Le Mort Homme
Posted: 2003-10-26 11:10pm
Le Mort Homme
Chapter One
The Lamps Go Out
----
"No, not even ignorance of the threat posed by the Yuuzhan Vong can be used as an excuse for the unreadiness of the New Republic to turn and defend itself. The only explanation for the tragedy that befell our galaxy is gross ineptitude; inexcusable incompetence. The New Republic was not too weak to stop the Vong in their first foray, not too feeble to oppose them at each turn. It was merely too unprepared, too disorganized, and too foolishly complacent to take action when action was so badly needed. The New Republic failed us, at great cost in lives and material, and it will fail us again.
"The Republic's new goals are the rebuilding of industry and reconstruction of lost worlds. I do not object to these laudable goals. What I object to is the return to unreadiness and military weakness which was so disastrous before. Other senators have said that we cannot afford the expense of rebuilding and increasing the fleet. I say that we cannot afford not to do this. If the Republic will not undertake the task of defending its member worlds, then it is not the assembly which can best serve those who elected me. I therefore report to the Senate the decision of the Outer Rim Alliance Legislature, which voted 259-60 in favor of ending its membership in the New Republic.
"It is our intention to appeal to the Galactic Empire for protection. We regret abandoning this noble experiment; however, we cannot overlook our obligation to our people. The Empire proved it's mettle in the fight against the Vong, and it can ever be trusted to place the defense of its citizens first. The promised liberties of the New Republic fade to insignificance when one considers that only those who died as a result of government ineptitude have gained the contracted freedoms. The two governments might be identical, but for the simple fact that the Galactic Empire has both the will and the capacity to shield it's member worlds from harm."
Senator Len Alhill of the ORA, address to the New Republic Senate
28-5-68 AGR
----
"They did a great thing with Coruscant, Vorst. It's amazing how close it is to what it was," Huy said.
"Back when the Imperial Civil War tore it up, it only took them a few years to get it back up to speed," Thei'lar said, "and what's it been since we kicked the Yuuzhan Vong off of Coruscant? Forty years? They always exaggerate how much damage was done, anyway. They just tore up the top levels and laid down some soft peat to stand on, nobody really knows where the ground is on that planet, anyway."
Huy shrugged at the Bothan's clarification, "Still. It's really something, I wonder how much it cost."
"About as much as it might have cost to build a few dozen battlefleets or so, I'd guess. But I'm not an accountant," Thei'lar replied, "why all this talk about Coruscant, anyway?"
The human male absently tossed the datapad he was holding to his friend. It would have missed by a large margin, but the other twitched his finger slightly and the trajectory of the little computer changed to land it directly in his palm. Vorst Thei'lar looked at the flatscreen display. It was some propaganda article about order and progress in the New Republic, using the turnaround of Coruscant as example.
"They're trying too hard to keep planets as members. The reason Coruscant recovered isn't just because of the government action, it's because of the name," the Bothan snorted.
Huy wasn't as quick, "What name?"
Vorst cleared his throat and spoke in hushed tones, almost a hiss, "Coruscant. What does it mean to you?"
The man rolled his eyes, "A big ugly ball of duracrete, with far too many people on it. You?"
"The same. The corporate mind thinks precisely what we do, the only difference being that he likes the idea. He likes it so much that he nearly achieves climax where he sits."
"You're disgusting," the man said with a not unfriendly grimace.
The two Jedi were sitting in the anteroom to a meeting room, and had been doing so for about three hours. If they did not fit the classic image of the stoic Jedi, it was because they were young and did not have the benefit of tradition. They were bored, and good enough friends that they didn't much care about keeping up appearances. Humans were naturally social creatures, and Bothans were naturally sarcastic. This mixed in a rather pleasing way for the two. Meawhile, In the meeting room things of great importance were going on, but they concerned the Jedi only peripherially. It was only the fate of the galaxy that was being decided, and the galaxy was so unbelievably big and alive that it couldn't be put into terms that well-adjusted people could understand. It took a special kind of sociopath to become a high ranking diplomat.
Knights Danril Huy and Vorst Thei'lar were bodyguards for a special sociopath. It was mainly a gesture by the Academy to demonstrate the continued vitality of the New Republic. Master Durron was making a statement: 'look at these Jedi, Imperials, and quake!' That was his style--it had not been Skywalker's style, of course, but that fellow was long dead and most of his own students had been forced by the Vong invasions and the still-growing tensions with the Empire to admit that Kyp was right.
