StarDestroyer.Net BBS

This is a piece I actually intend to finish, set in a SW universe where things have gone down a slightly different path. I'll leave it up to you to fill in the details.

Chapter One
Legion

Space burned with searing death.

The fleets danced, trailing shards of broken glass and molten metal. Fighters flicked back and forth in their lethal ballet as the capital fleet elements slugged it out, huge cannons pumping out blazing shot after shot into the void.

On the bridge of the Tainted Sun, Lanter Vanx was cleaning his nails. The battle had joined several hours ago and it's resolution seemed at hand. A drifting hulk floated by the viewscreens- a Lancer, apparently. Ioren or Legion, Vanx could not tell. Nor did he care. The walls of the ship vibrated faintly as the guns of the great Carrack emptied a full salvo into the hull of an unshielded corvette that frantically attempted to outrun the deadly burst of laser fire. It's hull buckled and exploded, engulfing the ship in a fireball of epic proportions.

The bridge doors slid open and a rather indistinct Bothan stepped out. He smoothed his fur and nodded to the appropriate officers before descending to the lower level of the bridge where Lanter was sprawled out across a chair.

"The battle is going well, I presume?"

"Hmm? Ah, yes, fine."

"You are actually commanding it, correct, as opposed to, say, relaxing in your chair, whilst men die?"

"I've relegated combat duties. I think it keeps up more efficient."

"Disorganized? Maybe. Decentralized? Certainly. Efficient? We shall see."

A new voice-that of a minor, unimportant officer- injected itself into the conversation.

"Captain Ka'tefrey, we just lost four Maurders to a rampaging Vic and two covering frigates. It's got heavy fighter cover and they're mincing our bombers. Battle Group Four has completed their objective and I'm pulling them to launch an attack on the Vic."

"A Victory?" exclaimed Vanx, "Damn! The Imperials never briefed us on that. Plot Group Four's projected course, lieutenant."

As he spoke Battle Group Four's projected flight path lit up on the tactical display. Ka'tefrey was just about to issue his approval when Vanx leapt up.

"Belay that, lieutenant. Order Group Four to support Group Six in fending off those assault ships. Pull all craft into a sphere around the Vic and withdraw our fighter craft. Groups One through Seven will create a perimeter. Groups Eight through Eleven will set their cannons to flak and try to clear the fighter screen."

The Captain gave his approval and the plan went in execution, the orders radioed throughout the fleet, bringing the Battle Groups into perfect coordination. The Tainted Sun and her escorts- Group Zero - still hung to the side, picking off Ioren ships that wandered too close.

The Star Destroyer's captain did not see the noose tightening around his neck until it was too late, too intent was he on finishing off a battered cruiser. The perimeter around him was complete, the Ioren ships held at bay by a thunderous stream of heavy laser fire. Two flights of X-Wings launched from the Vic, preparing to lead a bombing run meant to break the sphere.

Ka'tefrey cackled with glee. Vanx was too intent. The Vic's captain had missed the obvious counter and now he had lost his only chance.

Explosions sundered the stars as turbolaser blasts exploded into roaring fireballs, swallowing whole fighter groups, smashing phenomenal heat and energy against their shields. A half-dozen X-Wings banked port, caught in overlapping flak bursts, tried to pull hard upward and were enveloped by the seething, roiling blasts. Their shields decimated, their hulls scorched and melted, they dropped out of the Vic's formation and shot forward, easy pickings for the Legion's light lasers.

The concentrated firepower of twenty capital ship cracked open the shields of one of the escorting frigates' and burst it's hull asunder, the molten metallic guts spewing out into hard vacuum.

"Fighter cover has been reduced to sixteen percent. We've lost four capital ships on the perimeter, sixteen attack craft and over two dozen fighters." reported a lietenuant.

"Excellant," commended Ka'tefrey, "Split the firepower of Groups Eight through Eleven evenly between the perimeter and the Vic. Order the Demo Squad to make it's run."

***

Jackson Brown was a degenerate, a genetically engineered freak of nature, a smoker, a drug addict, a rapist, a murderer, and a damn good pilot.

Best in the Legion, or so he'd say.

He nozzled his B-Wing to his port side and throttled up, arming his concussion missile launchers.

"This is Demo Leader. Everyone locked and loaded?" All pilots checked affirmative. With a giddy yell, he shot toward the Vic, surrounded by a cloud of bombers and escort fighters.

The shattered remains of the Ioren fighter groups came to meet them. Brown juked, dodged, and rolled, his guns spitting out searing bolts of energy that either flew endlessly into the void or smashed shields and blasted hulls. A nearby Headhunter fragmented under the pressure of a dozen laser blasts, the sharpnel spiraling out into space.

"HAH! One fucking ho goes down!"

The Vic began to wheel away, trying to make for whatever it's captain deemed the weakest part of the sphere. It's guns flickered out their long green tongues, vaporizing starfighters and attack shuttles. It's shields roiled and buckled under the constant hammering of the Legion's capital guns, exposing bare armor to the cloud of snubfighters bearing down upon it.

"Right now, break up. We'll be seeing flak shortly and if any of you motherfuckers bring back a fighter that's so much as scarred I'll rip your fucking eyes out and use them clean my dick."

The much-needed morale support dutifully doled out to his subordinates, Brown wove his craft out of the main cloud and prepared to carry out his duty.

Flak blossomed nearby. Brown readjusting his flight path to compensate, checking his shields- ninety-two percent. Two TIE fighters suddenly loomed near, and Brown juked left, shooting a quick linked burst of laserfire that smashed into one of the TIEs and reduced to it a spinning ball of fire and metal. The other whipped around and spat out a half-dozen green darts. Brown spun his craft around, trusting his shields to take the brunt of the attack before firing another linked burst. The TIE flamed out and died.

He checked his shields. Ninety.

He juked and weaved and ducked and dodged and around him fighters vaporized into wiffs of steam or launched bright red streaks of nuclear fire that raced toward the Vic's exposed plating. As he neared the firing zone a turbolaser clipped his craft and sent him spinning, and his first missile launch sped erratically into the deep black void.

Shields. Sixty-four.

"Dammit."

He zeroed in on his designated target and released volley after volley of missiles, the harsh red lights streaking to detonate in bright burning explosions against the cold metallic hull of the Vic.

"Demo leader! Two A's, coming fast, port side!"

"MOTHERFUCKER!"

Brown spun and dove up and around, trying to loop around behind the rapidly approaching A-Wings. They changed course and headed straight for him, and he shot upwards, his guns and cockpit still trained on the A-Wings, belting out a steady stream of fire. One whipped around to try and flank him while the other dropped straight down and came in at his engines.

