have three pilots ready to go on an eight hour rotation with sixteen hours between rotations. That would likely be adequate. Of course, between the hours of 0800 and 2400 he’d have a full third of the squadron awake. That was even better. Getting to his rack, he drew-out a sheet of plasti and started to write down assignments, giving himself that first watch.

“Good news or bad, Commander?”

“Just news, Lieutenant,” the scratching of a pen on the rigid sheet.

“They’re moving cots onto the flightdeck.”

The scratching stopped. “Cots, Lieutenant?”

“Just saw some crew bringing em down.”

Leatal sighed to himself, before keeping on writing.

---

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"We hear you loud and Clear, Legacy. This is Pertinance Fleet Admiral Trenaur."

"You weren't originally supposed to be here. I assume there was a change of plans?"

“Negative, Pertinance. I’ll explain once aboard. Prepare for my arrival. Legacy, out.”

With that short response, Progre cut the comms channel completely before looking about. The fighters had taken up their respective formations and maneuvers, little twelve star v’s and their little blue star engines dotting the empty spaces between warships. The larger vessels, for their part, had their engines pulse with fire, blue supernovas in their splendor, as they maneuvered into their own positions and posts in the fleet’s formation. Smaller corvettes held their three ship pickets, engines bursting as they pushed ahead of the fleet in order to dissuade any pilots from the Pertinance or her fleet from performing fancy maneuvers, getting too close. The main capital ships blasted away, reactors blazing away like pulsing hearts.

Getting up, the Grand Moff made his way to the hangar. It was time to see if this Fleet Admiral Trenaur was as he had surmised before.

[The Litan Imperium]

ISD Judgement

Finishing his smoke break in the hallway outside the barracks, and getting a few looks from a few officers. Darius went back to the barracks room and dropped off his Flechette launcher on the weapon rack in the room. He was planning on getting some sleep, wanting to try and get as much as sleep as possible considering this operation was likely to involve some heavy combat. However, before he could even lay down, his stomach began growling in protest of its emptiness.

I thought that ration before the flight would hold me over longer than that, looks like I was wrong. Guess I'll head to chow hall and grab some grub.

Darius began heading towards where he thought the chow hall would be located on the ship, Darius was never keen on reading signs or directions and often just stuck with his gut feeling. After a short time of walking, he walked past without saluting the last lieutenant he wanted to see. The Lieutenant in question stopped in their tracks after the disgruntled soldier walked by.

"TK-2466, according to Imperial regulations, Enlisted members of the Imperial military are to render a salute and greeting of the day to passing officers. I'm recalling this correctly, am I not?" An all too familiar voice called to him.

Can't even get some chow without running into this she-devil. Darius thought to himself before sighing and turning around to see Lieutenant Rikka standing with her arms crossed clearly awaiting a response.

"You know calling us by our designations is usually a thing done by officers who've no real regard for their troops. but to answer your blatant grabbing for gratification, yes you do recall correctly."

This statement was obviously one that struck a nerve with the young lieutenant, causing her to turn a shade of red that rivaled the red on an imperial shock trooper's armor and get right in Darius' face.

"Excuse me 2466?!? You clearly have no desire to keep your current position or rank if you want to insinuate that I'm perfectly fine with disregarding the lives or needs of the my soldiers. I put up with your bad attitude and disrespect because the platoon sergeant says you supposedly have skills and know how to lead. Also because your fellow platoon members are begging me not to have my father slap you with a dishonorable discharge and court martial for disrespecting a member of the Imperial officer corps." She told him with barely contained anger and glaring down at him due to their height difference.

Darius was unshaken by her rage or her stares and merely stood with his hands on his hips, he was more disgusted by the fact that she literally said she'd use her dad to ruin his career if he didn't treat her like the queen of the platoon. "There you go again, threatening me with your daddy. What's wrong, gotta have him fight all your battles for you? You can go ahead and hit me with all the counselings, rank and pay reductions, and disciplinary actions in the galaxy but all you're gonna do is just make you and your daddy look like a couple of honorless nepotism-loving morons. How you've treated me and abused your power has already made its way around the entire regiment, and even a few people who outrank the commander have heard about this, You aren't the only one with friends in high places. I don't even need to use them cause if you even think about hitting me with another bogus punishment again, you'll be liable to get fragged by someone in the unit. So I'd recommend looking into how to be an actual leader and not a spoiled brat with too much power, before you get a thermal detonator rolled under you bed or catch a blaster bolt as a result of "friendly fire" during a skirmish with rebel forces. Ma'am

With that closing remark, Darius turned around and began to walk in the direct towards the chow hall before a hand suddenly grabbed his arm.

"Are you threatening me 2466? I ought to have you shot for insubordination!" Rikka said to him with a face that showed fear that was veiled with false authority.

"Good luck finding soldiers to do it, unless you want to just have me kneel down and shoot me in the back. But seeing you at the range and in a firefight, I'm confident I could put my head against the barrel and you'd still miss." Darius snarked before wringing his arm free and departing for the chow hall.

---

Darius Finally made it to the chow hall, as well as cooling off from his recent encounter with one of worst examples of nepotism in the imperial military. Overall the line wasn't as long as he would've thought and managed to get through relatively quickly. His meal wasn't anything to write home about, but any soldier will tell you that a hot meal is better than combat rations any day of the week. Not to mention less likely to lead to difficulty when the meal is "trying to pass through the fourth point of contact" as Darius often puts it.

After grabbing his tray he tried to see if any other EVOs were enjoying some food but was greeted by a sea of stormtroopers, army soldiers, and technicians. He did see one table with a stormtrooper with brown hair and green eyes eating and decided he'd rather sit with someone who's likely seen combat as opposed to any green as grass recruits or non combatants who've never left base or a ship.

He promptly sat across from the sergeant and introduced himself. "Greetings Sergeant, Corporal Darius or TK-2466 if you want to keep it extra formal. I'm one of the EVO troopers sent here from Felucia.