Huy stretched out his consciousness into the next room and listened to the emotion running around. They were cold, as diplomats almost invariably were. The sound clarified into the thoughts of the diplomats and the Jedi eavesdropped. The two views conflicted beyond compromise. It was as if the two ambassadors had decided to set out from perfectly opposite goals with the objective of wrangling in futility. It was the fourth day of these meetings already (ten hours each day, which could try even legendary patience) and the situation had not changed.
"Negotiation isn't going to work," Danril murmured as his mind returned to the antechamber.
Vorst sighed, "I heard you the past three days, it doesn't need to be said again."
"Things might have changed."
"In diplomacy like this? Sure. Listen to me, man-creature, Bothans have a natural talent for these things. There's no way this question is going to be solved short of war," Thei'lar said in a grim tone.
Huy groaned, "You're always so pessimistic."
"What's there to be happy about, here?"
"It's all in how you percieve it, and deliver it. Like so," the human replied, and then shifted into an unbearably cheerful tone of voice, "there's no way this question is going to be solved short of a really fantastic war, children."
"I didn't get the part where you said 'children,'" Vorst said with a smirk.
Huy smiled, "I was visualizing."
"I've always disliked you Inner Core types, with your stiff-upper lippedness. What did you say when that troop transport crashed and we had to take out the insurgent camp by ourselves?" the Bothan paused, then continued in an excessive imitation of his comrade's accent, "Was it 'I am sure that every man Jack of them died with gentle confidence in the knowledge that we are here to fulfill the mission with or without them.'"
"I don't sound like that!" Huy sulked.
Thei'lar continued on in the same grotesque elocution, "Yes you do, you sound positively Imperial. Like recordings of Grand Moff Tarkin or a Coruscant schoolteacher."
"And while we're discussing this so amiably there are two men in the next room deciding to send uncountable populations to their screaming deaths."
"As I've said before, there's no creature more criminal and soulless than a diplomat. To get a diplomat, you find yourself an accountant or lawyer and give him power of life and death over many, many people," the Bothan said with a sneer.
The human chuckled despite himself, "I think you'd also need to cut out the beast's poison glands and de-fang him, but that's ancillary to the point."
----
Lord Jerol Weiss had been a ambassador in the service of the Galactic Empire for fifteen years. From his childhood, he had watched the resurgence of his nation's power and revelled in it. Each year more planets fled the failing grasp of the New Republic to join the more vital Empire. But even as he rejoiced for his government, he remembered the lesson that the last few decades had taught.
Simply put, the galaxy was too large to effectively govern; the Old Republic had put up a long fight, but except for the relatively brief golden age in the middle of its reign, it had merely been a state in transition from chaos to control and finally to entropy. The known universe was all too big and too populous to be controlled properly. The Remnant had become strong and able to resist the Vong more capably than the Republic because it was more compact--a smaller structure was sometimes more resilient to damage than a massive one. But now, with the desertion of states from the New Republic, the sizes of the opposing powers was stabilizing in the middle. The current situation would last only until the Senate gathered the courage and strength to draw a line in the sand.
They were doing so at this very moment.
The sentient across the table from Jerol was a Corellian named Greer Tanas. He was a person much like Weiss, from a wealthy family, well educated, intelligent, highly competent, and singularly amoral. Weiss had dealt with the fellow before, primarily from a position of strength. They had divided up stellar clusters between them, deciding the fate of trillions with a sweep of a light pen upon a datascreen. For two normal men such an experience might have inspired feelings of kinship, but they were effective diplomats and had no feelings at all.
Jerol had been debating fruitlessly with this man over the most important territorial issue of all. Sesswanna was the administrative and industrial core of the galaxy, as well as the most prestigious and culturally important sector. Within it's borders it enclosed the droid-run industrial complexes of Helvet Prime, the Yula Cluster, and more importantly the very beating heart of the known universe, Coruscant.
Unofficial polls had shown that the people of Sesswanna were becoming better and better disposed to joining the Empire by the day, and it was only a matter of time before this became an open issue. It was the intention of the Empire to preempt such a circumstance, which lead to immediate and devastating war between the two nations, by some sort of compromise. Weiss was authorized to offer a partition of the region, whereby the half containing Coruscant would remain with the Republic and the rest would join the Empire. This would allow the New Republic to maintain some dignity and prestige while the Empire would humbly serve the wishes of the people--or at least half of them.
