De Imperatoribus Galacticis: Chapter the Thirteenth

[The Duchess of Zeon]

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De Imperatoribus Galacticis

"On the Galactic Emperors"

Chapter the Thirteenth.

(As continued from Chapter the Twelfth.)


Corellian System,
Outer Fringes


The Vong scouts drifted forward among the light deritus that had formed here in the distant darkness far beyond the many and bountiful habitable planets that orbited that welcoming star of Corellia. They led the fleet commanded by Vidang Tahng; those first light elements which would direct its deployment, determine where it might be thrust, and probe out the enemy's mass. Here, in these cometary fragments, native to a star which had its bounty increased by the artful and deadly abomination of Centrepoint, there was almost surely nothing alive but those very ships. Thoroughness demanded the region be checked regardless.

On the lead number of those light ships, a metallic object was detected nearly simultaneous to a power spike. The spike was minor, but it was sufficient to flush the onboard missile tubes that the fighter carried. The Vong scout reacted instantly, dovin basals handling the two incoming concussion missiles and counterfire taking out the ancient Z-95 Headhunter before it could get off more than another fire-linked shot, which was again absorbed. The remnants were hardly worth mentioning, scrap and particles amongst the even more lightly spread hydrogen and deritus of space, left to drift until it might collide with the dense debris of the region, where at least such a probability existed.

From the cover of those debris, and their dangerous--though advantageous--position of being powered down, a half-wing of Z-95s commenced a repetition of the attempt. There were a total of ten Vong scouts in the force, widely spread as they swept through this area of the Corellia system; the formation had thousands of klicks seperation between each scout, at least. The Corellian attack was still suicidal. The Vong rapidly formed up, returning fire and rending ice to petty chunks or vapour in moments, plasma erupting from larger targets or smaller alike. Even the light weaponry of the Vong equipped on their scout ships was easily capable of this action, and considering the very lopsided nature of the fight, it perhaps came as little surprise that even those Z-95s which began evasive action were quickly annihilated.

In closing with them and forming up, however, the scout element commander had gone deeper in than he had intended. They had also forced him to rather blatantly reveal his position. He commenced a turn to withdraw from the field and disperse the scouts, while at the same time ordering emissions reduced to minimal levels. With luck they could resume probing activities after being lost to the inevitable enemy observation that had begun from that contact.

The backstop of the fighter picket was going to have something to say about that. What the Vong commander had presumed as only a light screen on the region was revealed as rather more, when the passive sensors of the trailing scouts detected the leading edge of a formation of X-wings coming in. They manoeuvred to avoid contact, but as further half-wings of Z-95s were vectored to contact on the flanks, the rear of the intentionally splintered Vong formation had no choice but to power up their targeting sensors and engage once more.

When the scout commander received word of the X-wings, he brought the leading ships of his element back around to assist the trailers. It now appeared that he might have been wrong: he could be in touch with the main body of the Corellian Tyrant's fleet, for seventy-two X-wings slashed down upon the trailers of his formation, and the hundred-meter gunships, stripped for this task, did not have the defences to repel that sort of concentration. Still, his leading ships plunged back into the fray, scattering the Z-95s and doing great execution amongst the onrushing X-wings.

A momentary reprieve given by the additional weight of firepower, the remaining seven Vong scouts formed up, some now with noticeable damage, and raced among the harrying X-wings and darting old Headhunters. As the telling blows of salvoed torpedoes and missiles wore against them, the numbers of their enemy were reduced by an even greater measure. Even as their number was brought down to six in another crack and painful rending of biomatter into plasma and debris by the unleashed energies of the proton fire, they might have defeated their reduced enemies, the eggshells that fought against their far stronger hulls.

Ahead, through the cometary debris and clouds, those probing sensors of the Vong scouts sought something, though, and they would not be stinted. Through the primal mist those probes of energy unveiled an unsteady image. A classic scout line of twenty Corellian Corvettes advanced steadily on thrusters through the debris towards the engagement, their hulls so new that even this distant from the glorious star of the Corellian system, they still glinted faintly of metallic, the coats of paint never applied--except for a single blood red pinstripe along their flanks that identified them as much as anyone could ever ask. From beyond and above them, the sensors detailed an image into visual clarity, a second line, these of Gunships to support those first scouts, the massed industry of the Corellian yards in evidence.

Beyond them, looming heavily with their age and their heavy old construction, a squadron of dreadnoughts drifted ever-stately, assigned to support, their hulls battered by a good century of hard service in the hands of many masters. They were supported in turn by an escort carrier, it's maw opened to the stars and spilling out a horde of A-wings even as the sensors caught it. The X-wings might be supposed to have been the fighters of the dreadnoughts themselves, but any such illusion could be dispelled as they began to launch more, doubling the original numbers:

Indeed, the sensors could almost discern the energy of ships distantly beyond that first force, but could not identify it. The power emissions of countless ships, arrayed over hundreds of thousands of kilometers of frontage, the fleet which had been thrown together by the sheer will and half-mad genius of Thracken Sal-Solo to defend Corellia, and manned by the relentlessness of the same font.

"Transmit! Transmit!" The Vong element commander ordered as the data picture became clear. The ships he was firm on could just be a detachment, but it was clear, he knew it, that this was the enemy fleet, stationed at the very fringe of the Corellian system. Vidang Tahng had to know about it, and he would. "Dump all the sensor records, now - general broadcast." The transmission was begun, cycling through as the scouts relentlessly plunged ahead, the data being updated even as the closed the range with the enemy scout line suicidally. But that was their job, and they'd do it right up until they met the Gods.