[Quebec-Libre]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

"Gentlemen, I apologize for my behavior, I believe that we are all stressed and tired, and to you Commander Leatel, I believe we are similar people, and that will inevitably lead to conflict, but I hope we can mitigate it and follow the Captain's advice. Gentlemen.”

Watching Ette leave, as well as most others exit the room,, Leatal thought to himself before also exiting the area quietly. Leatal nodded to himself. At least the Captain was considerate of everything, considering what she knew and what she could act on. At least Ette hadn’t his head so far up his ass he couldn’t remove it. Maybe there was hope for the bomber commander. Maybe. Leatal hoped as much, considering everything. He thought about it some more. He just might have to rely on the bombers, in an engagement, especially if they needed something that threatened fighters like a corvette but was meaty enough to require proton torpedoes. Yes, they just might have to rely on the bombers. That was how it was.

Getting to his, and his squadron’s, quarters the man looked about. Twelve pilots, that meant he could have three pilots ready to go on an eight hour rotation with sixteen hours between rotations. That would likely be adequate. Of course, between the hours of 0800 and 2400 he’d have a full third of the squadron awake. That was even better. Getting to his rack, he drew-out a sheet of plasti and started to write down assignments, giving himself that first watch.

“Good news or bad, Commander?”

“Just news, Lieutenant,” the scratching of a pen on the rigid sheet.

“They’re moving cots onto the flightdeck.”

The scratching stopped. “Cots, Lieutenant?”

“Just saw some crew bringing em down.”

Leatal sighed to himself, before keeping on writing.

---

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"We hear you loud and Clear, Legacy. This is Pertinance Fleet Admiral Trenaur."

"You weren't originally supposed to be here. I assume there was a change of plans?"

“Negative, Pertinance. I’ll explain once aboard. Prepare for my arrival. Legacy, out.”

With that short response, Progre cut the comms channel completely before looking about. The fighters had taken up their respective formations and maneuvers, little twelve star v’s and their little blue star engines dotting the empty spaces between warships. The larger vessels, for their part, had their engines pulse with fire, blue supernovas in their splendor, as they maneuvered into their own positions and posts in the fleet’s formation. Smaller corvettes held their three ship pickets, engines bursting as they pushed ahead of the fleet in order to dissuade any pilots from the Pertinance or her fleet from performing fancy maneuvers, getting too close. The main capital ships blasted away, reactors blazing away like pulsing hearts.

Getting up, the Grand Moff made his way to the hangar. It was time to see if this Fleet Admiral Trenaur was as he had surmised before.

As the coms cut, Jeremiah switched and called out in the initercom, asking for the crew to show up in the hangar of the vessel, in parade uniform, making sure everything was clean. A few minutes later, the entire crew was in the said hangar, cleanly clad. The stormtroopers had their armors polished, and everyone was waiting for the Grand Moff to arrive.

Even Jeremiah himself had made sure to clean his pauldrons and the rest of his uniform, making sure the whole of them were shinning.

"Alright everyone, be disciplined and act maturely. This guy's top business, so don't mess up."

The crew made sure to do such, waiting for the imperial shuttle to land.

[Ormata]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

Progre walked down the halls, crew pausing at his every passing to stand at attention. They greeted him, of course, though the Grand Moff had made it a point and standing order to not require the ‘attention on deck’ call, the loud greetings, or the rest of that. In some ways, it was merely a distraction, a pause in their work that could be dispensed with, a strain that could go undone. He walked down the halls, a MSE-6 briefly playing about his feet before scuttling off with the realization that it wasn’t necessary at all. Quiet footsteps down the halls, though the cluster about him, before him, gave enough discord. Black armor, a gray uniform, these moved through the halls of the Legacy, through and past the working parties, maintenance personnel, past droids and Stormtroopers at their posts. It was strange, almost, though Progre didn’t think of that. He didn’t think of the people, of how he might have been in their shoes or close to it if he’d been born a different family, of how he might have been the soldier at the post, the specialist at the comms, the pilot. No, he thought of what he was going to say to the Fleet Admiral. He thought of the conversation and possible confrontation to come.

The man had sounded somewhat confused. He’d asked if there was a change of plans. He’d stated that Progre was not supposed to be there. Under that logic, it was clear that Trenaur had thought that the Grand Moff had been sent to replace him, that he thought that Progre had come to oversee the construction and testing of the prototype station. It sounded like Trenaur was confused on who had sent Progre, that he felt someone, somewhere, had overstepped their bounds and sent the man against common sense, against the advice of their betters as it were. The Fleet Admiral clearly had forgotten one simple fact. There was only one individual higher than a Grand Moff in the Empire, only one, only the one who appointed them and dictated the course of the Empire itself. Progre had been sent to ensure the project reached it’s conclusion, not to steer it.

He came to the hangar, seeing the vast expanses before him. The portion he himself had come to was the shuttlebay, of course, a smaller area intended for cargo movement with cranes and the like, a smaller shielding door. Lambdas were parked in their rows to one side while a half-dozen TIE/br craft and a repurposed Gamma-Class were parked to the other. Walking along the deckedges, the alarms sounding as the shielding door began to open up to the cold gulf, Progre could see the shuttle lighting-up, engines beginning their own steady hums. Nodding with some satisfaction, he and his escort strode on over to the open ramp. Climbing into the Lambda-Class, commandos to either side of him and across, a technician checked their harnesses before returning to the cockpit. The steady whine started to louden before the ramp closed , muffling it, and the ship began it’s journey out and away.

The flight was relatively short, though it was obvious the flight commanders didn’t feel any more at ease about it as several squadrons escorted the shuttle to it’s destination. Four full squadrons of TIE/IN craft made their formations about the ship, each one ready to leap into full combat. Yet, there was no incident on the approach, nor on the docking, and the squadrons peeled-away to return to Legacy.