He spun the B-Wing around and dropped, but not before a red blaze filled his viewfinder and his fighter was thrown spinning for several hundred meters by the catastrophic impact of an antifighter missile.

Shields. Twenty-seven.

Brown darted forward and switched to single-fire mode, spraying a hundred small shots ahead of him, before suddenly dropping and coming out behind an A-Wing.

One of his one missiles streaked from it's launcher, and the A-Wing tumbled off into oblivion.

The second was behind him, spraying laserfire. A few bolts were deflected by the B-Wing's shields before Brown hauled up on the throttle, looping his craft around just as the A-Wing shot forward and up, cannons blazing.

Satisfied, Brown targeted the A-Wing and impaled it with a hundred lancing bolts of energy.

"Demo Leader, this is Demo B Four. Orders from the command ship are to pull out and regroup. You ok back there?"

"OK? You damn fucking right I'm ok! Just taking some time to slap some sorry wannabe bitches down! I'm an old fucking man! This stuff's important to me." He broadened his comm channel to encompass all of Demo Squad. "Alright, you sorry sons of whores, return in formation Delta X and the first motherfucking jackass to give me any lip will find himself with my cock rammed up his eyesocket, and don't-"

He did not finish his sentence. As the light turbolaser blast overwhelmed his shields his last vision before being completely and utterly vaporized was that of a blinding white glare imprinted onto his eyeballs.

***

Vanx conferred with a comm officer before returning to his commander.

"Captain, the Victory- I believe it is called the Iron Star - is signaling it's surrender. Shall we accept?"

Ka'tefrey stroked his fur for a moment. His ears twitched slightly as he spoke.

"Yes...I believe we will. The planet's shield will buy the Ioren's time but let us see what we can garner from these prisoners."

"It'll feel good to get paid again."

"Yes. It most certainly will."

Not bad at all your sence of scale in large space battles is good
Keep up the good work.
LT.Hit-Man

Chapter Two
Shipside

It was six days before Lanter was able to speak to the prisoners. The first four days found him absorbed in the daily drudgery of reports, officework, the hours filled only with the monotonous clickclicklclick of the keypad, broken by the occasional four-hour meeting that left him drained and lifeless.

The average person would probably not realize that the second in command of a fleet of mercenary warships would spend most of his days working at a computer terminal- especially if the mercenary fleet was the Black Legion, which it was, and contained hundreds of warships, which it did, and employed thousands of people, which it did, and represented several billion credits worth of investments and equipment- and, of course, it did.

Granted, the average person often had trouble considering the mere size and scope of the Galaxy, let alone the activities of a fleet of warships orbiting a small insignificant planet lost somewhere in the great beyond.

This did not make the paperwork any less boring. Had the pay not been anything less then excellant, Lanter would have considered moisture farming on some remote desert planet- or, in a similiar vein, he might have considered suicide.

The fifth day was not so much mind-numbing paperwork as it was mind-numbing inspection. The Legion's freighter element arrived that day, laden with spare parts, weapons, and food. The dull metallic walls of the cargo ships was broken only by the occasional viewscreen displaying the planet Iore and the Black Legion's fleet in high orbit, the majestic warships pounding, day and night, on Iore's planetary shield with a host of bombs, missiles, torpedoes, and turbolasers. Sheets of green energy crackled down from the guns of every ship in the capital element, smashing into the planet's shields to explode with a bursting flare at the point of contact.

Lanter was not yet jaded. This was not yet some routine operation- routine operations were fleet battles, scouting missions, and supply runs, not the siege and conques of an entire world.

Iore did not have any weapons capable of attacking a fleet in space. It's orbiting defense platforms were captured by Legion marines or laid waste, their dark and twisted scraps floating in the stellar skies like dust on the wind. Vanx did not know why they still fought on. When the shield failed, a pinpoint bombardment wuld follow, and all the world's petty defenses would be turned to ash, and a million marines would descend from the troop carriers and seize control of the major population centers, holding the capital cities of the world for ransom until an Imperial taskforce arrived to finally take control of this backalley free state.

A magnificient prospect indeed.

The sixth day found Lanter relaxing in the Tainted Sun's main officer lounge, the place almost deserted, his head thrown back against seat and his legs tossed up upon the table. A serving droid doted on him, refilling his glass at every tiny sip, fretting over the angle of the seats and the posistioning of the napkins on nearby tables. It was an old, nearly obsolete model, dating from before the Clone War. It had a chrome finish and a massive metal storage container welded to it's back from which it piped various intoxicating substances into the glasses of it's masters.

"Oh dear! There's some trace dust on the barstools...I hope you don't mind...I'm sorry, master, but I can clean this up in a second...oh! Here, I'll just refill your drink, a little bit more, there, good, I'm sorry, are you all right? I'm detecting a faint increase in your heart rate, and your face has turned a distinct shade of red, are you all right? Is there anything that displeases you? I can certainl-"

The droid was annoying. Lanter switched it off. It gurgled out the last sentence and the light in it's photoreceptors died with a flicker. Vanx made a mental note to have a tech retool it.

Just as he was about to finish enjoying his drink, the doors slid open, a man stepped in, and Lanter swore very loudly. The man did not seem to mind.

As Vanx examined him, he realized the intruder was not much more than a boy- the green, oily skin, elongated fingers, and rather bizarre sketal structure made that slightly difficult to figure out, and the utterly blank expression and lack of a normal mouth did not help much either, but Vanx had seen the boy before- he was a sort of lieutenant in training. An Arrpyian- or was he an Arrpidian? Arrydian? Something like that. He kept his eyes-slits, really-downcast and his long, thin tongue occasionally flicked out.

"Captain Ka'tefrey wishes your presence in the prisoner suite, sir."

"Ah. Thank you, ah...?"

"Ensign Dakkle, sir."

"Right. Thank you, Ensign Dakkle. You are dismissed."

***

Captain Ka'tefrey was not in the prisoner suite when Vanx arrived. It was empty save for one man, a human, tall, with light brown, standing at attention with his back to the door, staring out a viewscreen, gazing as the siege of Iore slowly unfolded outside. A wine glass sat forlorn and forgotten on a polished wooden stool and the lights of the suite were dimmed. The man's military uniform was worn, crinkled, and dirty, a far cry from Lanter's own crisp pressed suit.

The doors slid shut but still the man did not move. Vanx cleared his throat and the prisoner turned his head, his eyebrows raised in a look of appraisal.

Vanx was decidingly uncomfortable.

"So." he said. The prisoner nodded.

"Commander Vanx. Welcome to my temporary abode." The prisoner indicated his fairly luxurious surroundings.

