The Eve of a New Order (Revised)
Posted: 2004-09-19 01:05am
A fanfic by “Illuminatus Primus”
The characters and universe herein are the moral and legal property of Lucasfilm Limited and George Lucas and are used under Fair Use law. Special regards to LFL and Mr. Lucas without whom this would never have been. Also regards to the work of Dr. Curtis Saxton, Ph.D. Also thanks to the analytical work of Mr. Daniel Krouse, Mr. Phongn Nguyen, and Mr. Julius Sykes. Also, thanks is offered to the inspiration provided by the work of Miss Marina O’Leary. Oh, and thanks to a “Thrawn McEwok” for the Prologue introduction idea.
The Eve of a New Order
Prologue
To my readers:
Throughout the annals of galactic history, from the earliest wars between human pathfinders and non-human civilizations to the rise of our great Galactic Republic, people of all races have gazed out into the void and wondered what happened both out there and back then. This cursory examination of the rise of His Imperial Majesty the Galactic Emperor Palpatine I and the brief stumble of our great and timeless Republic aspires to quench this deep urge and compulsion among civilized peoples.
Let all peoples, human and non-human, male and female grasp the lessons and knowledge grafted from the shadowy spectres of our past and bring these to bare in the determination of our free future. The romantic rise and fall of statesmen, ideologues, generals, and philosophers continues its ceaseless opera even now. I found myself enraptured by the drama of a great statesman and genius, who composed the symphonies of politics and metaphysics in an unmatchable quest for the absolute domination of Will. There was the arduous and long life and duty of a sailor following the journey paved by his ancestors, in a simple pursuit of honor. Twilight of the age for an order of spiritual warriors, for whom the complexities of obeying the pantheistic Force and seeking a perfect balance in the small galaxy was overshadowed by the fight for simple survival: a reduction to the incessant struggle maintained by even the most insignificant organisms everywhere and that never ended. They fought the struggle for the right to exist. This weathered chapter of history contained that struggle along side those dynamic struggles for law and order, for greed, for absolute power, and for love.
Trillions would die as the corruption was forcefully burned out of the necrotic shadow of the Republic of legend. Darkness would fall across the free and liberal societies which stood as pillars of freedom for millennia. And anew would rise a regime of order through fear; law by decree and force. This history belongs not only to its victims, but also its victors. For this history is the architecture designed and constructed from its most basic foundation to completion by the Galactic Emperor. Very much my writing is personified by the Emperor Palpatine I himself. The impossibly perfect and synchronous strategy that once launched, followed through its intricate paths to completion, inexorably. His new order would see countless legions of faceless antiseptic warriors replacing machines yet more identifiable as a mechanism than as any organizational construct or collection of sapient organisms. It would see the foundation of great armadas which could stretch from planet to planet in a star system and crush any resistance or variance beneath the Sovereign’s black heel.
And yet, there was peace to be found in the systems and protocols initiated by the last Lord of the Sith. In the new, clean galaxy, the trains always ran on time. All the public works were paid for and completed on time. All the drug traffickers disappeared from the plazas where your children played while you haggled for your daily bargain. Where there exists chaos and plurality in a balkanized republic, there exists order and singular, precise purpose in a rigid empire. From the bright dreams of the idealists under the Imperial banner, this history speaks as well.
Lastly, for the countless patriots, be they representing Republic or Confederacy; planet or sector; order or free, there is also a voice. Countless numbers of men and women would die for their homes and belief, in the most timeless of sentient impulses and sacrifices. Pay heed to the convictions of those who would sacrifice their lives for a singleminded goal.
This history aims at being at once authoritative and engaging to the scholars who happen upon it. Explore this and profit from what you learn and see. Let such a fiery speck in our times not be brushed away on the grounds of its breadth of Duration, and the stark mortality of the individuals described therein.
- A.C.S. Iturbide
[Editor's Note: This decoded document belongs to the Tenth Volume of "Iturbide"'s The Galactic Republic and Her Citizens; the publication, on the authority of the Jedi High Council has been declared heretical; on that of the Supreme Court of the Galaxy, judged fraudulent and henceforth banned as an educational text; and upon analysis of the Obra-Skai College of History, classed as apocryphal by the Dean, Dr. Chee. Despite these judgments, and the emphatic protests of Jedi Master Randal Siren-Antilles and Senator Laghida Lobap, this excerpt is being filed in the Archives on the grounds of its possible literary value and also as an excellent example of a forgery for comparison to other contested works. It is hoped the reader may find it a possible source of interest.