The Lambda touched down, engines dying, and the ramp opened up. Rising from his seated position, the Grand Moff made his exit, still accompanied by those commandos in their black armor. Attention on Deck was called, the whole of the hangar shifting to that position without a work, with almost not a single sound as one foot came against another, as armor shifted and Stormtroopers came to the rifle salute. Progre was impressed, in some small manner, though the precision and discipline of a Stormtrooper, of even a crewman of the Imperial Navy, had become expected. They did so and kept doing so, just as one wasn’t surprised by the fact that their chrono was still accurate every day.

He walked off the ship’s ramp, Storm Commandos beside him, and started down the line to the Fleet Admiral.

[Quebec-Libre]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

Progre walked down the halls, crew pausing at his every passing to stand at attention. They greeted him, of course, though the Grand Moff had made it a point and standing order to not require the ‘attention on deck’ call, the loud greetings, or the rest of that. In some ways, it was merely a distraction, a pause in their work that could be dispensed with, a strain that could go undone. He walked down the halls, a MSE-6 briefly playing about his feet before scuttling off with the realization that it wasn’t necessary at all. Quiet footsteps down the halls, though the cluster about him, before him, gave enough discord. Black armor, a gray uniform, these moved through the halls of the Legacy, through and past the working parties, maintenance personnel, past droids and Stormtroopers at their posts. It was strange, almost, though Progre didn’t think of that. He didn’t think of the people, of how he might have been in their shoes or close to it if he’d been born a different family, of how he might have been the soldier at the post, the specialist at the comms, the pilot. No, he thought of what he was going to say to the Fleet Admiral. He thought of the conversation and possible confrontation to come.

The man had sounded somewhat confused. He’d asked if there was a change of plans. He’d stated that Progre was not supposed to be there. Under that logic, it was clear that Trenaur had thought that the Grand Moff had been sent to replace him, that he thought that Progre had come to oversee the construction and testing of the prototype station. It sounded like Trenaur was confused on who had sent Progre, that he felt someone, somewhere, had overstepped their bounds and sent the man against common sense, against the advice of their betters as it were. The Fleet Admiral clearly had forgotten one simple fact. There was only one individual higher than a Grand Moff in the Empire, only one, only the one who appointed them and dictated the course of the Empire itself. Progre had been sent to ensure the project reached it’s conclusion, not to steer it.

He came to the hangar, seeing the vast expanses before him. The portion he himself had come to was the shuttlebay, of course, a smaller area intended for cargo movement with cranes and the like, a smaller shielding door. Lambdas were parked in their rows to one side while a half-dozen TIE/br craft and a repurposed Gamma-Class were parked to the other. Walking along the deckedges, the alarms sounding as the shielding door began to open up to the cold gulf, Progre could see the shuttle lighting-up, engines beginning their own steady hums. Nodding with some satisfaction, he and his escort strode on over to the open ramp. Climbing into the Lambda-Class, commandos to either side of him and across, a technician checked their harnesses before returning to the cockpit. The steady whine started to louden before the ramp closed , muffling it, and the ship began it’s journey out and away.

The flight was relatively short, though it was obvious the flight commanders didn’t feel any more at ease about it as several squadrons escorted the shuttle to it’s destination. Four full squadrons of TIE/IN craft made their formations about the ship, each one ready to leap into full combat. Yet, there was no incident on the approach, nor on the docking, and the squadrons peeled-away to return to Legacy.

The Lambda touched down, engines dying, and the ramp opened up. Rising from his seated position, the Grand Moff made his exit, still accompanied by those commandos in their black armor. Attention on Deck was called, the whole of the hangar shifting to that position without a work, with almost not a single sound as one foot came against another, as armor shifted and Stormtroopers came to the rifle salute. Progre was impressed, in some small manner, though the precision and discipline of a Stormtrooper, of even a crewman of the Imperial Navy, had become expected. They did so and kept doing so, just as one wasn’t surprised by the fact that their chrono was still accurate every day.

He walked off the ship’s ramp, Storm Commandos beside him, and started down the line to the Fleet Admiral.

"Grand Moff Progre, Welcome aboard the Pertinance."

The Red-pauldron-Wearing Fleet Admiral stood at the end of the line, facing the moff, an arm crossed behind his back and the other rested to his front (A little like this), not breaking his usual friendliness, but also acting very mature and precise.

"Yes, I know, It doesn't sound as intimidating as something like 'Empire's Wrath' or 'Devastator', but aren't we most of all supposed to keep peace?"

[Ormata]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"Grand Moff Progre, Welcome aboard the Pertinance."

"Yes, I know, It doesn't sound as intimidating as something like 'Empire's Wrath' or 'Devastator', but aren't we most of all supposed to keep peace?"

“Fleet Admiral Trenaur,” replied Progre, pausing with each word as though to savour it’s sound as the man looked this Fleet Admiral over. He looked young for an officer of the post, just as had been noted before in the logs and files, though not yet tainted by stress or concern over that post. A crop of black hair grew modestly wild, almost slicked-back, and the man’s uniform seemed kept enough. It’d been recently cleaned, though; Progre could smell the solution, masked and tinged by the man but still able to be smelled. He’d probably caused a small panic when he stated he was coming aboard. That was usual procedure, after all. A smile rose to Progre’s face, a small smile that didn’t leave the corner of his mouth.

The comment was funny, in a little way, funny because Progre himself had taken what could be considered one of the most heavenly gifts the Emperor might bestow, named it Legacy, and mounted massive cannons to the thing. He could have turned the Worldcraft into anything, into a pleasure world with a palace and dais from which he might be contented in his Oversector. He could have turned the Worldcraft into a city, full of his own people, full of metal jungle. But no, he took it, used it first to consume a world before then creating a warship. It was funny, in a way. The question, for it’s part, was less funny. Keeping the peace.

Ironic he’d state that while overseeing a project to destroy worlds.

“Of course, but names are not what makes a weapon a weapon. Let us talk privately. I’m sure you have many questions.”

[Quebec-Libre]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"Grand Moff Progre, Welcome aboard the Pertinance."

"Yes, I know, It doesn't sound as intimidating as something like 'Empire's Wrath' or 'Devastator', but aren't we most of all supposed to keep peace?"