"Temporary? You'll notice this not an overnight hotel. You're comfortable, I hope?"

"Well enough, I suppose. My men, where are they being held?"

"Scattered about the fleet, I suppose. Captains and high ranking officers in suites like yours. Lower officers in nice, sparse chambers. The peons of your militia have been put to work doing repairs on our ships, or they have been drafted- often willingly, I might add- into our little brotherhood."

"I am not considering defection, if you are implying that I should."

"That's too bad. I enjoyed our little duel."

"The Iron Star was not fully manned."

"And...?"

"We were at a disadvantage."

"Quit bitching." Vanx pulled up a leather-upholstered chair and plopped down in it, crossing his arms and legs. "I had you by the short ones. Admit it."

"I do not deny it." At this point the prisoner turned fully around. His uniform was indeed in poor condition, ripped in several places with a large and noticable streak of grime down his left side. There were fresh clothes in the dispensor- all decorated with the colors of the Black Legion, of course- but apparently the prisoner had not yet gotten around to changing. Or perhaps he did not intend to. He had evidently showered; his hair was neatly arranged, his fingernails were perfectly clean and some water still glistened on his skin.

"Congratulations, then, Mr....?"

"Eldorin. Adrian Eldorin."

"Congratulations, Mr. Eldorin. It was a rare pleasure to actually have to invest some effort in the battle for once."

At this Eldorin grew angry. His face reddened, his eyes narrowed and he swept a hand across the viewscreen, pointing out specific points and places.

"Do you see that?" he demanded.

"What? The wreckage?" replied Lanter, rather taken aback.

"No! What is in the wreckage?"

"Metal. What are you-"

"No! People! People crewed the ships, fought in them, lived in them, died in them-"

"No shit. I happen to live aboard a spaceship, in case you failed to notice, I sorta realize that the entire fucking ship is not crewed by spirits of the dead. What's your point?"

"My point...? My...my point? My point is that people lived on those twisted scraps of metal! People died in that 'duel'- hundreds died in that 'duel- and you sit and you laugh and you relax whilst your ships pound my homeworld's last line of defense into dust and ash! What the living fuck is wrong with you? A thousand men are dead, and you have the audacity to congratulate me...!" He slammed his fist into the table, knocking the wineglass to the floor where it shattered into a hundred thousand tiny shards. He was breathing heavily, his heart pounding and the blood rushing through his veins. Lanter rose, equally angry.

"Excuse the fuck out you. This just happens to be my job- I am not some twisted psychopath who takes pleasure in the deaths of other living beings."

"No. You just pretend it doesn't happen."

Lanter rose to go. A dozen threats or punishments ran through his head but he rejected each one. Instead he simply turned and went to the door, until he was stopped by the sound of Adrian's voice.

"I require the services of a serving droid."

"Excuse me?"

"I require...that is, I would appreciate, as your honored captive, the services of some sort of service droid. I would spend my time in quiet contemplation rather than dealing with whatever mundane matters this abode requires."

"Fine. I'll have the one in the officer's lounge sent down. Goodbye, Mr. Elodrin."

"Goodbye, Mr. Vanx."

***

"Did you find out anything about the geography of Iore?"

"Say what?"

"Your assignment. Your question. The reason you were sent down to meet Captain Eldorin."

"I wasn't informed..."

"Typical."

"Dammit, no one told me! All I got was a message from some smartass cadet who told me to go down and-"

"Ensign Dakkle is hardly a smartass, nor is he a cadet."

"My point stands. Motherfucker."

"Anyone were to say that other than you, Vanx, and I would them ejected out an airlock."

"I treasure my job security."

"I believe 'abuse' is the proper term."

Lanter and Ka'tefrey were alone together in Ka'tefrey's personal shuttle, docked on the hull of the Tainted Sun. The viewscreens afforded a dazzling panoramc view of the siege; the warships moving against the inky darkness whilst green and red lights flickered across the void, the bright visage of Iore draped before the stars. Ka'tefrey was holding himself stiff and erect, sipping some bizarre Bothan delicay; Lanter had proped himself up against a wall and folded both arms over his chest. Ka'tefrey began to speak once more.

"I've assigned Ensign Dakkle, Cadet Rekir and Cadet Frow to attend to Captain Eldorin, along with the service droid you had sent down."

"I hope it pisses him off as much as it did me."

"I very much that, Commander. You are easily angered."

"I don't think so."

"I do. I seem to recall an incident several years back, after we helped defend Kuat from the Republic attack- do you remember that? The fleet, smaller then than it is now, was stopping at Corellia for repairs. You and I were planetside, arranging a cargo transfer in some shady local bar, and the band played a song that reminded you of whatever girlfriend had recently left you at that time. If my memory serves, you drew your blaster and utterly destroyed half of his equipment."

"Um. Right. Whatever." Lanter stood to go; he was still tired from his week of desk jockeying and wanted nothing more than a chance to refresh himself.

Fate intervened.

"Before you return to your personal shuttle, commander, I'd like you to attend a brief strategic briefing in the Command Conference Hall. It starts in twenty minutes and just brings up some minor points of which you should be aware. Stop giving me that look. Yes, you can rest afterwards, but I need you ready for your trip tomorrow."

"Fuck-? What trip?"

"The trip you will be taking to Ultorian Van. I have arranged for you to bring Captain Eldorin to the Imperial authorities on that planet. They have promised a rather large credit bonus if we exchange him into their custody."

"Dammit. Can't you have some lieutenant run this trip?"

"Oh, but I am, in way. Lieutenant Captain Nalvorin will be accompanying you. I know you two have so much to catch up on."

"Motherfucker."

"This is where you turn around and leave."

"Right. By the way, why did you care?"

"About what?"

"The geography of Iore."

"Oh, I don't, really...I'll find out some other way."

"Right...whatever."

"Go in peace, commander."

Vanx turned and was gone from the shuttle.

Nice characterization.

Nice characterization.

Thanks. Any other suggestions, critisms, et. all?

I present Chapter Three. Comments welcome.

Chapter Three
The Tolling

There was something to be said about the anonymity granted by a cramped meeting hall. Vanx found it relaxing.

The personnel of the Black Legion numbered in the high thousands. Even Vanx, second only to the Captain himself, enjoyed a sort of distant privacy. The techs and mechanics and pilots and soldiers might talk and bitch and moan about him, but they would never actually meet him. He might encounter the occasional clerk or yeomen but they were too dry and too concerned with their work to care about his rank or standing. Yes, there were the officers, the high lieutenants and ship captains and the like. Yes, they would see him, probably often, but they would never know him, never slap him on the back or tell jokes in his presence, and their hospitality would never extend beyond a stiff and formal handshake. The Legion was not some great brotherhood of fellow warriors, not for the officers. It was professional. It was detached. It was military.