The New Republic found this totally unacceptable, of course. This was the third time he had offered such a compromise, and for the third time Jerol had been rejected.
"Lord Weiss, the New Republic once again categorically refuses any compromise on this issue, because there is no such deal to be made. The right of my government to maintain and rule its own sovereign territory cannot be infringed by any outside power. Any attempt by the Empire to do so is a gross violation of our national rights and dignity and will be interpretted as an act of war," Tanas said.
Weiss inclined his head a few degrees towards the fine wood table, shut his eyes wearily for a few moments. The lighting in the well-furnished room had a tasteful and comforting bluish tint, but his eyes burned nonetheless. He raised his head again, after a few moments.
"A government exists only as the executor of the will of its people. The people of Sesswanna have decided that the New Republic no longer offers the best hope for safety, stability, and freedom; you can no longer hold onto them," Jerol replied, "the treaty that I have offered is better than the one that your own citizens desire. If you will not accept it, the Empire will have no choice but to act on their behalf."
"Then it will be war," Greer concluded neutrally, "this meeting is over."
The Republican diplomat exited the room to join his Jedi escorts. He would send his message to Coruscant--or rather it would be bounced from there to the emergency headquarters of the New Republic Military Command, wherever that was. Then ships would come, and soldiers. Many people would die, it was more than likely planets would die as well.
Weiss reached up to his neck and undid his collar. At least his predecessor had negotiated the Yaga Minor Accord, the agreement that outlawed the construction of so-called "superweapons" like super-lasers and world-devastators and sun-crushers... and whatever other hyphenated devices military scientists could come up with. That was something, even if the obliteration of a living planet still required only a pocket cruiser and an hour's bombardment.
Jerol hit a button on his personal datapad that summoned an assistant. The young man entered the room and awaited instructions, looking for all the world like a stiffly animated gray corpse; in appearence just like every other man who ever entered the Imperial Diplomatic Corps.
Weiss yawned, his work finally at an end, "Jacobi, send the message to the Moff Council that our offer has been refused, and get me a brandy."
The young man paled, turning a sicklier shade of gray than before, "Is it to be war, then?"
"Of course war," Jerol replied, "it has to happen every so often, otherwise people get lazy and weapons rust. The Old Republic learned that lesson. 'The flower of government must from time to time be refreshed by the blood of the citizens,' said Tarkin."
----
Grand Admiral Yuma began the briefing. He and twenty other men were seated at the command table in the War Room on Yaga Minor. Yaga Minor had served as the core of the Imperial Remnant effort during the Vong Wars and had since been the center of military command and control for the expanding and recovering Galactic Empire. The table was very large and well lit from above, while the rest of the room was quite dark. Each man had a console and holoscreen before him, and a single primary holoprojector dominated the center of the table. The other men at the table were members of the Imperial General Staff, Imperial Defense Board, Ubiqtorate, and other branches; Yuma was the highest ranking military officer and thus in charge of the meeting.
He tapped at the keys on his console, and a map of the galaxy floated up over the table. A few more keystrokes, and it was divided into Republican Red and Imperial Blue. Then green markers identified major friendly military concentrations, and yellow markers for likely enemy fleets and armies. He then typed in the proper code for the war plan he was to be explaining, and a profusion of thousands of arrows, arcs, lines, and other cryptic symbols appeared. It was almost more than Yuma, even with his decades of military experience and cybernetic brain-enhancing implants, could handle. The word "Archipelago" hovered in white beneath the galactic map.
"Archipelago is the galactic level war plan that the General Staff has prepared for the eventuality of a dispute over Sesswanna. In brief, it calls for main thrusts towards Coruscant from our bases in the core, against Corellia from Hellas, and a sweep through the outer rim," Yuma explained.
The relevant lines and arcs obligingly flashed white as he spoke of them.
He continued, "The plan is to use the superior power, morale, skill of our fleets and armies in offensive maneuvers, to force the enemy to disperse his numerically superior forces and dilute his strength. Our personnel training and technical strength will allow our fleets to make multiple sorties in rapid succession and more than compensate for our inferiority in numbers."
One of the other men at the table, an elderly Moff named Wergard, leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at the map, "Do we have an estimate on time?"
The Grand Admiral nodded, "If all goes according to plan, we will be forcing a favorable peace settlement by new year's day. Sesswanna, most of the central rim, and general disarmament of the New Republic, as per Victory Plan 'Othello.'"