The transmission had cycled through twice, being updated constantly, and was beginning a third as the line of Corellian gunships began to fire, the X-wings and remaining Z-95s elegantly scattering to avoid the hailstorm. The Vong scouts commenced evasive action, but the gunships were locked in on them and there were four for each of the surviving scouts, some of which had noticeable damage. Missiles and plasma flew, and those Vong who could even returned fire, but before a third transmission could be completed the last of the scouts had been destroyed, vapourized rock mixing with less palpatable carbon matter in a cloud which drifted about the site of the brief engagement.


Coruscant System,
The Hand of Thrawn


Grand Admiral Pellaeon looked at the staff that he would command over Coruscant, at their countenances and their forms, assembled in the main briefing room of the Hand of Thrawn. The Emperor was not here, allowing Gilad to review the final details without a presence that could overawe, or perhaps intimidate. Within hours the home system of the Empire would be under attack. The preparations had been made to the best of Pellaeon's ability, and the resources that had been mustered: the space around Coruscant was sewn with minefields and gun platforms and numerous defensive stations had been brought in with every hyperspace transporter that could be pressed into service.

The concentrated labour of days with the resources of the galaxy, unhindered of bureaucracy, had accomplished fortifications worthy of the name. In every area the system presented an imposing aspect to an attacker, and the defence no longer needed to rely on a single massed fleet. Inside, the Executor squadron was posted in orbit of Coruscant proper with a strong escort to serve as a backstop, and forces and taskforces, fleets and detachments, had been detailed to reinforce the fixed defences and mutually support each other throughout the system. Thousands of ships and hundreds of thousands of fighters rested on the pivot of the fortifications, ready to do battle.

It was a sphere of steel, ready to enmesh the jewel of the galaxy in a web of plasma. That tarnished jewel itself, though, carried the greatest of the weaknesses within that intricate protective layout. Coruscant's planetary shields had been destroyed by the Vong. The Imperial engineers had been able to reestablish some defences, but they were nothing like the famed layers of energy which had once englobed Coruscant. So despite the massive industrial exertion of construction and transport which had flung up these defensive works within mere days, the most critical portion was the weakest, and the entire construct of the defences ultimately was configured around the need to defend what could be destroyed by the merest brush, a single salvo of a great fleet.

So the men who were to protect that world had countless other smaller rooms, exchanging information or getting away with small talk before the battle, the navy personnel, army personnel, and starfighter corps personnel all clustering assembled, and along that great table they were arrayed. Admirals and Generals, commanders of fleets and elements, of stations and planetary defences and Stormtrooper detachments. The coteries of their staffs clustered in seperately, and those of the stormtrooper legion commanders maintaining a laconic aloofness. Here, though, their commanders all mingled at the same table, and they were all under Gilad's direction.

He had outlined the plans, and now he would detail the final preparations and deployments. Sectors and strong detachments to be commanded by the best of his Admirals, arranged by those who had brought the strongest fleets with them to the assembly. The greatest weakness, perhaps, was that many of these assembled were not more than Imperials in name only: the leaders of the armed forces of confederated states. They might accept the orders of his officers, but there would still be reluctance, and the coordination of the fleet was in question.

That was why this defensive posture had been chosen. Each independent force would have its own sector, the Imperials having some more critical ones, and the Executor force and some detached elements able to react to enemy assaults on the strongpoints, or attempts to evade their fire in the space that, even around a massively fortified and mined planet, could not be covered fully. It was hoped that the Vong, then, would break themselves on the outer ring, where their main assault could be identified and the point suitably reinforced. Everything came down to judgement about where to commit forces, and how much, to respond to assaults on those lines .

Except, of course, for Gilad's other problem. He had orders from the Emperor to betray one of his own forces, after all. The Imperial Chancellor, despite having helped Sule to power--or perhaps precisely because of it--was deemed untrustworthy, and the most quietly suitable way for him to die was in battle. Sule would risk himself as a symbol, and that provided the excuse to make the Chancellor do the same. It was up to Pellaeon to make sure, then, that the Chancellor and the squadrons he provided to the defence were overwhelmed... And still successfully keep the defensive perimeter from breaking.

Grand Admiral Pellaeon began the last conference before the battle knowing he was in truth going to be fighting two at the same time.


The Kuat System,
The Hawk of Trinadora.


"Director, we're detecting a small stealth ship. It just appeared on our scanners outside of the Drive Yards' defensive perimeter," the officer of the watch addressed the Director of KDY.

Mystrela looked to the com speaker from her cabin, where she enjoyed the comforts of a ship served by a full droid compliment, and personal servants befitting the Director of KDY, but would still never escape the bureaucratic work associated with running a naval force. Naturally, it was increased proportionally when you were preparing it for combat, and there was little wonder that she'd been advised to hand it back over to the fleet's technical commander--but this force was a great deal of why she'd been willing to take this job, the Emperor's desire or not.

All things said, a distraction from the mundanities was still quite welcome. "Has she identified herself?"

"Yes, Director--well, the commander has, I should clarify."

Interesting, though not unusual for a small craft. "Who would that be, Commander?"

"Miat Temm, Director. A personal advisor of Grand Admiral Pellaeon. Her documents are in order... And she wishes to speak with you in person, Director."

Mystrela settled back, taking a deep breath, and gazing into the mirror in her cabin for a long moment. Sometimes situations were rather ironic, indeed.

"Give her permission to dock with the Hawk, Commander."

"Understood, Director."

As soon as the connection was terminated, Mystrela brought up another one with her chief of staff. "Marcus? Please contact Jaina Solo and ask that she visit me in my quarters. I would like to discuss something with her that has just occured."