For the most part, Lanter Vanx preferred it that way. Let the grunts have their camraderie and their sweat and blood and in-your-face action. It was too strenous to be particularly enjoyable.

Vanx sat at the back of the Command Conference Hall, listening with rapt disinterest. A dozen rows in front of him a holoprojector was displaying images that hung in midair, rotating, shrinking or expanding as the situation demanded.

"...and sixteen percent casualties in the fighter wings. The Ioren navy suffered roughly forty percent casualties in our first engagement near Kaldire, and in our recent engagement above Iore itself, enemy losses were tallied at eighty-five percent, with the rest surrendering unconditionally..."

Vanx drifted off, his mind wandering down the backalleys of things done and things to do. Captain Eldorin had wired a brief note expressing his gratitude for being given the services of a droid and three junior officers. Vanx wondered how that gratitude would wane once Eldorin was given over to the Imperial authorities on Ultorian Van. The trip would be made in luxury but the pot of the gold at the end of the hyperspace rainbow would probably not be to Eldorin's liking.

The entire trip seemed like wasted time to Lanter Vanx. He knew he was being sent because he was trusted, but spending two days in hyperspace transit onboard a modified attack freighter did not appeal to him. He had inspected the ship and selected the best quarters for himself, over the muted protests of the ship's captain, but they were still cramped and he still would rather have brought his luxury shuttle along.

But no. That would be unprofessional.

"...information garnered from captured Iorens indicates that there are at leasty fifty warships and over two hundred fighters grounded on Iore. When the shield fails we can expect to come under attack by these ships, who will attempt to engage us and try to break us, if we have not faltered before then..."

"If I may interrupt, why would they expect us to falter in the first place?"

The second speaker, noted Vanx, was Lieutenant Captain Tindle Nalvorin. What sort of parents would inflict a name like 'Tindle' on their child? Dath Lorkan parents would, apparently. Nalvorin had been raised by extremely conservative Dath Lorkans, so of course, in the Dath Lorkan tradition, he was a rather isolated person; this was a product of being raised by Dath Lorkans in the first place. He was also extremely antisocial, which was probably a product of being raised by extreme conversatives.

"There is only one reasonable explanation, Captain, and I believe our strategists have reasoned it out fairly well..."

Nalvorin smiled. Stupid fuck. Of course, he already knew- he was the Legion's leading strategist. He had just asked this question to indirectly showcase his own skills.

"Bastard." muttered Vanx. Nobody heard him.

"...so, obviously, the Ioren high command must realize that they cannot wait us out. At our current rate of bombardment their shield will fail in six days and then they will be helpless before us. Thus, they must hope for outside intervention," he flipped a switch on a control pad and the holoprojector beamed out a model of a solar system unknown to Vanx. "This is the Arridiyian star system, home to the Principate of Arridiyia. The Principate has long had a lucrative trade deal with the Ioren people and the two systems have been friends and allies since the Old Republic. The Principate declared for the New Republic after the Battle of Endor but then became neutral after Mon Calamari was destroyed. It is in possession of a sizable fleet numbering several hundred ships, mostly older frigates and corvettes. It's military is not well-trained but the fleet is in prime condition and is capable of projecting considerable force outside of their home system. The Principate's economic fate is tied to that of Iore, so we can expect a counterattack briefly..."

Vanx zoomed out. That was all he needed to hear. Counterattack. Several hundred ships. Frigates. Corvettes. Probably escorted by a light fighter screen. Nothing expensive, then. Z-95s, Y-Wings, shielded junkers and the like.

The rest of the briefing passed Vanx by like wind across a grassy plain and he was soon back in his personal shuttle, information on the Principate of Arridiyia pasted across his computer terminal. It was not much and it was not detailed, and he could not find anything resembling an accurate count of their total fleet. He had found their national logo- some bizarre arrangement of green stars- and a variety of boring geological, ecological, and economic data, but nothing he could actually use.

So absorbed was he, hunched over the terminal, that he did not notice when the doors to his shuttle slid open. The intruder stood for a minute or so, and then cleared his throat loudly and impatiently.

"Fuck off. I'm working."

A moment of silence, and then, the steady, tap-tap-tap of a steel-tipped boot toe descending on the floor in perfect rhythm.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap

"Out."

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

"This is an order. Leave me alone."

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

"Alright! What the fuck do you want?"

Vanx spun around in his chair, expasperated, and not surprised, to see before him the form of Tindle Nalvorin.

"Commander. My greetings."

"Yeah, sure. Hell, just barge into my personal shuttle without any sort of real warning. No need to do something as primitive as knocking! Just burst in and make yourself at home-"

"I shall take a seat."

"No, you will not. You will stand here and tell me why you have seen fit to piss me off at a time when I am very tired, very irritable and very capable of reaching down to my belt, drawing my blaster, and frying your sorry ass."

"I have been informed that the captain's quarters aboard the Crescent Lake have been appropriated for your use on our little trip. I do not mind this. However, I have also been informed that the first lieutenant's quarters have been appropriated for Captain Eldorin, and I must strenously protest this. It is my right to this luxury, and you have no-"

"Kill yourself."

"What?"

"Just kill yourself."

"Commander-"

"Fuck off, Nalvorin. Eldorin is our honored guest and frankly I'd rather spend time in his company than in yours. You can have the pick of what's left but I get the captain's quarters and Eldorin gets the first lieutenants. This is going to be simple, straightforward- a milk run. We will land on Ultorian Van, meet with the Imperial authorities, and hand them Eldorin. You will be in command of the ship while I am planetside, understood?"

"Understood."

"Understood, sir."

"Understood."

"Good. Now get out of my shuttle."

"Right away. Sir."

***

The attack corvette slowly peeled away from the gathered fleet. Activating it's engines it shot past Iore, it's gunners delievering an ineffective volley of shots at the planet's shield in a gesture of mockery and disrespect that was lost on everbody but them.

As Vanx and Nalvorin stood at the helm in full military dress the corvette blasted into hyperspace, trailing dust and shadows and a thousand shards of light. The corvette's marines were lined up in full battle dress for an excruciatingly dull ceremony the captain had ordered- Vanx suspected he had done it out of spite.

As the marine captain drew breath, preparing to launch into another soliloquy, Vanx intervened and cut him off with a brisk volley of meaningless gratitudes and dismissals. He almost swore he heard Nalvorin heave a sigh of relief as the marines filed out of the bridge.