"And if things don't go according to plan?" Wergard asked.
"The plan is foolproof," Yuma rejoined with injured pride.
"One thing I learned from my participation in the war against the Yuuzhan Vong," the Moff said, "is that you can always count on the enemy to be a bigger fool than your plans could possibly account for. What is our course of action if Archipelago is unsuccessful?"
Yuma thought for a long moment before responding. He hated dealing with pompous politicians, especially when they were veterans who thought they still knew everything there was to war. Archipelago was the fruit of the Imperial military experience in the Vong Invasion; barring an unprecedented change in the very nature of hostilities, it would work perfectly.
"The Galactic Empire, as you are no doubt aware, is much more ideologically and ethnically homogenous than the Republic, most of us being human instead of a hodge-podge of different species. If the war goes on too much longer than planned, we will be able to employ our resources more effectively, and will be more or less immune to the polarization and disintegration that the heterogenous Republic will undoubtedly suffer," the Grand Admiral finalled replied, "of course, we can't effectively plan for this in advance. The spoiling operations and stop-gap measures that such a phase of war would require can only be summoned on the spot. The basic mobilization structure is there, and that ought to be all that we need."
"Very well, Grand Admiral Yuma," the Moff conceded, "we will see how it all turns out in practice."
"Mobilization will begin at once," Yuma finished the briefing.
----
"Your training, Atkins, introduced you to military discipline and drill," the company commander said, "and this will certainly not end now that you have begun your career in earnest. However, you will find that the Imperial army is a family, and we take care of our children."
Private Peren Tomasz Atkins was only twenty years old, and like many young men he had had little direction in life after finishing secondary school. Unlike many, he elected to enter the Imperial army. Volunteering for service was an important decision, because the military was a career to last not less than five years with a mandatory further fifteen years of commitment to the reserves. If he got a good thing going, he might stay on in active service for the rest of his life. The rest of his life might last less than the requisite five years, of course, but this was the army and they probably understand the difficulty and release him from the obligation.
"Sir, yes sir," Atkins replied.
"That's one training-yard affectation you can leave at the door, Private. I only need to hear 'sir' once for each sentence," Captain Arpad corrected him with a gentle smile.
"Understood, sir."
The two soldiers were in the Captain's office, a small windowless box in the divisional base. The 589th Imperial Fusilliers was one of the nearly uncountable active duty rifle divisions in the Empire, and like most it was made up of soldiers from the immediate stellar neighborhood. Atkins's home planet of Leincest was only a few hundred light years away, and it had to be assumed that the officer's place of birth lay a similar distance away. It was not far from the Sesswanna sector, and it was heavily influenced by the culture of Coruscant and surrounding areas.
The captain looked down at the holoscreen on his desk. It was invisible to Peren at the angle, but it certainly showed his personnel files. Peren idly wondered what they might say, but he was forbidden to read them, because they contained sensitive information and what were probably hurtful assessments from his former instructors.
"It says here that you excelled in marksmanship and unarmed combat drill," Arpad read, "and in fact you placed fiftieth of a field of five hundred in your training camp's throw-boxing tournament."
"I did, sir," Atkins answered truthfully.
"It's good to have a good athlete join the company, because they often make well motivated soldiers," the Captain said. He hit a button on his desk and the holoprojector hummed off.
"Now then, Private Atkins--" Arpad began, but just then a display on his desk flickered and beeped. He keyed it quickly.
The projector came back on, again invisible to Atkins, though he could hear the man on the other end.
"Major Prote, good to speak to you sir," the Captain answered.
The voice on the other end, "Not so good, Captain. The division is being mobilized, your company will embark on the transport at ten-hundred tomorrow."
"It's war then?" Arpad asked.
The other said, "Could be, could be. Just get your men together and we'll see what's what."
The connection terminated, and Captain Arpad looked up at Atkins, "You had better join your group, Private Atkins. It will be R Platoon, the map to your barracks is on your datapad."
Peren frowned, "Sir? Will there be time for my one-hour religious break tonight?"
The captain raised an eyebrow, and remembered that the private's file had recorded that the young man was a member of some religious sect, and his devotions required him to take an hour each week for prayer and reflection; it was bad luck for the day to have fallen just now. A silly thing, but Arpad knew the army had to be accomodating to the faithful.
"I don't suspect that there'll be a lot of time, but you can ask your platoon sergeant and we'll see what. Now, get going, there's work to be done," Arpad said.