She was a sight to behold, hidden power rippling around her. Jaina was frightened, somewhat, though she withstood the temptation to fall into intimidation at it. Miat Temm had increased considerably in power since they had last met, and Jaina could not quite understand how the woman was doing it. More suspiciously, of course, she not did understand why Miat Temm was here. The other had promised they would meet again, but this seemed a bizzare and incongruous time for it, Jaina on the right side of the Director of KDY as this one who'd been so affected by the charnel house of Coruscant approached.

Long wild hair flowing down carelessly behind her; kept, but in the most abrupt of ways, more thought given to cleanliness than beauty, though it gave her some in a primal fashion, in those robes she wore. The unyielding robes an aesthetic, subtly different from those of the Jedi order. There was no lightsabre in evidence; perhaps she had handed it over to one of the guards in the boat bay, for Jaina felt that Miat Temm was quite capable of constructing one now.

It was almost something to feel sorry for, what the horrors of that planet's slaughter had done to the untrained and unprepared. But Jaina couldn't; nobody could, for Miat Temm was clearly in control and had some idea of her destiny, perhaps frightfully more than the whole Jedi Order at this moment. She stood there, in the entrance to the conference room, and regarded both Mystrela and Jaina equally, before bowing in Jaina's direction.

"Forgive me, Jaina Solo, that we meet in these circumstances. However, the events of the universe are ultimately the final expression of the Will of Fate: and I can only respond to them. Still.." A slight, whimsied smile crept onto that face. "My promise is kept, and it will not change things overmuch."

"I hope my hospitality is not that bad," Mystrela commented dryly in response, observing the mysterious force-adept without much concern, though that was especially with Jaina at her side.

The comment provoked amusement from the whimsy of Miat. "No! But it was unintended--and only in that do I mean to disparage the location. Unintended... But perhaps not without use." Her gaze shifted again to Jaina and focused to seriousness abruptly.

"Could you use another Jedi in the search for your brother?"

Jaina thought back to her experience on Coruscant and what Miat had done--and how she, really, had motivated this entire search in the first place; she looked at the woman and she felt her strength through the Force. There was really only one answer... "Dare I say no?"

Miat just smiled. "Very good; I will, however, ask for a short delay first of all. You see, we need to go rescue Corellia."

"Rescue Corellia?" Mystrela interjected abruptly. They'd known about the danger of an attack for some time, but nothing had come through in regard to one occuring yet.

"They're under attack right now," Miat answered, her voice becoming rather distant. "The message hasn't reached Kuat yet because of damage to the commo net, I'd presume. Don't worry about your brother, Jaina; he'll be just fine even with the delay... We can take care of both tasks without trouble."

Jaina stared at her, but the gaze was met levelly, by someone unconcerned at the level of projection and interpetation through the veil of the force they'd just displayed.

"Come on, we've got some Vong we need to stop." She added, glancing to Mystrela.

The Director observed the two for a moment, her gaze fixing on Jaina's expression. Then she nodded to Miat. "Alright, Miat Temm. To the relief of Corellia, first."

"Excellent. Can you give me a blastboat for the combat operations? My stealth ship is not suited for them."

"That can be arranged; if you will wait here, my Chief of Staff can assign you quarters aboard?"

"Certainly." The word was uttered politely, but Miat already seemed distracted, looking towards the viewports. A moment later she turned and strode out, leaving Mystrela and Jaina alone.

"I'm very worried about her," Jaina said after a moment's silence.

"You have reason to be concerned--And is the mission to Corellia one of value, then?"

"Yes, and yes. I owe her a great deal, and what she's seen, I can sense nothing to make me think she's lying. However.. Her powers come from a source I'm not even sure of yet, and I worry for what they do to her... To who she is. They're changing her." Jaina shook her head slightly, reminding herself who she was talking to, and just the magnitude of what she was talking about.

"Seeing as I have only met her on this day, I will not presume to dispute the judgement, Jedi Solo. However, if she can lead us to Corellia in time to save the system, she can likely lead us to your brother: and even a flawed blade can sometimes give one or two good strokes. If you will forgive me, I must get the fleet underway for Corellia."

Jaina was silent, thinking about Miat, and the cold wisdom of Mystrela, which meshed with the cold times in which the galaxy found itself but yielded little comfort for the soul. She was bonded in a way to Miat, now, and could not easily abandon her; whatever was happening to her, she would have to find out what it was and the extent of it, and that was simply that.


Corellian System,
Outer Fringes


The Vong had come out of hyperspace on a trajectory adjusted by the information from their scouts. Vidang Tahng arrived first, leading in his flagship the Eye of Yun-Haarla, with the rest of the fleet arriving, following the example of their commander as any good leader should offer. The Corellian defensive forces were right in front of them as he had expected, retiring from their concealed position in the outer system that his scouts had uncovered. Tirlin Vasong was not there yet, but then Vidang Tahng had not expected the coordination to be as perfect as the Warmaster had promised, so his plans had centered around fighting the Corellians alone all along.

"Commander, they're deploying fighters and forming into attack order," his sensor bank commander reported. Vidang Tahng turned to where the villips were manipulated into a vast holo of the system, and a smaller tactical holo, both of which consumed much of the centre of his flagbridge. The data was being updated, showing the outnumbered Corellian fleet turning in to press the assault with an audacity completely worthy of his own race. They were going to take casualties.

Vidang Tahng began to issue orders, tightening his formation and hastening the launching of the reserve squadrons of 'skippers that would counter the onrush of the Corellian starfighter corps. The Corellians were approaching missile range, and continuing to accelerate. His subordinates were now engrossed in the details of the operations. Vidang Tahng, aloof, tall and silent on his bridge, gazed into the holo-projector, like it might yield the mysteries of the gods. The Corellians were in a tight formation, accelerating at the maximum their fleet speed would allow, and coming straight for him.