"I will be retiring to my quarters." Vanx said, "Inform me if anything goes awry." A murmur of general constant rose. Satisfied, Lanter trotted off the bridge, down the corridors of the ship, through turbolifts and stark metallic decks. He passed Ensign Dakkle and the service droid, running some errand for the captive Eldorin, and greeted the ensign cordially before sinking into a richly upholstered chair with a sigh of contentment, a glass of wine dangling in his hand.

He dozed off slowly, awakening to a nearly imperceptible shift in the ship's bearings. He did not notice it at first, but rose, stretched, and sidled over to the comm unit. He decided to check on Eldorin, and thusly keyed in the code number of the room in which Eldorin was staying with Dakkle and the cadets.

"Captain Eldorin, this is Commander Vanx. How are you doing?"

Silence.

"Captain Eldorin, this is Commander Vanx. How are you doing?"

Silence.

Lanter assumed a malfunction. The ship had just been involved in a major fleet battle, after all- some minor, unrepaired damage to the comms was not terribly out of the ordinary. Vanx decided to go and check on Eldorin personally.

He strapped a blaster to his side. Just in case.

A short, five-minute trek brought him to the door of Eldorin's temporary quarters. He pressed the doorchime. No answer. He rapped on the door. A muffled groan wafted underneath a minute crack between the doorframe and the floor. There was no one else in the corridor.

Drawing his blaster, he punched in the override code on the wall-mounted keypad. As the doors slid open, Lanter ducked behind a wall, his blaster out and his finger tightening on the trigger. The doors slid shut behind him with a hiss.

There were no threats, just two bodies. The cadets- Rekir and Frow. Frow was quite clearly dead, a huge, charred hole in his chest, but Rekir was moaning, trying to stand in a pool of vomit and vigorously shaking his head.

Vanx kneeled beside him, bashed him on the back a few times and rolled him over to his side.

"What the hell happened? Where is Dakkle and the captain?"

Rekir heaved up blood.

"No damn clue...Dakkle shot Frow, Eldorin...Eldorin blasted me with...with something...hurt...like fuck..."

"The hell? Dakkle shot Frow?"

"Hole...right through his chest..."

"No shit, it's just slightly obvious. Where's Eldorin? How did he and Dakkle get out?"

"Not sure...something about the droid..." Frow coughed up another splatter of vomit, "The storage tank, I think...Eldorin hid in it."

"Hid in? How?"

"I have...no fucking...clue."

There was a thud. Not really a thud, no, nothing physical, but a feeling, a stray thought that sort of wandered in the mind. Vanx paused as Frow hacked up his guts.

"Computer." he asked, suddenly terse,"What just happened?"

"Our ship has exited hyperspace. All guns are powering down and shields have been dropped."

Frow was choking. Vanx did not really notice. He gave him a cursory slap on the back. Frow sucked in air but Vanx was already rising.

"Computer! Connect me to the helm!"

There was a brief pause; then, "This is Captain Oorin speaking. Captain Eldorin, what is your request?"

"This isn't Captain Eldorin. This is Commander Vanx, and I wish to know why the fuck we're sitting dead in space."

"How about you tell me, and then we'll both know."

"What? You don't know? How could you not? There are no magic overrides on this ship! You can't just manually flip a switch and shut off the weapons! This is a warship, dammit!"

"I did not 'flip a switch'. I ordered the power cut to the guns."

"Why the fuck did you do that?"

"I was hoping you could tell-"

"Answer the damn question!"

"Direct orders from Lieutenant Captain Nalvorin- he relayed a set of hyperspace coordinates. I think we're halfway between Arriyidia and Iore- no idea why, but I didn't want to argue with the-holy shit!"

"What is it?" demanded Vanx. Frow had collapsed into unconciousness on the floor.

"Another attack corvette just dropped out of hyperspace. It's nearly on top of us...deploying shuttles- commander, I think it intends to board us!"

"Dammit! Computer, relay following message on the shipwide audio broadcast system."

"Confirmed. Please state message."

"All crew, this is Commander Vanx. We are under attack and dead in space. All hands, prepare to repel boarders. I repeat, all hands, prepare to repel boarders. This is not a drill! I repeat, this is not a drill! Vanx out!" The computer terminated the audio link.

Vanx hefted his blaster and prepared to run out the door. Pausing, he turned around, kneeled, and checked Frow's pulse. It was steady.

The ship vibrated. A comm channel burst into static and speech.

"Enemy troops have entered the ship! ENEMY TROOPS HAVE ENTERED THE SHIP! Multiple hull breaches- security compromised- all hands, prepare to defend the ship!"

"I just said that." muttered Vanx. Quickly, he concocted a plan in his head. From a coldstart it would take five minutes to warm up the guns, but they could not pick off targets sitting on the hull and the gunnery crews would likely be occupied. Getting the shields up would take slightly longer, but it would incinerate any foreign objects on the corvette's surface and protect it if the enemy corvette-whoever it belonged to- decided to take a few potshots.

Oorin was most likely working on that; Lanter could do nothing to help him. The commander decided to track down the Lieutenant Captain; and, if necessary, kill him.

A detour to the armory would be necessary. There were six onboard a Legion ship this size, and the equipment there might be needed. The ship's ventilators and countertoxin deployment vents would render any chemical attack or gaseous attack useless, so the battle for the Crescent Lake would take the form of a good, old-fashioned slugfest.

The door exploded in a shower of sparks and an armor-clad form stepped through. Vanx whipped up his pistol and fired a half-dozen shots in rapid succession, blowing the intruder's head clear off his shoulders. Another half-dozen shots streaked through the threshold before Vanx was hurtling over the mutilated corpses of his would-attackers. As he sailed over the corpses he noticed body armor, heavy-grade rifles, smoke grenades, thermal detonators, stun batons, electrocuffs, and a variety of other military paraphenalia.

Vanx did not know where the closest armory was. He did not let ignorance impede his search as he thundered down the halls and corridors, klaxons blaring, Black Legion marines rushing to take up defensive positions, decked out in armor and heavy weaponry.

Vanx rounded a corner and surprised two enemy troopers before skidding backwards into the adjoining corridor. A shot rang out and smashed into the wall behind him. Lanter stuck his hand around the corner and banged out two shots, then spun around and fired off blast after blast, his modified pistol pumping out shots far faster than it had been intended too. When the dust and smoke settled two more corpses lay crumped on the floor, body armor marred by a dozen scorch marks.

Lanter kneeled by the bodies, rifled through the armor. He nicked a thermal detonater, then darted back down the hallways.

He rounded on an enemy soldier kneeling by a dead comrade. His helmet was off, his hard, tanned face drenched in sweat, and he was silently mouthing something while checking for a pulse.