Chapter One
The Lamps Go Out
----
"No, not even ignorance of the threat posed by the Yuuzhan Vong can be used as an excuse for the unreadiness of the New Republic to turn and defend itself. The only explanation for the tragedy that befell our galaxy is gross ineptitude; inexcusable incompetence. The New Republic was not too weak to stop the Vong in their first foray, not too feeble to oppose them at each turn. It was merely too unprepared, too disorganized, and too foolishly complacent to take action when action was so badly needed. The New Republic failed us, at great cost in lives and material, and it will fail us again.
"The Republic's new goals are the rebuilding of industry and reconstruction of lost worlds. I do not object to these laudable goals. What I object to is the return to unreadiness and military weakness which was so disastrous before. Other senators have said that we cannot afford the expense of rebuilding and increasing the fleet. I say that we cannot afford not to do this. If the Republic will not undertake the task of defending its member worlds, then it is not the assembly which can best serve those who elected me. I therefore report to the Senate the decision of the Outer Rim Alliance Legislature, which voted 259-60 in favor of ending its membership in the New Republic.
"It is our intention to appeal to the Galactic Empire for protection. We regret abandoning this noble experiment; however, we cannot overlook our obligation to our people. The Empire proved it's mettle in the fight against the Vong, and it can ever be trusted to place the defense of its citizens first. The promised liberties of the New Republic fade to insignificance when one considers that only those who died as a result of government ineptitude have gained the contracted freedoms. The two governments might be identical, but for the simple fact that the Galactic Empire has both the will and the capacity to shield it's member worlds from harm."
Senator Len Alhill of the ORA, address to the New Republic Senate
28-5-68 AGR
----
"They did a great thing with Coruscant, Vorst. It's amazing how close it is to what it was," Huy said.
"Back when the Imperial Civil War tore it up, it only took them a few years to get it back up to speed," Thei'lar said, "and what's it been since we kicked the Yuuzhan Vong off of Coruscant? Forty years? They always exaggerate how much damage was done, anyway. They just tore up the top levels and laid down some soft peat to stand on, nobody really knows where the ground is on that planet, anyway."
Huy shrugged at the Bothan's clarification, "Still. It's really something, I wonder how much it cost."
"About as much as it might have cost to build a few dozen battlefleets or so, I'd guess. But I'm not an accountant," Thei'lar replied, "why all this talk about Coruscant, anyway?"
The human male absently tossed the datapad he was holding to his friend. It would have missed by a large margin, but the other twitched his finger slightly and the trajectory of the little computer changed to land it directly in his palm. Vorst Thei'lar looked at the flatscreen display. It was some propaganda article about order and progress in the New Republic, using the turnaround of Coruscant as example.
"They're trying too hard to keep planets as members. The reason Coruscant recovered isn't just because of the government action, it's because of the name," the Bothan snorted.
Huy wasn't as quick, "What name?"
Vorst cleared his throat and spoke in hushed tones, almost a hiss, "Coruscant. What does it mean to you?"
The man rolled his eyes, "A big ugly ball of duracrete, with far too many people on it. You?"
"The same. The corporate mind thinks precisely what we do, the only difference being that he likes the idea. He likes it so much that he nearly achieves climax where he sits."
"You're disgusting," the man said with a not unfriendly grimace.
The two Jedi were sitting in the anteroom to a meeting room, and had been doing so for about three hours. If they did not fit the classic image of the stoic Jedi, it was because they were young and did not have the benefit of tradition. They were bored, and good enough friends that they didn't much care about keeping up appearances. Humans were naturally social creatures, and Bothans were naturally sarcastic. This mixed in a rather pleasing way for the two. Meawhile, In the meeting room things of great importance were going on, but they concerned the Jedi only peripherially. It was only the fate of the galaxy that was being decided, and the galaxy was so unbelievably big and alive that it couldn't be put into terms that well-adjusted people could understand. It took a special kind of sociopath to become a high ranking diplomat.
Knights Danril Huy and Vorst Thei'lar were bodyguards for a special sociopath. It was mainly a gesture by the Academy to demonstrate the continued vitality of the New Republic. Master Durron was making a statement: 'look at these Jedi, Imperials, and quake!' That was his style--it had not been Skywalker's style, of course, but that fellow was long dead and most of his own students had been forced by the Vong invasions and the still-growing tensions with the Empire to admit that Kyp was right.