If they didn't start to deaccelerate soon... Yes, they would do that, wouldn't they? Perhaps not other infidels, but these ones retain an element of boldness and would think us to forget that--and we probably would. The Corellians would punch into his formation at a relativistic velocity, then, a point-blank engagement lasting seconds. Or so, at least, they would attempt, going for those moments of letting their computers rip into his ships with massed fire from within.

The problem with long-range engagements, even energy engagements, was that the combination of the range involved, and speed of propgation--when combined with the prodiguous jamming both sides inevitably engaged in--led to very few hits at long range during naval battles: on the order of a mere two or three percent of all shots fired hit their targets during distance fighting, but considering the power of the weapons involved, this was enough to do considerable hurt to any enemy, especially when a squadron might select a single enemy ship and mass fire against it.

Naturally, decisive results in combat were desired, and this is what had led Admiral Ackbar to bring his ships to within mere kilometers of the enemy at Endor: only jamming was a factor then, and the percentage of hits shot upwards with dizzying and frightful rapidity. An extended engagement at point-blank range required both sides to maintain similiar velocities, or to have trajectories that intersected for an extended length. Most of the time, then, such engagements were fought when both sides desired the victory to be absolute and thought they could win, and the results had atrocious casualties.

The Corellians now hoped to inflict disproportionate damage by minimizing the length of the engagement. A short and intense exchange between two forces moving at highly different velocites, and the Corellians were insane enough to aim for interposition of the forces. Or, at least, they thought they were good enough to avoid collisions in the process. It was entirely possible that they were.

Missile range. The Corellians opened fire with their tubes spitting out long-range anti-capship weaponry, and the magma missiles of the Vong fleet retaliating. The confalgration tearing between the two fleets was immediate and intense, plasma energy crossing through both formations as webs of anti-missile fire appeared and the heated particles lashed into the incoming formations warheads, matched by more subtle forms of distraction: radiation of every sort that saught to throw them off. The Corellians had the better defence against missiles, and the Vong, the greater number, along with the larger fleet to provide more defensive fire: both came off evenly as the first salvoes pressed home, the damage negligible.

It would still be negligible as Vidang Tahng ordered what he had decided upon to meet the Corellian strategy. Energy range would be to late, but he couldn't give the Corellians enough time to manoeuvre against a single element of his fleet. "Stand by for the fleet to split into two elements; course deviation minor. The evolution shall be as..."

And the Corellians closed, missiles exchanged across the void and radiation permeating its cruel darkness: from jammers and from the awesome dovin basals and engines of the fleets themselves, leaving a vicious malaestrom that glared across the fabric of reality, the invisible and blatant image of two fleets in combat. Both sides strained to see through the image, and they did not see everything.


Corellian Defence Force,
Trailing Elements.


"Force commander, new orders. Break to starboard when you clear and attack."

Travina Hounder tensed immeasurably. The message was short and harried, though it clearly came from command. 'Force Commander' - the nominal leader of a group of volunteer irregulars, the free-traders and smugglers and even pirates who now fought to defend Corellia. She just pointed them in the right direction for them to do their own thing in; and her's, for that matter, considering she'd just been stupid enough not to leave the room fast enough when Sal-Solo was trying to get someone to tell them all what to do.

Of course the plan hadn't worked, or something else was going wrong equally pernicious. But who hadn't expected that among them? "When do we break?" was all she asked.

"Now!" the voice answered, like she'd cut him off, and she probably had. Travina shrugged her shoulders slightly and flicked the comm to an open broadcast. The Vong could detect that, considering the transmitting power they'd need to get it through the static of where they were: but it wouldn't matter now.

"All ships, all ships, this is your Force Commander speaking. Follow me." With the orders gone to the pit, there was no point in anything else.

"Rastin! Break to starboard and bring her to maximum thrust."

"Aye aye, Force Commander," the last uttered with the usual sarcasm the title had brought and would even on the face of battle.

The modified transport swung up, buffeting badly as it went against the massive streams of the huge ion engines of the dreadnought squadron in front of it, still accelerating at maximum military thrust, having been brought as close as it could before the shields would start to fail under the awesome force of the energized particles being deflected. There it was. Half the Vong fleet spread out before them, exchanging missile fire with the Corellian main forces that were concentrating their full fire upon that segment, even while they suffered from the missile fire of the other segment and merely defended, letting it go untouched in reply for those warheads that got through.

Behind Travina the rest of the irregulars had gotten the message, and the horde of light craft had raced up and out from their dangerous concealment, rolling over to face the Vong and the range dropping with hideous rapidity. The irregulars deaccelerated: they wanted a real fight, one where they could use their manoeuvrability to good affect against the Vong. The Corellian main body wouldn't be able to directly engage, now, but it was angling around to join in the press, and together they'd be able to tear hard at half of the Vong force before the other could come about to relieve it.

"Nip 'em hard, boys--don't let the bastards forget today!"

It was the closest thing to an attack order the irregulars needed.


Corellian System,
Eye of Yun-Haarla


His subordinates had been displeased with his decision to split the fleet, but Vidang Tahng had overriden them. He had some capital in standing up to the defeated Warmaster, even if the man had originally appointed them. Now, though, he would also again infuriate them. They all hoped that they would turn back and aide their comrades--no, not hoped, they expected it, for how could the Vong do anything else, but turn to the spectacle of energy exchanged across the stars and rush for it and join in the fest of the reaping of blood and souls?