“Fleet Admiral Trenaur,” replied Progre, pausing with each word as though to savour it’s sound as the man looked this Fleet Admiral over. He looked young for an officer of the post, just as had been noted before in the logs and files, though not yet tainted by stress or concern over that post. A crop of black hair grew modestly wild, almost slicked-back, and the man’s uniform seemed kept enough. It’d been recently cleaned, though; Progre could smell the solution, masked and tinged by the man but still able to be smelled. He’d probably caused a small panic when he stated he was coming aboard. That was usual procedure, after all. A smile rose to Progre’s face, a small smile that didn’t leave the corner of his mouth.

The comment was funny, in a little way, funny because Progre himself had taken what could be considered one of the most heavenly gifts the Emperor might bestow, named it Legacy, and mounted massive cannons to the thing. He could have turned the Worldcraft into anything, into a pleasure world with a palace and dais from which he might be contented in his Oversector. He could have turned the Worldcraft into a city, full of his own people, full of metal jungle. But no, he took it, used it first to consume a world before then creating a warship. It was funny, in a way. The question, for it’s part, was less funny. Keeping the peace.

Ironic he’d state that while overseeing a project to destroy worlds.

“Of course, but names are not what makes a weapon a weapon. Let us talk privately. I’m sure you have many questions.”

"Well, I figured some myself. But please, if you will follow me."

Trenaur walked towards a Turbolift, which sent them to a corridor several levels above. He then paced acrosss to a door that brought them to his office, of which he sat behind its desk. The room's walls and roof were made out of White Synthstone, while the floor was covered in Rhodocrosite tiles. On the wall behind the desk, there was an additionnal flash-frozen Carbonite black strip. The desk was made entirely out of chromium, with a similiary-built hover chair behind. On the right corner of the desk there was a small transparent canister of ultra-rare Isotope-5. There was also on the opposite corner a small holographic model of the Pertinance.

The Fleet Admiral sat behind his desk, gesturing for his superior to sit on one of the 2 other chairs that were infront of the desk.

"You might aswell take a seat. Now, I figured who sent you. The emperor, correct? After all, except Vader, he's the sole authority over you."

[Ormata]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"Well, I figured some myself. But please, if you will follow me."

"You might as well take a seat. Now, I figured who sent you. The emperor, correct? After all, except Vader, he's the sole authority over you."

Taking that proffered seat, Progre nodded. “He feels that this project requires an individual with experience in industrial manufacturing to ensure success. You are a Fleet Admiral, not such an individual. The Emperor feels that I am.”

Raising a hand to halt the next doubtless question, Progre continued. He didn’t want, or need, the man to become too excited, too angry, or too confused. That would merely be annoying. “You will still be overseeing this construction and testing, Fleet Admiral. I am merely concerned with the technical detailings, the minutiae if you will. I already run Rothana and have no need to add this to my concerns.”

[Quebec-Libre]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"Well, I figured some myself. But please, if you will follow me."

"You might as well take a seat. Now, I figured who sent you. The emperor, correct? After all, except Vader, he's the sole authority over you."

Taking that proffered seat, Progre nodded. “He feels that this project requires an individual with experience in industrial manufacturing to ensure success. You are a Fleet Admiral, not such an individual. The Emperor feels that I am.”

Raising a hand to halt the next doubtless question, Progre continued. He didn’t want, or need, the man to become too excited, too angry, or too confused. That would merely be annoying. “You will still be overseeing this construction and testing, Fleet Admiral. I am merely concerned with the technical detailings, the minutiae if you will. I already run Rothana and have no need to add this to my concerns.”

"I see. Now, to my next question: Why has the ISB been following me on Oridin City?"

He paused, making emphasis on it.

"And do not act like you are in the unknown regarding this, nor that I am making things up. There are little things that a man of your rank would not be aware."

[Ormata]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"I see. Now, to my next question: Why has the ISB been following me on Oridin City?"

"And do not act like you are in the unknown regarding this, nor that I am making things up. There are little things that a man of your rank would not be aware."

Progre blinked, leaning back into his seat fully and intertwining his hands. Now that, finally, was a question. Granted, it was an idiot question because the answer was quite obvious. Only an individual who did not fully understand the whole of the clock that was the Imperial Security Bureau would ask that style of question. “You’re a Fleet. Admiral. If that sort of thing wasn’t watched over by intelligence agencies, I don’t know what would. The ISB follows me. They follow Pestage, I would think, even if he wouldn’t want it. I would think they keep tabs on Lord Vader, even though I know he wouldn’t want it. They follow whoever is important, whoever could spill secrets like running water, and whoever could be captured. It’s their job. They’re a Security Bureau. They keep it.”

Progre’s eyes looked past Trenaur, through him fully almost as he formed his thoughts. Swallowing, Progre looked back into existance, back into Trenaur’s eyes fully, and kept on going, saying with that measured tone, “You’re personable, I hear. A man of his crew. First name basis with some, even, and one who jokes as well. They think you’re one of them. If the Rebellion converted you to their cause, stars and saints forbid, a good enough force might think you to have enough charisma to follow. A good enough force that knows Imperial doctrine, technical and field, like the backs of their hands. You understand, then, the ISB’s concern for your safety and the safety of the Empire as a whole.”

[Quebec-Libre]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"I see. Now, to my next question: Why has the ISB been following me on Oridin City?"

"And do not act like you are in the unknown regarding this, nor that I am making things up. There are little things that a man of your rank would not be aware."

Progre blinked, leaning back into his seat fully and intertwining his hands. Now that, finally, was a question. Granted, it was an idiot question because the answer was quite obvious. Only an individual who did not fully understand the whole of the clock that was the Imperial Security Bureau would ask that style of question. “You’re a Fleet. Admiral. If that sort of thing wasn’t watched over by intelligence agencies, I don’t know what would. The ISB follows me. They follow Pestage, I would think, even if he wouldn’t want it. I would think they keep tabs on Lord Vader, even though I know he wouldn’t want it. They follow whoever is important, whoever could spill secrets like running water, and whoever could be captured. It’s their job. They’re a Security Bureau. They keep it.”