Lanter brought his blaster up, prepared to fire, but at the last minute, as his finger tightened on the trigger, the trooper glanced over at Lanter, really looked at him, stared deep at the impending doom, and a stray thought, a muted flicker of a candle inside his mind, brought his thumb up to hit the 'settings' switch on the side of the gun. A ray of blue fire erupted from the barrel, washing over the trooper and sliding him into the dark unconcious void.

Vanx waited just a second. The man's chest heaved as he sucked in air. The commander took off.

The next few minutes blurred in a tapestry of running and gunning and ducking. The enemy soldiers were everywhere, all dressed in black and red armor with a single patch of green stars on their chest. The symbol seemed vaguely familiar but as much of Vanx's concentration was consumed by the rather difficult task of shooting straight, he was not able to focus on it.

He charged down a corridor to the tune of repeated blaster volleys. He skidded to a halt, for before him, positioned in the middle of a corridor intersection, stood a squadron of enemy soldiers. One had set up an E-WEB and was laying down heavy fire while four other soldiers blazed away from behind bulwarks.

Vanx thumbed the switch on the thermal detonator and hurled it at the enemy squadron. The E-WEB gunner stared at him, and then gazed at the thermal detonator in horror as it bounced off the wall and came to rest a few inches from his feet.

His shout was cut short by a tremendous explosion that scorched the walls and seared the very air. When the smoke cleared the E-WEB was nothing more than a smoking, mangled metal limb and the soldiers were scattered about the floor in very, very small pieces.

Lanter ran out into intersection and was nearly cut down by a blaster bolt. Someone yelled and then he was surrounded by Black Legion marines, who thumped their fists to their chests and saluted.

Apparently, they recognized him.

"Where is the armory?" he barked. A marine in seargant's armor replied,

"Take the turbolift that's back there to Section E. The armory is directly on your left."

Vanx thanked the seargent, stormed down the corridors and hopped in the turbolift. A few minutes and a single turn brought him to the armory.

It was filled with Legon marines preparing to sally forth. Two E-WEBs guarded the entrance and a handful of watchful soldiers manned them. Lanter strapped on body armor, donned a helmet and discarded his blaster in favor of a custom-made Legionaire Rifle. He strapped over fifteen thermal detonators on his belt and rallied a small group of marines around him.

"This section is relatively free of enemy soldiers," said one marine, "but Section F is completely overrun."

"Nalvorin's quarters are in Section F," mused Vanx, "We'll have to punch our way through and try to retake the section."

"Our forces in Section D have signaled a readiness to attack. They'll draw most of the enemy force away so we'll only face a light resistance."

"Excellant. Everyone ready?"

Affirmatives all around.

"Then let's do this."

C'om, people! Comment! I know it's not StarCrossed, but I'll never get better if you don't say anything!

Good story.

Thanks- do you have any thoughts on the storyline, the situation, the characters...?

Nothing really, sorry; I am reading for pure enjoyment and not trying to see how to make it better.

Mmmk

Looking great, Hemlock. Need a little more description, like what people are thinking as they talk. I have the same problem. Just have to get that worked out and it'll be perfect.

Its good.

Good action. I like Vanx's character.

Based on the first two chapters I've read here are some comments:

I really like the idea that these are mercs and not your usual run of the mill Rebel Alliance and Imperial characters, gives them a fresh perspective.

Battle scenbes very well done, just don't get too bogged down in the jargon because it can get dull and a reader may skip it over if not interested but done well.

I am a little put off by the vulgarity, NOT because I don't like to see vulgarity in my fiction but because as Star Wars I tend to write my SW fics in the spirit that GL gave us Wars and there was no vulgarity in Wars, at least not the recognizable ones like Motherfucker and shit. But that is juts a matter of personal taste and preference.

On to the next chapter but so far so good.

Right! Brief notice(and shameless bump!): next chapter to come late thursday, or middle of friday(I have off! yay)! Stay tuned!

Whee! Chapter much later than expected, but here! It was going to be longer, but I hadn't worked on it for a while and I wanted something to put up, so I split the end of Chapter Four into the ultra-short Chapter Five, which may be coming later this night.

Confusing. But enjoy.

Chapter Four
Into the Fires

The wrath of the Legion is well-documented. From ashen Mon Calamari to the Republican stronghold of Corellia, space is littered with the debris of starships, empty, ruined shells, shattered by the designs of their enemies. At the desperate battle above Coruscant it was a Legion ship that fired the shot that destroyed the Home One. When the fleets of the Republic smashed themselves against Kuat like waves upon a rocky coast, it was a battalion of Black Legionaires that stormed the bridge of the mighty Executor. In ten thousand cantinas across a thousand stars, the deeds of the Legion are whispered and bandied about like dust in the wind, their grand feats oft attributed to some daring Imperial commander or dashing Republican captain, for these cut a more romantic figure than the typically scruffy Legion recruit. But occasionally, somewhere in the galaxy, you will hear talk of the space-born mercenaries, talk hushed in an aura of fear or awe.

It may be interesting to note that such talk did not penetrate into any world occupied by the Principate of Arriyidia. If it had, one may suspect that they would not have been so hasty to rush to the aid of their Ioren comrades.

In fact, a small political faction within the Principate was lobbying for an alliance with the Empire and a cutting of ties with Iore. Had the Legion's attack been delayed until the next election, it is likely that the alliance faction would have taken power and that what would later be referred to as the 'Arryidian Incident' in the annals of Legion history would not have occured at all.

This was of no comfort to the Arriyidian soldier who's head was just about to be rather violently seperated from it's spinal cord.

Two squads of Legionaries laid down a blanket of covering fire while Lanter and a small handpicked team advanced steadily along a corrior wall. One of the marines tossed a thermal detonator around the corner- the explosion shook dust from the walls.

Vanx's team swung around, blasting into a cloud of smoke and ash that was concealing the pinned down enemy. Enemy shots slammed into the walls around him. A lucky bolt punched a hole in a Legionaries' armor and he crumpled. The suppression teams advanced and Vanx's team surged forward, cutting down the remainder of the enemy team , to stumble upon an array of corpses in varying states of incineration.

Lanter kneeled and studied one of the cadavers.

"I knew the insignia was familiar. Arryidian soldiers. We were betrayed by Dakkle. Of course."

"Dakkle?" asked one of the marines, "Who the fuck is 'Dakkle'?"

"Fleet ensign...undergoing captain's training. He was an Arryidian, I think, he blasted one of the cadets guarding Eldorin...and..."

This blindingly obvious gravtrain of thought was interrupted by a volley of raging fire. A few Legionaries fell as Vanx whipped around his rifle and pumped a half-dozen shots into the crowd of Arryidian, taking down two and scorching the chestplate of another.