"It will take to long to turn and deaccelerate to rejoin the battle," Vidang Tahng noted calmly. "We can use the acceleration we have now to move against the inner system. I trust that Commander Estang can handle himself, even against that concentration; the Corellians were so badly outgunned at the beginning of the contest that even against half our force the outcome is in doubt for them, and if Estang is bested, they will be in such straits that we can finish them at our leisure.

"This considered, we will use our velocity to shape a course for the inner system and commence attacks on the defences and industrial infrastructure." Vidang Tahng waited a moment for the murmurs, real and over the villips, to grow, and then harshly killed them: "Consider that it may very will be that the commander of the Corellian force fighting Estang will break off to pursue us out of humanitarian concerns and be trapped between two fires; even if not, I think our overall victory can only be assured if we swiftly destroy the technology in the system. After all, the Gods can only look favourably on a force that keeps in mind that all-sacred duty. The target of this element is now the shipyards. That is all."

Moral duty cloaked valuable strategic aims. They had to get control of this system to protect the rear of the offensive against Coruscant, and so Vidang Tahng would do--despite the clear fact that Tirlin Vasong was clearly indefinitely delayed. The opposition was silenced and the fleet moved to its commander's will without further protest.


Coruscant System,
The Hand of Thrawn


Despot held the honour position in the Executor force., lead of the dorsal line. It made her the most exposed, but the Emperor had insisted, of course. Sule and Martina had the flagbridge mostly to themselves, and a less conspicious Hand of Thrawn offered the position of the overall fleet command from which Pellaeon would direct the defence. Elise, oddly stoic in grief, had the first of the flying squadrons and as ever flew her flag on Conquérant. Admiral Felliet, maintaining the classical disposition of the Imperial Starfleet officer despite the laurels still offered those of descending radiance at Second Coruscant, commanded the second, now flying his flag aboard the Tonnant. Final preparations were being made now; tasks running late would have to be completed as the combat was met.

The Vong fleet had begun to arrive. The strategic surprise they had attempted was lost upon the cloak-frigates they had yet to counter; so Pellaeon knew, in the end, almost exactly when to expect them. Sule had been mostly a spectator to the preparations: just arranging the defensive deployment of garrisons upon stations, ships, and however futile, the surface--but now that measure of his relegation was but increased. The displays showed the approach brilliantly, of thousands of ships arriving, the repaired survivors of Second Coruscant matched with the reinforcements the Vong had mustered. Altogether, twelve thousand ships or more might be fielded against Imperial Centre.

Of course, that had been expected, and the defences had more now. They were hardly fighting against the odds, but they were also defending a static target. The Barbarian had used that to good effect at First Coruscant with their merciless suicide tactics against the planetary shields. Twenty-two thousand ships had broken the Republican Navy, then--for a stiff price, but one the Vong had been willing to pay. It was those two fleets, attrited by combat losses and the Corellian detachment, that had now been concentrated again against Coruscant. The forces gathered against them, though, were no longer the unified navy of a single nation, locked to fight in desperate cause:

The remnants of that force, and the two remnants of Empire, and countless nations, all gathered under a single banner. They had numbers, but lacked in every sense unity, but that of a single document which now proclaimed that they fought and strove for a nation ruled by a single Sovereign--that, to repulse the foe before them. Thus that Sule calmly watched as the Vong deployed to assault the defences, Martina busying herself in the intelligence that could be gleaned from the moment. She would have preferred the surface, but these metal cocoons were its only line of defence, and it offered no better hope than they, and perhaps less! Then; unseen to the naked eye, but the displays below the vast holo spiked with energy from the screen: Onset!


An awesome and mighty tapestry of War was spread out before Coruscant. Vong ships advanced in elegant manoeuvre against the defences, supported by innumerable masses of fighters and gunboats. Minefields were eliminated by sheer concentrations of energy or the uncaring willingness of the Vong to send support craft through them to speed the process. Defensive strongpoints, the mustered resources of the nearby systems and of the Imperial and Republican engineers who had built up stations and platforms and armed satellites and fortified countless asteroids in the available time, with all of that mustered strength of a galaxy finally, painfully united, faced the close assault of hundreds of Vong warships. Sometimes multiple assaults occured at once, the attempt being made to test the strength of the defensive perimeter around Coruscant.

So far they had all been probing attacks. Probing attacks on a huge scale, by the most determined and profilgate of enemies. No doubt the Vong had indeed found out by now an excellent picture of the defences that the Empire had erected around the Galaxy's tarnished Gem, but they had inspired the courage of the defenders in doing so. The Executor force near Coruscant sat ready, not yet engaged in battle, dark-hewn strength contrasted against the burnished brightness of the ruined planet. From it, Pellaeon had directed the response to each probing thrust, their interior lines of communication allowing him to give the orders without the intensity of the jamming to block him.

He held within him knowledge of an order, however, that left him planning two defences. The Imperial fleet that was mustered around Coruscant fought under countless banners, if only one Sovereign, and to one of those banners the action of State Treachery was being demanded. Pellaeon had been a soldier all of his life, and ultimately power had come to his hands because everyone who had saught it had died or been killed in the process. The Empire had consumed itself in the process of falling, and the petty Moffs who had been left were those that even Pellaeon could largely manage.

Men like Sule were the ones who held within them the desire for power. Pellaeon knew it could be matched with military prowess, and it certainly was in his case as in countless others in the bloody history of every sentient species. But there was a point when power came first, and orders were given that could have disastrous consequences. It had been reached, and Pellaeon could only hope that the Vong did not find to press against Tranjak-sar's detachment, the Imperial Chancellor with his fleet, having no choice but to follow the example of Sule, who now risked his own life aboard the Despot, just as he had done at Second Coruscant.