Progre’s eyes looked past Trenaur, through him fully almost as he formed his thoughts. Swallowing, Progre looked back into existance, back into Trenaur’s eyes fully, and kept on going, saying with that measured tone, “You’re personable, I hear. A man of his crew. First name basis with some, even, and one who jokes as well. They think you’re one of them. If the Rebellion converted you to their cause, stars and saints forbid, a good enough force might think you to have enough charisma to follow. A good enough force that knows Imperial doctrine, technical and field, like the backs of their hands. You understand, then, the ISB’s concern for your safety and the safety of the Empire as a whole.”

"...Even then though, Director Krennic was in the ISB...and well, let us just say that he was the one having tabs kept on."

He sat back, looking at the canister for a moment. The substance in it was so luminous that there was no need of other lighting in the room.

"They think that I am one of them because I am. The crew of the Leikanger owe me their lives. I went myself on the field of Gatalenta. I killed 7 jedi with only a sword and a blaster. I destroyed 80% of the escaping rebel fleet when they evacuated the forest moon of Yavin. They know what I am capable of. And they respect me for it. Because, rule by respect has always been more powerful than rule by fear. We learned it the hard way a year ago, Didn't we? And don't think that I'm a traitor of any sort. Tarkin literally said that his doctorine was 'Rule by fear of force rather than Rule by Force itself.' And I guess he paid the price. We all did."

[Ormata]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"...Even then though, Director Krennic was in the ISB...and well, let us just say that he was the one having tabs kept on."

He sat back, looking at the canister for a moment. The substance in it was so luminous that there was no need of other lighting in the room.

"They think that I am one of them because I am. The crew of the Leikanger owe me their lives. I went myself on the field of Gatalenta. I killed 7 jedi with only a sword and a blaster. I destroyed 80% of the escaping rebel fleet when they evacuated the forest moon of Yavin. They know what I am capable of. And they respect me for it. Because, rule by respect has always been more powerful than rule by fear. We learned it the hard way a year ago, Didn't we? And don't think that I'm a traitor of any sort. Tarkin literally said that his doctrine was 'Rule by fear of force rather than Rule by Force itself.' And I guess he paid the price. We all did."

“Tarkin was an idiot,” came the immediate reply from the Grand Moff, still settled in the chair, still clipped in his tone. A small bit of anger might be heard rising there, though it was quickly subdued as Progre began to talk, to pick up speed in his words and the pace of them. The man was talking fast by the end. “A dead idiot. Don’t use an idiot’s words of a fool to justify your familiarity with your crew. He was referring to military-civilian relations, not inter-military relations, even though the Tarkin Doctrine still fails in that regard. You do not rule soldiers through fear and I would suggest you give the names of any military commanders who make the attempt to do so. I will ensure they are not commanders for long. Leaders lead...not rule, lead through respect because respect is demanded from those below them, demanded by virtue of strength and ability. A commander of soldiers is to be respected as such because it is known, by their rank and actions, that they are capable enough to ensure victory for themselves and their nation and capable enough to ensure their troops are not needlessly killed. You should know this.”

“They owe you lives. I don’t care. The ISB doesn’t care. They care that they are endeared to you far more than any military commander might. Pellaeon’s crew respects him, some might be endeared to him, but they do not think the man is a living saint. They still know he’s human. The same is expected of you by the ISB. And no, you do not have to recount your experiences on Gatalenta. They are well known.”

Progre sighed, one hand rubbing at his temple while the other rested in his lap. The man’s mouth was wry as he thought everything through yet again. It was strange in his opinion, quite strange that Trenaur would reference Tarkin of all people. In Progre’s opinion, Tarkin was a pompous, arrogant fool who had gotten thousands killed, a fool who had thought himself superior merely by his position, not by anything like a person’s abilities, their capabilities, their resources. Tarkin was very, very dead, as well as many a person who had good ability, good capability, and good resources. Those people were dead because of Tarkin and bringing up such a name was an annoyance to the Grand Moff who could afford to be annoyed.

[Quebec-Libre]

“Tarkin was an idiot, A dead idiot. Don’t use an idiot’s words of a fool to justify your familiarity with your crew. He was referring to military-civilian relations, not inter-military relations, even though the Tarkin Doctrine still fails in that regard. You do not rule soldiers through fear and I would suggest you give the names of any military commanders who make the attempt to do so. I will ensure they are not commanders for long. Leaders lead...not rule, lead through respect because respect is demanded from those below them, demanded by virtue of strength and ability. A commander of soldiers is to be respected as such because it is known, by their rank and actions, that they are capable enough to ensure victory for themselves and their nation and capable enough to ensure their troops are not needlessly killed. You should know this.”

“They owe you lives. I don’t care. The ISB doesn’t care. They care that they are endeared to you far more than any military commander might. Pellaeon’s crew respects him, some might be endeared to him, but they do not think the man is a living saint. They still know he’s human. The same is expected of you by the ISB. And no, you do not have to recount your experiences on Gatalenta. They are well known.”

"And you think that I'm not aware of such? Respect is key. But it mustn't only be unilateral. We both respect eachother, because, if none of us do, we all die in the end."

The fleet Admiral kept calm, but he was not enjoying any part of this.

"Besides, I really would not go as far as to say that they believe me a saint. Just because you believe that I am incapable doesn't necessarily make it true. I would not be a Fleet Admiral if it was. The Emperor could have appointed plenty of officers to the rank, yet I was chosen. Chosen because of my talent, and because of my loyalty. I firmly believe that these were the same reasons why you are a Grand Moff. I firmly believe that you deserve the rank that you hold. Why would it be different for me?"