Then, suddenly, they had closed, and overwhelmed the Legionaries, driving them back against the wall, driving home hammer-blows with the butts of their rifles.

Vibroblades flashed. One of the Arryidians screamed and stumbled backwards, his arm severed from his body at the vunerable armor junction at his shoulder. Blood pooled on the floor, men shrieked and thrashed and ripped flesh and armor fell like rain as the Legionaries renewed their attack , courtesy concealed vibroknives.

Vanx had dropped his rifle and drawn his dagger, driving it full force into the Arryidian in front of him. It's serrated blade gouged out a rivet in the armor, but did no further harm.. The foe clubbed Lanter on the arm and the commander cursed loudly before shoving his knife into the neck of his assailant. Blood spurted out of a severed artery, stinging Lanter's eyes. The Arryidian gurgled and collasped.

"Damn messy business." muttered the commander, wiping his brow. Now his men, much dimished in number, pressed the attack, pinning the surviving Arryidians against the corridors.

Vanx pulled his knive out of the fallen corpse before him, then paused to consider the situation.

At least eight Legionaries where dead on the floor, blood spilled about the corridor. Three walking wounded huddled in a corner, bleeding profusely. Almost thirty bodies were scattered around his feet, equal in number to the surviving Legionaries.

"You want we should kill these guys, commander?" asked one of the marines. Vanx paused just a moment.

"...no. No. Ten of you, disarm the prisoners and escort them back to one of our strongpoints. Take those three with you." he ordered, indicating the three wounded with his knife.

"Bad idea, boss. Let's just kill them and move."

"No."

"Boss-"

"No. Move out now, soldier."

"At once. Sir."

The selected individuals followed suit, saluting and escorting their hostages out of the combat zone and back to a Legion-held strongpoint. Vanx and his contingent continued to advance, carefully, for a little over ten minutes before Vanx called a brief halt.

Summoning the most senior of the marines, a rather scrawny corporal by the name of Lors, Vanx punched in a few numbers into a nearby wall-mounted terminal. A map of the ship appeared on screen, focused around a red dot representating the terminal's position.

"Nalvorin's quarters are here..."
"Best to take that corridor..."
"The Arriyidians have taken that section..."
"Hold on, comm's chirping..."
"Yes...yes! We're in posession of these three sections..."
"Then drive up this corridor here?"
"Yes."

Vanx's comm beeped again. He switched it back on.

"Commander Vanx? Captain Oorin speaking!"

"I'm listening."

"Guns are online. Arryidian soldiers jammed the shields; we're not going to be able to get them back up. The enemy corvette is closing and it's locked us in a tractor beam. Do you have any specific orders?"

"Are the Arryidians aware of-"

"No. The chief engineer assures me of this."

"Good. Wait until they're on top of us, then cut loose."

"Understood. Oorin out." The comm crackled and died.

"Right, men, up!" yelled Dors, "We're moving out!"

The soldiers lifted themselves up on their feet and plunged after Lors and Vanx, traversing the halls of the ship at a steady clip. The passed the occasional Legion strike team or Arryidian patrol, exchanged the odd blaster bolt and lost, by the grinding attrition of war, four men before they reached their final destination.

It was a deathtrap. Three corridors emptied out into an intersection that lay before the doorstep of Nalvorin's quarters. An E-WEB covered each angle of approach and two dozen imposing Arrydian elites stood guard, kneeling, rifles sweeping across the intersection to threaten every corridor. A small minefield was scattered about the area, the decks covered in tiny explosive charges just powerful enough to shatter a foot or leg.

Vanx was studying the imposing fortifications by peering out from around a corner, a manner of recon which was both effective and quite safe. His men were roughly equal in numbers and skill to the defenders; the defenders were just dug in.

Behind mines.

And automatic weaponry.

Costly, then. Casualties. Vanx was none too pleased- he did not wish his men to die.

"Fun, fun." muttered Vanx.

He stepped back behind the corner, snapped his fingers and motioned for Lors to join him.

"Lors! What sort of heavy weaponry do we have?" he whispered

"Etch and Hutch are hauling a launcher around on their backs. We have some grenades and that's it."

"Good enough. Fire."

"Excuse me, sir?"

"Fire the rocket launcher, Lors."

"Captain, the E-WEBs are shielded! The rocket may be able to take out one-"

"And a hail of grenades will take out the rest."

"What about the mines?"

"Walk carefully."

"Yes. Sir. Etch! Hutch! Get that thing set up. Hustle!"

Two marines fell to assembling a cruel-looking , wheeled lump of black metal into a shape that vaguely represented some sort of weapon. One the marines- Etch, maybe- slammed a long black rocket into the rear of the launcher. The entire operation was conducted in near-silence. Vanx, impressed, cleared his throat.

"Right! On three, shove that thing around the corner and cut loose. The rest of you, as soon as it goes off, we want full volley of grenades. Press them fast, press them hard. Understood?"

A chorus of muted affirmatives answered.

"One. Two. Three!"

Etch and Hutch threw their shoulders into the launcher, spinning it around and running it down the corridor into full view of the Arriyidian troops. Etch slipped and fell with a loud curse but Hutch rounded the corner, hit the fire button, and promptly died as a bolt of searing red energy ripped through his chestplate.

The rocket shrieked down the corridor in the blink of an eye and engulfed the defenders in smoke and flame.

With a grand and tumultous shout the Legionaries had rounded the corner, Lors heading them up, Vanx taking the rear, following a hailstorm of grenades that landed admist the confusion and chaos of the rocket and added to that chaos exponentionally with fire and death thrown in for good measure.

For a moment the defenders were overwhelmed. The occasional mine blasted itself apart, blowing off a marine's foot or leg. Those unfortunates hit the ground and roiled about in pain until they hit another mine or they were trampled by the rushing horde of black boots.

Then the dust cleared, revealing nearly a dozen dead Arriyidians, two slagged E-WEBs and a fully functonal one, manned, shielded, and firing.

Nearly half of the remaining Arryidians were cut down by blaster fire but it no longer mattered for the E-WEB pumped out shot after lethal shot, killing with deft percision. Vanx felt the heat from a blast scorch his armor, melting it to his skin but he was already screaming and the adrenaline pounding through veins deprived him of pain.

The battle was two parts blur, one part reddish haze. He saw a marine standing right next the E-WEB, holding a grenade, before going up in smoke and fire; he dimly remembered hurling his last grenade, and then he saw Lors and a small troupe of soldiers- four, five tops- pursuing a fleeing Arriyidan down the corridor.

And leaving their commanding officer.

Well then. Only one thing to do.