The Vong, however, had been to thorough, and the fates were never that kind. The probing attacks continued, attriting the strength of the defenders and the attackers alike, searching for the weakest point to drive home an attack, until the Warmaster who must inevitably command the force across from them should decide to send it into their formations. And the Imperial forces responded, reaction forces moving to shore up attacked strongpoints or intercept detachments moving to cut through blind-spots in the defences. The game could continue, of course, for as long as the Vong wanted it to, but they were aggressive and Pellaeon knew of his own weakness imposed upon him: a real hotly-contested engagement over the defences would surely be fought. So he conserved his strength as best he was able, and waited.


Corellian System,
Eye of Yun-Haarla


"Only marginal damage is reported from all elements after the attack of that last wave, Commander, and we're now cleared for an optimal firing angle on the central platforms," Vidang Tahng's aide, Erslah Savain, reported steadily. The action between the Corellian fleet and Estang was being mentally ignored for the good of their honour. Estang was holding his own, of course, and might even have the upper hand, but the Corellians fought with a mad dash and audacity throughout, and might pull off the distant engagement.

It didn't matter now. They had, granted, cleverly placed all of their short-range craft that couldn't participate in the ambush, in a static defence around the Corellian Engineering yards. When the fleet had approached, these ships had fought off the first wave of coral skippers, and then counterattacked, supported by the massive anti-ship missile emplacements on the defensive platforms of the Drive Yards. It had been a gallant failure, the reckless courage of those light ships breaking thoroughly upon the heavy guns and superiour numbers of the detachment. The missiles had done some harm, however, but they were ultimately in static platforms--without support, the fleet had silenced them in a half-hour's heavy bombardment.

The Corellians had thrown their last gamble, then, flinging some uncompleted ships at the Vong as a cover for a fighter attack. Now that was gone, and it was just a matter of making a breach in the energy web of the defensive platforms and exploiting it. A weak spot had already been chosen, perhaps accidental, or perhaps the fortune of the early bombardment against the missile platforms, and the coverage of those artillery stations was nothing against the concentrated fire of the naval detachment.

Of course, the platforms had several options of their own. They had thrusters, and the defensive command could reorient them all to meet a serious attack. They had excellent point-defence, and so standing off and engaging at range would take an obscene amount of time, time that from the situation in the distant outer system, or from the possibility of reinforcements, he did not have. The Corellians had fallen back steadily throughout their fleet engagement, and now fought around one of the outer planets, where they used the local spatial terrain to make it quite hard for Estang to come to grips--and inflict an equal measure upon him when he did.

Without Tirlin Vasong's arrival, there remained the danger for Vidang Tahng that he might be forced to withdraw. So far the Corellians had show no interest in the shipyards, and if they were to be destroyed, the approach must be methodical. He'd been in-system for hours, now, and the indication seemed that Vasong was severely delayed. The alternative course of action that presented its self, then, would be to strip the defences entirely before engaging in a reduction of the Drive Yards, leaving them totally vulnerable for a later assault.

He decided against it. Once he had a clear engagement path he could interdict the platforms as they manoeuvred; if he had to withdraw, they could not fully reestablish a cordon around the yards and a second assault would be that much easier. Better to level the infrastructure now, while the outcome was certain: for very few things were.

"Commence the operation; Cruiser elements seven and fifteen advance as ordered," Vidang Tahng ordered, his voice level as he surveyed the maze of worked metal before him, hideous to his faith, a perversion of the natural, cosmic order of creation. It could not come in the way of duty, whatever some prattling fools might allow themselves to be overcome with: but truly, it was pleasant when the two interspersed.


Coruscant System,
Great of the Darshkarbat Dynasty,
Durrano Sector Forces Flagship.


The Imperial Chancellor's flagship and sectorial forces had an advantage over many of the other volunteer units in the fleet. It was being commanded by one of the most talented, and most trained, of the military minds which now defended Coruscants. The reptilianoids on the bridge had given way to a humanoid woman, who, though she had never commanded a fleet in more than a minor skirmish of light craft--albeit she'd see more than a few of those--had a mind packed full of the knowledge of space warfare, and the capability to exploit it. Combined with experience on a smaller level, it was more than enough, at least to lift her quite above the average quality of the other officers who fought in the sectorial and national units.

Of course, the official commander of Tranjak-sar's fleet was now fuming quietly, a figurehead from what had been beforehand mostly a figurehead navy, as Guri ran his forces. She found the challenge of it something that had eluded her for some time: a new experience, and moreover, one better than the confusion and torment of the past that had reigned until the Vong had given her purpose. A challenge, and one that so far she had been able to meet, but then so far the Durrano Sector Forces had not been heavily pressed--probably with good fortune, for even if the Great of the Darshkarbat Dynasty herself was the size of an Imperial Heavy Cruiser, most of the vessels had either been designed to civilian standards, outright converted, or were very old.

"Admiral, the 'skipper strike on Republican 19th Battlecruiser is diverting towards us," Guri's chief of staff reported; it was in their native tongue, but she spoke it. A slight insult, perhaps, but the respect of the rank was rendered her as per the Chancellor's command, even if the real fleet's Admiral could likely not help the urge to react.

"Full, or just the second wave?" Guri answered, simply--a clipped question.

"The second wave. The first is already engaged and is covering their shift." He didn't bother to include more information; Guri clearly already knew the time to interception and locality.

"Detail seventh, ninth, and twelfth fighter groups into an intercept position, with fourteenth for reserve. Launch third to reinforce reserve," Guri answered, assured now and more fluidly in a language meant for such. "No changes to screen disposition."