Huy stretched out his consciousness into the next room and listened to the emotion running around. They were cold, as diplomats almost invariably were. The sound clarified into the thoughts of the diplomats and the Jedi eavesdropped. The two views conflicted beyond compromise. It was as if the two ambassadors had decided to set out from perfectly opposite goals with the objective of wrangling in futility. It was the fourth day of these meetings already (ten hours each day, which could try even legendary patience) and the situation had not changed.
"Negotiation isn't going to work," Danril murmured as his mind returned to the antechamber.
Vorst sighed, "I heard you the past three days, it doesn't need to be said again."
"Things might have changed."
"In diplomacy like this? Sure. Listen to me, man-creature, Bothans have a natural talent for these things. There's no way this question is going to be solved short of war," Thei'lar said in a grim tone.
Huy groaned, "You're always so pessimistic."
"What's there to be happy about, here?"
"It's all in how you percieve it, and deliver it. Like so," the human replied, and then shifted into an unbearably cheerful tone of voice, "there's no way this question is going to be solved short of a really fantastic war, children."
"I didn't get the part where you said 'children,'" Vorst said with a smirk.
Huy smiled, "I was visualizing."
"I've always disliked you Inner Core types, with your stiff-upper lippedness. What did you say when that troop transport crashed and we had to take out the insurgent camp by ourselves?" the Bothan paused, then continued in an excessive imitation of his comrade's accent, "Was it 'I am sure that every man Jack of them died with gentle confidence in the knowledge that we are here to fulfill the mission with or without them.'"
"I don't sound like that!" Huy sulked.
Thei'lar continued on in the same grotesque elocution, "Yes you do, you sound positively Imperial. Like recordings of Grand Moff Tarkin or a Coruscant schoolteacher."
"And while we're discussing this so amiably there are two men in the next room deciding to send uncountable populations to their screaming deaths."
"As I've said before, there's no creature more criminal and soulless than a diplomat. To get a diplomat, you find yourself an accountant or lawyer and give him power of life and death over many, many people," the Bothan said with a sneer.
The human chuckled despite himself, "I think you'd also need to cut out the beast's poison glands and de-fang him, but that's ancillary to the point."
----
Lord Jerol Weiss had been a ambassador in the service of the Galactic Empire for fifteen years. From his childhood, he had watched the resurgence of his nation's power and revelled in it. Each year more planets fled the failing grasp of the New Republic to join the more vital Empire. But even as he rejoiced for his government, he remembered the lesson that the last few decades had taught.
Simply put, the galaxy was too large to effectively govern; the Old Republic had put up a long fight, but except for the relatively brief golden age in the middle of its reign, it had merely been a state in transition from chaos to control and finally to entropy. The known universe was all too big and too populous to be controlled properly. The Remnant had become strong and able to resist the Vong more capably than the Republic because it was more compact--a smaller structure was sometimes more resilient to damage than a massive one. But now, with the desertion of states from the New Republic, the sizes of the opposing powers was stabilizing in the middle. The current situation would last only until the Senate gathered the courage and strength to draw a line in the sand.
They were doing so at this very moment.
The sentient across the table from Jerol was a Corellian named Greer Tanas. He was a person much like Weiss, from a wealthy family, well educated, intelligent, highly competent, and singularly amoral. Weiss had dealt with the fellow before, primarily from a position of strength. They had divided up stellar clusters between them, deciding the fate of trillions with a sweep of a light pen upon a datascreen. For two normal men such an experience might have inspired feelings of kinship, but they were effective diplomats and had no feelings at all.
Jerol had been debating fruitlessly with this man over the most important territorial issue of all. Sesswanna was the administrative and industrial core of the galaxy, as well as the most prestigious and culturally important sector. Within it's borders it enclosed the droid-run industrial complexes of Helvet Prime, the Yula Cluster, and more importantly the very beating heart of the known universe, Coruscant.
Unofficial polls had shown that the people of Sesswanna were becoming better and better disposed to joining the Empire by the day, and it was only a matter of time before this became an open issue. It was the intention of the Empire to preempt such a circumstance, which lead to immediate and devastating war between the two nations, by some sort of compromise. Weiss was authorized to offer a partition of the region, whereby the half containing Coruscant would remain with the Republic and the rest would join the Empire. This would allow the New Republic to maintain some dignity and prestige while the Empire would humbly serve the wishes of the people--or at least half of them.
The New Republic found this totally unacceptable, of course. This was the third time he had offered such a compromise, and for the third time Jerol had been rejected.