- Jedi Knight and Historian Aniram Katarn]
Chapter I
The Fondor System
The outer reaches.
The observation buoy was clear in all directions: a perfect transparisteel capsule, only a small tether leading off the tiny globe was an imperfection. It led to a one of hundreds of thousands of platforms which hovered throughout the planets and moons which clung to the source of the ubiquitous pale glow. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed uniformed man sat in a repulsor chair capable of rotating in all of the three spatial dimensions. He dimmed the glowrod, leaving him naked to the reflections of the must awesome force in the galaxy.
Lieutenant Commander Dannik Chee gazed intently across the vacuum to the future of the galaxy. Well, almost a vacuum.
The First Fleet of the Republican Navy emerged from its berths and slips throughout the expanses of the Fondor System. Around the planet Fondor herself, the diminutive and airless Merc, the molten Sadom, the frozen Freya, and the gas giants Jomus and Dumus, the armada stretched across all planes of vision from the small observation pod cabled to the standard platform.
The First Fleet had begun production approximately seven months earlier. Gathering designs from Alderaanian Fleet Yards, Kuat Drive Yards, Rothana Heavy Engineering, Rendili StarDrive, and Chandrilla Starshipwrights, Inc., one of the most impressive warfleets in the galaxy's history had been assembled. Only missing were the pragmatic-looking and practical designs of Corellian Engineering Corporation. A pity, thought Chee. He had always been partial to their rough exteriors and simple aesthetics. Beauty through function.
The First Fleet was the first launched of the eight main fleets under development. The Second Fleet would launch from Kuat within the month; the Third from Gyndine and Alderaan a few weeks after that. The Fourth and Fifth would be ready in two months, at Rothana and Chandrilla, respectively. The Sixth and Seventh at Rendili and her satellite yards in five months, and in seven months, the Eighth Fleet would be ready again at Kuat. The brilliance of the Supreme Chancellor had brought these fleets into existence now. Inciting their construction and development only weeks after the Battle of Geonosis, he quietly channeled funds and directives to the regional forces, academies, training centers, shipyards, and military bases, seeking to focus and develop the juggernaught in manpower and resources spread among the Republic’s members which had been mobilizing since before the crisis at Naboo, progressively fearing and tasting impending war, and preparing accordingly. For months, components of the First Fleet, and an increasing number of her younger siblings had been conducting exercises and shakedown cruises. He had participated in these, a classic example of this new fleet’s officers. Groomed and trained at the local academies, he was preparing and training for service in this fleet, before Palpatine had ever accomplished its approval by Senate. Itself a stroke of genius, Palpatine had no need for Senatorial approval, but by capturing it, he only solidified his position and the strength of his support.
Chee felt privledged to be part of this great new force, this dawn of order in the galaxy. He felt proud of his uniform and government again. Most of his fellow officers spent their off-duty time in the brothels, holoparlors, or bars. Some of the decadencies and corruptions of war were timeless.
Chee was not the average officer. One of the members of the then-waning Republic Youth Volunteers, serving several-month internships as volunteered help aboard one of the Republican Guard's Dreadnaught-class frigates, Chee had possessed an instinctive love and adoration for his Republic—the Republic of old—the Republic of legend. Chee did not think there was anything more glorious he could do on the Fleet's christening but go to see it off.
He had not only anticipated this sight, but eagerly welcomed it. A graduate of the newly consolidated Republican Naval Academy at Empress Teta, and formerly a top student of the Alderaaanian Naval Academy with education in Political Science, Economics, and Modern Military History, he had advanced not only in fields of thought currently experiencing an optimistic, progressive renaissance in major institutions, but also as an officer in the Alderaanian Defence Force, and now in the Republican Navy. While in university he had poured over Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's essays and theories, and followed galactic politics and macroeconomics with an educated and keen eye.