Tranjak-sar looked from his seat to Guri's right, a curious gaze. "No changes to the screen disposition? It's currently almost entirely frontally deployed, with respect, Admiral."

An amateur civilian--Guri, perhaps, was one too, but not where it counted like Tranjak-sar was--with legal command was surely the worst part of it, but she tolerated that just like she'd tolerated him for her other purposes. "Your Eminence," she replied politely, "I fully expect that the entire strike which is now engaged in that pivot had its sole intent to hit us, and perhaps, indeed, to get us to redeploy our screen. We have yet to be heavily engaged, and the Vong have been thoroughly probing the line. I expect a frontal probing effort of some sort shortly: the Vong are notorious for complexity in their evolutions, and this has held out so far in the engagement."

Tranjak-sar nodded once, turning away in a motion that might hide whatever emotion he felt then, either the eagerness of one who did not know full combat, or, likewise, the fear. That was quite enough for Guri, who observed the engagement of the fighters on her left flank with an idle but also intense interest, timing it and waiting for when the Vong command she faced might tire of pressing forward their bait. The fighters clashed eagerly on both sides, but those of the Vong were far superiour. Even the second wave of their original strike made good execution against what were soon a total of five groups--fifteen wings--involved, but the numbers of the Durrano fighters were enough that they couldn't fight past them into the screen proper. Guri expected them to get through eventually, of course, but the light screen there would be enough to deal with them--and she would need everything else to deal with what she expected to come.

Pseudomotion flickered and flared up from a micro-jump ahead. An attack wave of Vong heavy detachments loomed up close to the leading elements of the Durrano forces, but still at a grave distance, forced out by the wide spread of the massive interdiction fields which criss-crossed space around Coruscant. In each case the minutes that gave the Imperial defenders had allowed them to respond to the attack efficiently and in strength, but here the force being concentrated against the Durrano was heavy enough that they would need reinforcement.

"Send Admiral Commanding, Conquérant -- 'Durrano Forces have engaged heavy Vong elements estimated at three hundred ships plus gunboat screen, request reserve to hold position at platforms.'" Guri had no problem with understanding her situation and immediately reacting to it.

There was, of course, the more pressing problem. She had to place her own ships to engage the Vong until the reinforcements arrived, which might be delayed, considering the possibility of other attacks coordinated along this sector. Most of the attacks so far, even the heavy ones, had been purely of a probing nature, and Guri remembered that the clear and overriding goal was to defend Coruscant.

So she needed to hold the line until the line in this area could be reinforced by additional ships, or else she could render the attacking force irrelevant, and trust in reinforcements to close the gap if the fleet she led was badly mauled in so doing. The later option, of pressing to meet the ever-aggressive Vong on equal terms, was always admirable from the morale standpoint, but held dangers to her conspiracy. Still, she was but one of many conspirators--and one who held no doubt of her ability to bring the Great of the Darshkarbat Dynasty through a hot fight.

"We will advance to support the screen," Guri ordered, her inflection managing the same in a tongue foreign as it might basic--or, as level as always.


Coruscant System,
Imperial Starfleet Forces.


Commander Hallsburg approached the Grand Admiral swiftly from the communications bank of the flagbridge, saluting as he approached where she sat, in a heavy bridge chair studded with readouts. "Admiral, we've received a signal from the Durrano Flagship. They're requesting we support them with the reserves," he summarized, as he handed the message over.

Elise studied it for a moment, her blood running cold. The Admiral's gaze shifted slowly, so that she could see the trailing edge of darkened Coruscant from the bridge, and her hand tightened against the padd, lest she break it under gloved fingers that wished to turn to claws. The reaction was not unnoticed, nor was the response.

"There will be no response, Commander Hallsburg."

Her voice remained calm, it did not change, the years of experience had given her that much. But Hallsburg saw the subtle movements. "Of course, Admiral," he answered, taking Elise's look of distraction towards the readouts as a dismissal, and retiring, troubled.

The line could very easily break, and Elise's communications officer knew that all was not right with the Grand Admiral, whatever might almost entirely be hidden. He was very unsettled, indeed, as he returned to his duty station and observed the static-filled reports of the battle that filtered in through heavy jamming. Attacks were coming with greater frequency, now, the Vong seeming more to try and create a weak spot at which to direct the heaviest of their attacks than to find one. And while this was going on, a vital point was not being reinforced.

While Hallsburg performed his duties, and read each message on the situation, that situation for the Durrano fleet only grew worse. They had moved forward boldly to attack, and they were now paying the price. Several more requests for reinforcements came in, and as per the orders he had no choice but to obey, were ignored. Finally, the situation had reached a point of desperation for the Durrano, and the Vong, sensing blood, detailed their own reinforcements to the attack. The line in that sector was now critical; the Durrano forces had fallen back onto the platforms, but even then could not hold for much longer at all.

Others were noticing, at that, despite the back communications that prevailed through the intensity of the electronic warfare in the engagement. A request came through to the Conquérant from the commander of the reserve cruiser division attached to Elise's defensive region, Vice Admiral Corvalis, asking to lead the forces under his immediate command to go and drive off the Vong attack against the Durrano defensive sector. Commander Hallsburg read it, and considered it, and the brooding Grand Admiral on his flagbridge.

She was performing her duties, nobody could deny that. And it was hardly his job to psychoanalyze his superiours. Hallsburg, indeed, had been raised in an enviroment of strict obedience on Imperial Earth. It had also, however, been a society which had taught him to cherish duty above every other thing. He knew he had a duty to the Imperial Citizens on Coruscant below him, and that the line had to hold. COMPNOR might have been purged, and the worst excesses of its terror had never reached the Milky Way sectors. But there was a key idea there--that the greater good of humanity, that overall duty might sometimes outweigh the immediate strictures, which had remained.