[The Verdantderm Lands]

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

After the courier from the shuttle departed, Captain Zhǔ immediately took the sealed packet to her cabin, locked the door behind her and dimmed the room. She retrieved her secure-comp, a computer with up-to-date Imperial Encryption/Decryption protocols and not connected to any other computer on board the ship, and activated it. Zhǔ then inspected the sealed packet to insure that the seal had not been tampered with, it passed her inspection. Within the packet was a memory stick, which she plugged into the comp and activated. The galaxy, in miniature light, swirled in the Captain's cabin and the mission was revealed to her.

The Fēng-Cháo would be hovering on the edge of the Bespin space and rendezvous with the convoy in light-speed space as it made it's jump. It would make all the jumps with the convoy to Eadu. Bespin meant that, among other things, the convoy would indeed be carrying tibanna gas and Eadu meant, if the rumors were true, that the scientists in Imperial weapons research were likely doing something BIG.

Captain Zhǔ consulted the new schedule and her computerized time-space chronograph. They had some leeway in time, but not much. She retrieved and pocketed the memory stick from the secure-comp and stowed the comp in its place. She then went to the Bridge.

Arriving on the Bridge, the Captain sat in the Command Chair, opened the ship's public address system and said, "This is the Captain, the ship will be underway in thirty-five minutes, all personnel will have their loose gear secured in thirty minutes and will begin reporting to their stations. This ship will depart smartly and on time. Failure to comply will have consequences. Captain out."

[Bolslania]

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

After the courier from the shuttle departed, Captain Zhǔ immediately took the sealed packet to her cabin, locked the door behind her and dimmed the room. She retrieved her secure-comp, a computer with up-to-date Imperial Encryption/Decryption protocols and not connected to any other computer on board the ship, and activated it. Zhǔ then inspected the sealed packet to insure that the seal had not been tampered with, it passed her inspection. Within the packet was a memory stick, which she plugged into the comp and activated. The galaxy, in miniature light, swirled in the Captain's cabin and the mission was revealed to her.

The Fēng-Cháo would be hovering on the edge of the Bespin space and rendezvous with the convoy in light-speed space as it made it's jump. It would make all the jumps with the convoy to Eadu. Bespin meant that, among other things, the convoy would indeed be carrying tibanna gas and Eadu meant, if the rumors were true, that the scientists in Imperial weapons research were likely doing something BIG.

Captain Zhǔ consulted the new schedule and her computerized time-space chronograph. They had some leeway in time, but not much. She retrieved and pocketed the memory stick from the secure-comp and stowed the comp in its place. She then went to the Bridge.

Arriving on the Bridge, the Captain sat in the Command Chair, opened the ship's public address system and said, "This is the Captain, the ship will be underway in thirty-five minutes, all personnel will have their loose gear secured in thirty minutes and will begin reporting to their stations. This ship will depart smartly and on time. Failure to comply will have consequences. Captain out."

Ette listened to the PA announcement, when it was finished, he turned to his men.

"Alright, you heard her, stow your shit, move!" He turned back to the comm station, picking up the mike, he asked

"Bridge, this is Azure, what is the readiness situation, over." He clicked receive on the comm station. He heard his men rustling around behind him, and mechanics shouting orders and requests at each other. He had had Azure on readiness, but if the captain wanted them to stand down, that would be a different situation.

[Argonopolis]

Captain Raphe Zhǔ, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo

After the courier from the shuttle departed, Captain Zhǔ immediately took the sealed packet to her cabin, locked the door behind her and dimmed the room. She retrieved her secure-comp, a computer with up-to-date Imperial Encryption/Decryption protocols and not connected to any other computer on board the ship, and activated it. Zhǔ then inspected the sealed packet to insure that the seal had not been tampered with, it passed her inspection. Within the packet was a memory stick, which she plugged into the comp and activated. The galaxy, in miniature light, swirled in the Captain's cabin and the mission was revealed to her.

The Fēng-Cháo would be hovering on the edge of the Bespin space and rendezvous with the convoy in light-speed space as it made it's jump. It would make all the jumps with the convoy to Eadu. Bespin meant that, among other things, the convoy would indeed be carrying tibanna gas and Eadu meant, if the rumors were true, that the scientists in Imperial weapons research were likely doing something BIG.

Captain Zhǔ consulted the new schedule and her computerized time-space chronograph. They had some leeway in time, but not much. She retrieved and pocketed the memory stick from the secure-comp and stowed the comp in its place. She then went to the Bridge.

Arriving on the Bridge, the Captain sat in the Command Chair, opened the ship's public address system and said, "This is the Captain, the ship will be underway in thirty-five minutes, all personnel will have their loose gear secured in thirty minutes and will begin reporting to their stations. This ship will depart smartly and on time. Failure to comply will have consequences. Captain out."

Commander Castor Vex, Tong-Falk class escort carrier Fēng-Cháo
As Castor left the briefing, he couldn't help sighing in exasperation. His fellow commanders just getting into a blaster measuring competition just before the mission was never a good sign.
"Why do I always get matched with glory-hounds and medal-monkeys?", Castor muttered to himself.
Castor had always disliked how the Empire's military seemed to crawling with overly ambitious officers, whose only concern was personal glory. The amount of dead Imperial servicemen that had been killed by their foolish officers bravado was sickening. It was as if they had forgotten what they were fighting for. The Empire and all the prosperity and security it provided needed to be protected, even if it was a thankless task. He hoped that his initial impressions about the other officers was wrong, but might as well prepare for the worst.

Castor gathered his flight officers and gave them their orders. He would be running readiness drills daily until the men could suit up and be at the fighters in the time needed for fast deployment. In addition, a third of his pilots would stay suited and ready by the fighters to provide the first wave of protection for the carrier after the small jump in. With his underlings orders squared away he moved back to quarters to get some sleep before they made the jump to hyperspace.

[Ormata]

Commander Leatal, 438th Fighter Squadron
Fēng-Cháo

This is the Captain, the ship will be underway in thirty-five minutes, all personnel will have their loose gear secured in thirty minutes and will begin reporting to their stations. This ship will depart smartly and on time. Failure to comply will have consequences. Captain out."