Vanx tried to open Nalvorin's door. It was locked. He punched in the override code and stepped in, and was suddenly confronted with a rather urgent decision.

Well, lookey here! The ultrashort Chapter Five! Comments appreciated.

Chapter Five
Confrontations and Conclusions

The situation onboard the Crescent Lake had rapidly been deteriotating from the moment the ship had left hyperspace, imitating a man slipping down a rope into a hole. The situation inside Nalvorin's cabin had also rapidly deterioated, but did not so much resemble a man slipping down into a hole as it did a man slipping two feet into a hole and then smashing headlong into the bottom.

In the corner Eldorin's deactivated serving droid was crumpled, eyes lifeless. Eldorin himself stood on one side of the room, next to Dakkle, both pointing pistols at Nalvorin, who stood, dressed only in a bedrobe, at the opposite side of the room, near his bed, two pistols trained on his two assailaints.

Vanx's entrance was not instantly acknowledged. He took one step into the room, and all hell broke loose. Yet again.

He twisted his arms around and fire, but instead of frying Dakkle or Eldorin with a fiery bolt of plasma, a short blue ray rippled forth, stopping several feet short of the Arriydian and the Ioren.

Vanx was utterly baffled. When the hell had he set his weapon to stun?

At the same time Dakkle fell to one knee and clipped off a shot at Vanx, blowing a chunk from the wall. Eldorin was also spinning, and as a fortuitious byproduct of his actions avoided one of Nalvorin's pistol blasts as the lieutant commander charged his foes.

Eldorin spun back around, blaster raised, stopping Nalvorin in his tracks. Dakkle and Vanx suddenly found themselves in a similar standoff.

"Late and incompetent as always, Commander." remarked Nalvorin.

"Kill yourself."

"You certainly seem intent on it."

Vanx was suddenly aware of a burning pain in his right shoulder.

Then, suddenly, there was a voice, a voice booming out over the intercom.

"Enemy corvette is disabled! All fighters, report to hangar! All unengaged troops, prepare to board enemy vessel!" The message, clearly the voice of Captain Oorin, repeated itself several times.

Nalvorin snickered. Vanx said, "We win, Dakkle, you bastard!"

Dakkle spat.

"I'm sorry, commander. It had to be done."

"Of course. You had to tip off the Arriyidians. You had to kill Rekir or Frow whomever the hell you shot. You had to cause the deaths of dozens, if not hundreds, of your brothers in arms just so some captain you've never heard won't be dropped off at Ultorian Van? What the fuck kind of drugs are you on, Ensign?"

"It's more than that, commander. It's the Iorens. Arriyidia is next. It's obvious. The Imperials want an example. They-"

"So what? What's wrong with that? Arriyidia is a powerful system. It may be granted semi-autonomy. What's not to like? Being a citizen of the Empire isn't that bad! Dammit, don't look at me like that, Eldorin, it's not! You know it! You should have just surrendered when we came in, we'd all be happy, I wouldn't be here, my arm wouldn't be hurting like hell and no one would have died!"

Nalvorin began to speak, but Vanx cut him off. "Shut up, Nalvorin. I'm not in the mood. Any minute our troops are gonna come busting in here and we'll either die, or Eldorin will die, and the Imperials will get pissed off, and then we're probably going to die anyway. And at the end of it I get to go home and battle with half the fleet of Arriyidia, and do you know why? Because it's my fucking job!"

"They're going to destroy Iore." That was Dakkle. Quietly.

"The hell?"

"Eldorin told me. He showed me. I saw it. The plans were there, in the first lieutenants quarters; plans sent there by Ka'tefrey, to Nalvorin, in secret. Plans for the destruction of an entire world, commander. No survivors. No witnesses. Nothing left but barren rock and wasted ash. All the billions of Iore, gone, forever, dust in the wind. Yes, you know it. You know what I'm talking about. The epitome of mass murder. Base Delta Zero."

Nalvorin shrugged using only his head. "It's our job."

"Excuse the fuck out you. This just happens to be my job- I am not some twisted psychopath who takes pleasure in the deaths of other living beings."

"No. You just pretend it doesn't happen."

And then something very odd happened. The rifle that was cradled in the arms of Lanter Vanx simply slipped and fell. It was not something he intended, not an- intentionally- dramatic gesture, just something that sort of happened. It clattered to the floor and Vanx went with it, because years of combat had taught him that being unarmed in a standoff situation was neither pleasant nor smart.

Hell broke loose. Yet again.

Dakkle, not quite understanding what he was doing, dove for the rifle as he fired a blistering shot that missed Vanx by a wide margin. Nalvorin snapped off two shots, one a blast that struck Dakkle squarely between the shoulderblades and rendered him quite dead, the other an expanding blue ray that took Eldorin unawares and rendered him quite unconcious.

Vanx landed on his right shoulder. As he blacked out from the pain, he dimly heard the intercom blaring the words "...full surrender, find Commander Vanx, tell him the enemy vessel has unconditionally surrendered..."

***

The Imperial liason was not impressed. Oorin was grandstanding; showing off his ship as Imperial mechanics swarmed around it.

"It is certainly a rugged vessel, but I see no reason why it should be considered special."

"You must be joking!" protested Oorin, "It's a wolverine! A panther! It's had so many upgrades and updates-"

"...it still won't stand up to even one Imperial Star Destroyer. Give it a rest; I'm exhausted, I want to get back to the fleet and the ship won't be fully operational for another day. Don't piss off Imperial legates, Oorin, especially the ones that have five hundred stormtroopers in the vicinity."

"You are a wise man, commander."

"I try."

"How is your arm?"

"Fine. I must extend formal thanks on behalf of the Legion and the men of the Crescent Lake for allowing us to use your medical facilities. That stuff works wonders."

"What? Bacta? You don't have it?"

"We have some, but not much. It's damned expensive."

"Too true."

"May I ask a question? Yes? Thank you. What are your plans in regards to the Principate of Arriyidia?"

"Quite simple. After you have defeated their offensive fleet, we shall move in and seize control of their capital world, and thus, their entire system."

"I see. And your plans for Iore?"

"The same, slightly modified."

"I see. Well; I will be returning to the barracks to sleep. Goodnight, gentlemen."

***

Two days later, Vanx was cruising through space, in his own private quarters, still exhausted- from what, he did not know- but unable to sleep.

The ship's comm announced the transition to realspace. And then Nalvorin's voice echoed over Vanx's private comm.

"Commander, you are needed at the bridge. The Arriyidian fleet has arrived."

"...wonderful."

Very good my young friend. Your descriptions of combat are eccellent, and your characterization impecable. keep up the good work.