The message Hallsburg composed was very minor. In fact, it was a simple confirmation message, without anything to necessarily indicate that it had come from the Grand Admiral--except, of course, that it had been sent by her communications division. If he was right, he might be rewarded for sending; he did not care to think of what would happen if he was wrong, and worse still if Corvalis did not interpet it as Hallsburg thought he would. Hallsburg sent the message, and buried himself in his duties as he waited for the outcome.


Vice Admiral Corvalis studied the message for the third time. It was a standard confirmation signal, and it could mean many things. Most of them did not include what he had hoped for... But it might, might just be intended to be a 'confirmation' of his request to attack. Opposing that, the origin was a rather obscure. But it was obviously from the Grand Admiral's flagship, despite the confusion of the communications in the rear areas, and there were many ways to account for the failure to include a direct ident signature. All things considered it was... Ambiguous.

"Captain Louvis, how is the Durrano Force holding out?" he asked, almost quietly now, for the situation had been growing progressively more grave for them over the past minutes, the Vong piling on forces where they clearly saw a breach was developing.

"They've concentrated their defence around three platforms that are still surviving, sir," Corvalis' chief of staff reported flatly. "The Vong haven't penetrated past them yet, sir, but the situation is extreme--and it looks like the Republican 19th Battlecruiser is being outflanked, as well. The Vong are splitting the perimeter."

"Very well, Captain. We have been authorized to advance in relief of the Durrano," Corvalis continued, feeling a determination that arose from a certitude above the ambiguous orders, "and we shall proceed to do so by closing the gap between their defence and the 19th Battlecruiser."

"Understood, sir.. The plots for that evolution are worked out already," Louvis answered promptly, an answer which surprised nobody--they'd been waiting a small eternity for this.

"Then all elements shall prepare to advance."


The Corellia System,
The Hawk of Trinadora.


Aboard the Hawk of Trinadora, everything was at readiness. Still, an underlying current of tension remained, perhaps higher than usual, even for impending combat. Rumours spread, after all, and they knew that they were going into combat on the word of a Jedi Sorceress. Some said a Sith, and of course there were all the usual extravagant spacers' stories of C'baoth and the reborn Palpatine to make that a very bad thing. In truth, they were going into combat on her word, and moreover, she was providing their astrogation coordinates, ones that Miat Temm had promised to Mystrela would 'bring them in at a decisive position'. Considering it was her word that sent them rushing on, there was little reason not to go on her word for a tactical advantage: there, at least, she was proven, having brought Pellaeon's fleet into position to catch the Vong between two fires at Second Coruscant.

And so the Director of KDY waited on the bridge of her flagship, as the seconds ticked down, the five minute klaxon having just faded into a past already distant, and increasing the tension of those preparing for the clash of the heavy ships in their unforgiving enviroment even higher. Miat Temm stood at Mystrela's side, unconcerned and unworried, calm, even. This bothered Mystrela immensely. She had heard from Elise, that the woman had very nearly killed herself directing the final jump of Pellaeon's fleet into position, and certainly she had not provided the coordinates for a jump at range.

This was rather like she'd known where the battle would be taking place ahead of time.

Mystrela considered the implications of that, the thoughts balanced against considerations in turn for the battle that would surely be before them, and then the time ran out...

Hyperspace streaked into realspace, and the visage of war spread out with terrible immediacy on the viewers of the Hawk. Spread around the planetoids that lazily orbited the planet in the central viewscreen on the bridge, a wild tangle of manoeuvring ships desperately fought: they killed, and they died, meeting the enemy in intricate flight across a broad plane of space. Energy spun out through the depths of space and cleared through the greater debris of the planetary system, striking home little reduced, to tear into ships battered by long combat. One side simply fought to survive--the other, though, those gallant Corellians, fought now with a most urgent desperation, for behind them the shipyards were dying, and when they were cleared from the stars, their worlds would follow.

The plot stabilized and Mystrela saw the situation at the shipyards, how critical it was, the damage being inflicted upon them every moment. She stiffened, and turned to fix her gaze at Miat Temm, stern, and perhaps almost shocked that the woman could ignore such a threat. They were in close to this Vong detachment, too close to disengage, while the Corellian Yards were being destroyed..! Miat had promised to lead them in to...

Miat regarded her back, levelly, and then gestured forward, where the Millenium Falcon could be seen charging ahead of the Kuati fleet to join the action, those two ungainly but powerful Chiss fighters taking either wing. "Director, Han Solo knows where the victory is to be had; I suggest you support him."

"The Yards, Temm!" Mystrela answered, intensity carrying in her voice even as emotion did not, imagining the fleets that would never be built at Corellia to fight the Vong in the future, all for the inscrutable intent of this sorceress before her!

"Are gone. Had you tried to save them you would have been defeated in detail," Miat Temm answered, her head swinging back to gaze rather uncaringly toward the forward viewers, where the fighter wings were forming up according to the pre-arranged plan. "Order the fleet forward and you will win a great victory and save Coruscant."

Silence, for a moment. But there was really no choice. Miat Temm had plotted their arrival exquisitely, and even now, on momentum, they were closing to missile range with the Vong fleet rapidly--inside their grav projector range already, even--and could cut it to energy range before the Vong had re-deployed to face them. And General Solo cut the maddeningly brave figure out there, going to the relief of his countrymen with a light ship and two escorts, not bothering to care at her own hesitation. "Fleet signals: 'Flank ahead and stand by to engage the enemy. All fighter wings follow General Solo's lead--press the attack!'"




De Imperatoribus Galacticis will be continued in Chapter the Fourteenth.