Sucking his teeth at the intercom message from the Captain, it was quite obvious that the mission had finally been revealed to them, that they knew their rendevous point and that the mission briefing would occur soon. Nodding in some satisfaction, looking up at watchbill Leatal took a small amount of time to see who was slated to have their sleep schedule at present. They’d be accounted for.

“Muster in the Hangar in,” Leatal checked his chrono, “Ten minutes. Check your fighters.”

“Sir!”

---

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"And you think that I'm not aware of such? Respect is key. But it mustn't only be unilateral. We both respect each other, because, if none of us do, we all die in the end."

"Besides, I really would not go as far as to say that they believe me a saint. Just because you believe that I am incapable doesn't necessarily make it true. I would not be a Fleet Admiral if it was. The Emperor could have appointed plenty of officers to the rank, yet I was chosen. Chosen because of my talent, and because of my loyalty. I firmly believe that these were the same reasons why you are a Grand Moff. I firmly believe that you deserve the rank that you hold. Why would it be different for me?"

Sighing a second time, he shook his head. Progre slowly stood up from his seat, clasping his arms behind his back and beginning to pace back and forth slowly before the desk. Every once in a while he would look to the Fleet Admiral, pausing in his steps, before continuing to dictate. “I think there’s been a significant misunderstanding. Let me explain.”

“I don’t think you’re incapable. I have not yet seen enough of you to know if you are or are not. It remains to be seen. I don’t think your people think of you as a saint; ISB does. Frankly, I don’t care if they do or do not. If it’s determined that there is a problem of that nature, ISB will deal with it, you’ll disappear, and another will take your place. That is acceptable to me. If it’s determined that there is no problem, there is no problem. That’s how things are.”

“You were appointed, Admiral, in the wake of the Death Star. Understand that you were appointed in the wake of a massive disaster, a loss of hundreds of thousands of lives. You may be competent and rose to the top of that list by virtue of the clutter above you being removed. You may not be and rose to the top of that list by virtue of no one being a better choice. The fact of the matter is just that. There is a question among your peers on your competence. I am not one of those peers. I do not care about your beliefs, and you shouldn’t care for mine on this matter. I will trust you to do the job that has been set before you. Do it and I should never have to speak to you again. Fail and you will not see a single soul again, not a judge, not a jury, not your precious crew of the Leikanger.”

“Am I understood.”

[Quebec-Libre]

“I think there’s been a significant misunderstanding. Let me explain.”

“I don’t think you’re incapable. I have not yet seen enough of you to know if you are or are not. It remains to be seen. I don’t think your people think of you as a saint; ISB does. Frankly, I don’t care if they do or do not. If it’s determined that there is a problem of that nature, ISB will deal with it, you’ll disappear, and another will take your place. That is acceptable to me. If it’s determined that there is no problem, there is no problem. That’s how things are.”

“You were appointed, Admiral, in the wake of the Death Star. Understand that you were appointed in the wake of a massive disaster, a loss of hundreds of thousands of lives. You may be competent and rose to the top of that list by virtue of the clutter above you being removed. You may not be and rose to the top of that list by virtue of no one being a better choice. The fact of the matter is just that. There is a question among your peers on your competence. I am not one of those peers. I do not care about your beliefs, and you shouldn’t care for mine on this matter. I will trust you to do the job that has been set before you. Do it and I should never have to speak to you again. Fail and you will not see a single soul again, not a judge, not a jury, not your precious crew of the Leikanger.”

“Am I understood.”

Ouch.

This was painfully true, and the Fleet Admiral Knew. He knew that every single one of those words had been spoken in truth. And he appreciated that honesty. However he may have prefered it in another situation. But Jeremiah figured that it was a better idea to not mention that. Nor was it a good idea to defy the Moff's authority. Under the calm mask, Trenaur was infuriated beyond mesure. He hated people like Pogre. They claimed they were better than everyone else. While some geniunely were, they still bragged about it so much that the murderous envies were never far out of reach. But The Bar'leth man was not as imbecilic as to believe his career, and himself for that matter, would survive such an action. Pogre was just too valuable to the Empire for his demise to be unnoticed. Trenaur had to admit that, even with his rank of Fleet Admiral, he was disposable. He could be replaced. His whole fleet would go down with him if he refused that replacement.

"Very well, Sir. However I must point out that you seem very...outspoken, against me. I believe that, by this, you ensure that I will provide the best service I can to make sure this prototype reaches completion. Nevertheless, I do not like your threats. Especially those when you mention the Security Bureau as if it was under your control, which it is not. I understand that I was appointed in the wake of the death of plenty, I understand that I was appointed due to a gap in Imperial leadership and I understand that whether or not that decision to appoint me was a good thing has not yet been entirely solved, but what I do not understand is why, if you run Rothana, would you be sent god knows how many parsecs away from there to supervise a weapon that will be discarded after a single usage. "

He knew that a very, very long response would follow, and he didn't have time for any of it. And so he did what he did.

"If that is all, you are Dismissed, Sir."

[Ormata]

Grand Moff Progre, 209th Fleet
Legacy
Endor System, Moddell Sector

"Very well, Sir. However I must point out that you seem very...outspoken, against me. I believe that, by this, you ensure that I will provide the best service I can to make sure this prototype reaches completion. Nevertheless, I do not like your threats. Especially those when you mention the Security Bureau as if it was under your control, which it is not. I understand that I was appointed in the wake of the death of plenty, I understand that I was appointed due to a gap in Imperial leadership and I understand that whether or not that decision to appoint me was a good thing has not yet been entirely solved, but what I do not understand is why, if you run Rothana, would you be sent god knows how many parsecs away from there to supervise a weapon that will be discarded after a single usage. "

"If that is all, you are Dismissed, Sir."