"Lord Weiss, the New Republic once again categorically refuses any compromise on this issue, because there is no such deal to be made. The right of my government to maintain and rule its own sovereign territory cannot be infringed by any outside power. Any attempt by the Empire to do so is a gross violation of our national rights and dignity and will be interpretted as an act of war," Tanas said.
Weiss inclined his head a few degrees towards the fine wood table, shut his eyes wearily for a few moments. The lighting in the well-furnished room had a tasteful and comforting bluish tint, but his eyes burned nonetheless. He raised his head again, after a few moments.
"A government exists only as the executor of the will of its people. The people of Sesswanna have decided that the New Republic no longer offers the best hope for safety, stability, and freedom; you can no longer hold onto them," Jerol replied, "the treaty that I have offered is better than the one that your own citizens desire. If you will not accept it, the Empire will have no choice but to act on their behalf."
"Then it will be war," Greer concluded neutrally, "this meeting is over."
The Republican diplomat exited the room to join his Jedi escorts. He would send his message to Coruscant--or rather it would be bounced from there to the emergency headquarters of the New Republic Military Command, wherever that was. Then ships would come, and soldiers. Many people would die, it was more than likely planets would die as well.
Weiss reached up to his neck and undid his collar. At least his predecessor had negotiated the Yaga Minor Accord, the agreement that outlawed the construction of so-called "superweapons" like super-lasers and world-devastators and sun-crushers... and whatever other hyphenated devices military scientists could come up with. That was something, even if the obliteration of a living planet still required only a pocket cruiser and an hour's bombardment.
Jerol hit a button on his personal datapad that summoned an assistant. The young man entered the room and awaited instructions, looking for all the world like a stiffly animated gray corpse; in appearence just like every other man who ever entered the Imperial Diplomatic Corps.
Weiss yawned, his work finally at an end, "Jacobi, send the message to the Moff Council that our offer has been refused, and get me a brandy."
The young man paled, turning a sicklier shade of gray than before, "Is it to be war, then?"
"Of course war," Jerol replied, "it has to happen every so often, otherwise people get lazy and weapons rust. The Old Republic learned that lesson. 'The flower of government must from time to time be refreshed by the blood of the citizens,' said Tarkin."
----
Grand Admiral Yuma began the briefing. He and twenty other men were seated at the command table in the War Room on Yaga Minor. Yaga Minor had served as the core of the Imperial Remnant effort during the Vong Wars and had since been the center of military command and control for the expanding and recovering Galactic Empire. The table was very large and well lit from above, while the rest of the room was quite dark. Each man had a console and holoscreen before him, and a single primary holoprojector dominated the center of the table. The other men at the table were members of the Imperial General Staff, Imperial Defense Board, Ubiqtorate, and other branches; Yuma was the highest ranking military officer and thus in charge of the meeting.
He tapped at the keys on his console, and a map of the galaxy floated up over the table. A few more keystrokes, and it was divided into Republican Red and Imperial Blue. Then green markers identified major friendly military concentrations, and yellow markers for likely enemy fleets and armies. He then typed in the proper code for the war plan he was to be explaining, and a profusion of thousands of arrows, arcs, lines, and other cryptic symbols appeared. It was almost more than Yuma, even with his decades of military experience and cybernetic brain-enhancing implants, could handle. The word "Archipelago" hovered in white beneath the galactic map.
"Archipelago is the galactic level war plan that the General Staff has prepared for the eventuality of a dispute over Sesswanna. In brief, it calls for main thrusts towards Coruscant from our bases in the core, against Corellia from Hellas, and a sweep through the outer rim," Yuma explained.
The relevant lines and arcs obligingly flashed white as he spoke of them.
He continued, "The plan is to use the superior power, morale, skill of our fleets and armies in offensive maneuvers, to force the enemy to disperse his numerically superior forces and dilute his strength. Our personnel training and technical strength will allow our fleets to make multiple sorties in rapid succession and more than compensate for our inferiority in numbers."
One of the other men at the table, an elderly Moff named Wergard, leaned forward in his seat to get a better look at the map, "Do we have an estimate on time?"
The Grand Admiral nodded, "If all goes according to plan, we will be forcing a favorable peace settlement by new year's day. Sesswanna, most of the central rim, and general disarmament of the New Republic, as per Victory Plan 'Othello.'"
"And if things don't go according to plan?" Wergard asked.
"The plan is foolproof," Yuma rejoined with injured pride.