Narrowing his eyes at Trenaur, Progre thought over precisely what he had said. He didn’t like the threats, ignoring the fact of just that. They were simply facts. Progre had said, specifically, that he wouldn’t have to raise a finger, whistle to any hound or fiend, or call for the ISB to kill the man. If they felt they needed to, should do, or were ordered to they would. They would dispose of him quietly. Hell, he hadn’t mentioned anything or the sort that they were under his control though there was, perhaps, some minor influence with those lads. Apparently, though, the one thing that Fleet Admiral Trenaur did not understand, despite the fact that he did not seem to understand much at all about the events which were at hand, the forces which were at hand, or his position in the schemes in play, was the fact that Progre had been called to ensure the smooth running of a program.

He could stay in the shadows, easily. The Emperor had made a simple promise, one that was easily fulfilled by all parties involved and merely required Progre to ensure a project’s success. If the prototype worked, it was his. It was that simple. Just as Tarkin constructed the first Death Star to fulfill his needs, Progre would do the same. He required a fleet-killer, a weapon able to destroy both planetary bodies and multiple warships on a mass scale. This prototype was a key to that design. In some ways, perhaps, it could be used one day for planetary cracking and mining. That sounded extremely profitable. In any case, Trenaur could stay in the shadows for now. He didn’t need to know details that didn’t concern him.

Licking his lips, Progre responded with, “Educate yourself, Fleet Admiral. Educate yourself.” With that, he turned, and walked out of the room, the door opening for him by a Storm Commando who had been waiting outside. They began the short walk to the hangar bay and shuttle and the Grand Moff, for his part, was somewhat satisfied. The meeting had proved his suspicions correct.

[Bolslania]

Kor Highwind, ISD Judgement

"Awright men, it's inspection time!" Kor yelled into the long, thin room where the stormtrooper enlisted were sleeping, as he flipped on the lights, there was a chorus of moaning, groaning, and some whining. Kor smiled mockingly at the rowdy stormtroopers

"Aw come on guys, this is the highlight of my day! Outta bed you chumps!" He said loudly and mockingly. His men knew him well enough to know that this was their daily dose of being fucked with, and that the sergeant would be chill the rest of the day. When the troopers were out of bed and standing at something that vaguely looked like attention by their bunks, Kor and Corporal Wittenk began inspecting the bunks.

Kor stopped by one man's bed, slowly rotating to face the man. The bunk had some gross material, looked like some form of bacteria, growing on it.

"Private Luse, if you are incapable of combating bacterial growth, the how the hell are you gonna fight the rebels on the planet below us!?" Kor yelled in the man's face

"I can't, sergeant!" Luse replied. He was looking firm, but definitely penant for his failure. Kor nodded.

"That's right, take those sheets to the wash and see supply for some new ones." Kor turned away from Luse. He continued to examine the trooper's bunks, a few stains here, some unauthorized (minorly) material here, not horrible. When Kor reached the end of the room, he turned to face the men.

"Alright, not bad, get dressed, resolve the issues that I made you aware of, and report for breakfast in the mess. Dismissed!" The men scrambled to comply with his orders. Kor left the bunkroom, he walked towards the mess hall, checking in on a few things on the way. By the time he got there, most of the other men had arrived, the mess was serving eggs, something that was supposed to be meat, and hashbrowns(?) today, supposedly, the invasion was coming up, and no one wanted to fight on bad food. He lined up behind Specialist Noelvio.

"Morning Noel." He said.

[Ormata]

SPC Noelvio Zacger, 4th Stormtrooper Division
ISD Judgement

"Awright men, it's inspection time!"

"Aw come on guys, this is the highlight of my day! Outta bed you chumps!"

"Private Luse, if you are incapable of combating bacterial growth, the how the hell are you gonna fight the rebels on the planet below us!?"

"I can't, sergeant!"

"That's right, take those sheets to the wash and see supply for some new ones."

"Alright, not bad, get dressed, resolve the issues that I made you aware of, and report for breakfast in the mess. Dismissed!"

"Morning Noel." He said.

“Sergeant,” she said, still as a brick wall. There wasn’t any sort of the characteristic tapping of the feet that some of the kids might have, none of the swaying stature that an Imperial Gunner or technician might have, no. Like many of the others in the line, she simply was. Heck, the Specialist didn’t even turn around to see who was addressing her. Sergeant Highwind’s voice wasn’t exactly something hard to identify, like some of the other troopers, and as a result of that she simply kept on looking ahead.

A brief sweep of the head; yes, it was in fact eggs, probably something reconstituted or artificial in one way or another, as well as hashbrowns. It was a far cry from the ration cubes they would be issued in the field, though, something that gave Noel mixed feelings to say the least. She didn’t want to miss the ship, though of course that would happen anyways. She wouldn’t be getting shot at on the ship, not now and not ever if thee Imperial Navy had its way, so honestly it was a foregone cause. That said, though...fondness to the safe places made you want to move through the unsafe places all the faster. It couldn’t hurt to become just a little more comfortable, even if the food was just a step up from the ration cubes that gave, quite literally, no flavor.

[Endem]

"This is the Captain, the ship will be underway in thirty-five minutes, all personnel will have their loose gear secured in thirty minutes and will begin reporting to their stations. This ship will depart smartly and on time. Failure to comply will have consequences. Captain out."

Kaleh Enfrer, Imperial Gunner, on board Fēng-Cháo, Crew Quarter

Just as the announcement was made Cabe won the round "It was like playing with amateurs" he said, to which the youngest of the four players, Minar, said "I am an amateur", Cabe made a hand move as to say sorry, but, stopped and moved his hand back. Then Faure, no it isn't his name but they never learned it thus they refer to him by his surname Faure, changed the topic " You heard the announcement right?", finally Kaleh spoke "Right, the announcement, well then, everyone, into your costumes".

"Costumes?" Cabe asked, seemingly confused about Kaleh's word use "Yeah costumes, especially for you Cabe, you know, a clown is nothing without his costume" five out of four people than either laughed or at least smiled at the joke while the rather slow-minded Cabe deciphered it's meaning, maybe that's why he dropped out of the pilot school, however if that was the case how the hell did he get to the gunners

They put on the parts of their uniforms they have taken off before, like gloves or their signature helmets, one or two had even the upper part of their uniforms off, they then reported to their stations, nothing out of the ordinary.