"One thing I learned from my participation in the war against the Yuuzhan Vong," the Moff said, "is that you can always count on the enemy to be a bigger fool than your plans could possibly account for. What is our course of action if Archipelago is unsuccessful?"
Yuma thought for a long moment before responding. He hated dealing with pompous politicians, especially when they were veterans who thought they still knew everything there was to war. Archipelago was the fruit of the Imperial military experience in the Vong Invasion; barring an unprecedented change in the very nature of hostilities, it would work perfectly.
"The Galactic Empire, as you are no doubt aware, is much more ideologically and ethnically homogenous than the Republic, most of us being human instead of a hodge-podge of different species. If the war goes on too much longer than planned, we will be able to employ our resources more effectively, and will be more or less immune to the polarization and disintegration that the heterogenous Republic will undoubtedly suffer," the Grand Admiral finalled replied, "of course, we can't effectively plan for this in advance. The spoiling operations and stop-gap measures that such a phase of war would require can only be summoned on the spot. The basic mobilization structure is there, and that ought to be all that we need."
"Very well, Grand Admiral Yuma," the Moff conceded, "we will see how it all turns out in practice."
"Mobilization will begin at once," Yuma finished the briefing.
----
"Your training, Atkins, introduced you to military discipline and drill," the company commander said, "and this will certainly not end now that you have begun your career in earnest. However, you will find that the Imperial army is a family, and we take care of our children."
Private Peren Tomasz Atkins was only twenty years old, and like many young men he had had little direction in life after finishing secondary school. Unlike many, he elected to enter the Imperial army. Volunteering for service was an important decision, because the military was a career to last not less than five years with a mandatory further fifteen years of commitment to the reserves. If he got a good thing going, he might stay on in active service for the rest of his life. The rest of his life might last less than the requisite five years, of course, but this was the army and they probably understand the difficulty and release him from the obligation.
"Sir, yes sir," Atkins replied.
"That's one training-yard affectation you can leave at the door, Private. I only need to hear 'sir' once for each sentence," Captain Arpad corrected him with a gentle smile.
"Understood, sir."
The two soldiers were in the Captain's office, a small windowless box in the divisional base. The 589th Imperial Fusilliers was one of the nearly uncountable active duty rifle divisions in the Empire, and like most it was made up of soldiers from the immediate stellar neighborhood. Atkins's home planet of Leincest was only a few hundred light years away, and it had to be assumed that the officer's place of birth lay a similar distance away. It was not far from the Sesswanna sector, and it was heavily influenced by the culture of Coruscant and surrounding areas.
The captain looked down at the holoscreen on his desk. It was invisible to Peren at the angle, but it certainly showed his personnel files. Peren idly wondered what they might say, but he was forbidden to read them, because they contained sensitive information and what were probably hurtful assessments from his former instructors.
"It says here that you excelled in marksmanship and unarmed combat drill," Arpad read, "and in fact you placed fiftieth of a field of five hundred in your training camp's throw-boxing tournament."
"I did, sir," Atkins answered truthfully.
"It's good to have a good athlete join the company, because they often make well motivated soldiers," the Captain said. He hit a button on his desk and the holoprojector hummed off.
"Now then, Private Atkins--" Arpad began, but just then a display on his desk flickered and beeped. He keyed it quickly.
The projector came back on, again invisible to Atkins, though he could hear the man on the other end.
"Major Prote, good to speak to you sir," the Captain answered.
The voice on the other end, "Not so good, Captain. The division is being mobilized, your company will embark on the transport at ten-hundred tomorrow."
"It's war then?" Arpad asked.
The other said, "Could be, could be. Just get your men together and we'll see what's what."
The connection terminated, and Captain Arpad looked up at Atkins, "You had better join your group, Private Atkins. It will be R Platoon, the map to your barracks is on your datapad."
Peren frowned, "Sir? Will there be time for my one-hour religious break tonight?"
The captain raised an eyebrow, and remembered that the private's file had recorded that the young man was a member of some religious sect, and his devotions required him to take an hour each week for prayer and reflection; it was bad luck for the day to have fallen just now. A silly thing, but Arpad knew the army had to be accomodating to the faithful.
"I don't suspect that there'll be a lot of time, but you can ask your platoon sergeant and we'll see what. Now, get going, there's work to be done," Arpad said.
Don't worry, it's
As I post more chapters, assuming the quality stays up, hopefully people will take notice.