As a rising cadet and officer, he'd continued to observe the changes of the galaxy, and became an outspoken proponent of Palpatine's politics and policies in the traditionally ideologically-neutral military atmosphere. When several advocate groups formed The Commission for the Preservation of the Galactic Republic—aptly abbreviated “COMPOR”—he was one of the first to join. And he had risen to a minor yet significant post for the Commission’s offices on his home of Alderaan. Many of his fellow, generational officers frowned on what they saw as distasteful displays of crass populism and fad politics. A proper gentleman—and warrior—in their minds contented their pursuits with the esoterics of ancient history and the rote-memorized tactics and strategies that had been in place since the last Sith War. Indulging in modern politics, especially political activism was frowned upon. But the climate of everything was changing, and changing quickly. Chee had watched the changed closely, and Palpatine had now, at last, taken the first decisive step toward undoing the decline during the recent history of his Republic.
The Clone Wars had inexorably moved the galaxy away from the stasis, stability, and strength of over twenty-five millennia.
The old order had seen the waning of Republican power; the loss of the Senate's right to maintain a standing military, and then it was not difficult to lose the right to raise one at all. The Galactic Army and Galactic Navy were dispersed amongst the regions and sectors of the galaxy. The rimworlds and fringeworlds could not afford or supply the substantial and grand fleets of old, and their forces and defences fell to the wayside--save for the miniscule martial welfare fettered out from the Senate's shrinking coffers--reducing whole regions of the fringe to little more than meager policing by cheap, second-rate picket ships or frigates based on civilian craft or belonging to those models simply poorly designed and undesired by those who could afford better.
As a great philosopher once said, "peace and freedom is maintained by law and order; law and order are maintained by force and fear." A power vacuum so great could not go unfilled; an entirely disarmed galaxy would be at the whims of any petty despot who held so much as a handful of systems, or even a particularly impetuous band of criminals. Rather, the richest localities and organizations raised previously unheard-of armies and navies. Merchants provided their own armed guard, which had little qualms about abusing small, weak, and unwieldy customers. The aristocrats and monarchists, the industrialists and entrepreneurs, found money and will to maintain great defenses and even greater weapons. In the end, the military of the galaxy shrunk little; it only became more concentrated under those with most money, and answering to the voice of fewer beings. Kuat and Nemodia and Corellia still fielded mighty dreadnoughts and battlecruisers, and countless lesser vessels. The oppressive hand of war would not be dissuaded by naïve moves on the part of the Senate.
Individual sectors and individual corporations concerned themselves with local regions only. Bush wars and small rivalries fanned into flame, now unabated by the stern eye of a galactic military. Corporate hostile takeovers became quite literally so: the "acquisition" of Rothana Heavy Engineering by Kuat Drive Yards involved the landings of several millions of Kuati soliders and hired mercenaries under the shadows of heavy Kuati guns. Still, corporations and firms found the galactic market uncharacteristically defiant compared with their local regions, or under the thrall of more proximate rivals. And so it became that organizations of corporations in the same business began to cooperate in more intimate manners. Price fixing became overshadowed by the crimes of invasion or attack on boycotting worlds or independent competitors.
And so these entities, joining with the unlikely brethren of the dispossessed and abused fringeworld patriots, broke from the aging and doddering Republic of legend. So began the Clone Wars.
Now, finally, the dream of the Republic’s— nay!—the Galaxy's future was being realized. Here, at Fondor, the First Fleet prepared for its first test a cohesive entity in combat having been through two years of preparation. Combined with her Army components, she formed the new and mighty Crimson Blade Command. The vast armada united and assembled at Fondor; officially Fondor had the largest facilities of the participating yards in the construction of the First Fleet, and also had constructed the largest share, thus it was only natural a choice. And in no small part due to Kuat Drive Yard's lobby to the Supreme Chancellor, as well. The tens of thousands of platforms, millions of tenders, dozens of huge yards and bays--all emblazed with Kuat's corporate logo must look real nice on the propaganda holos that would be transmitted on Holonet News by month’s end.
Dannik Chee had already stopped reading the sensor readings, and began again to gaze. The hard angles of thick durasteel impressed with the Republic cog on their bone-white or silver-grey planes glissened in the deep yellow-orange and throbbing glow eminating from Fondora, the distant spotlight around which this celestial carousel of orbs had danced for scores of thousands of millienia. The surge of white knives and needles, silver wedges, and grey spikes moved in unison. The V-19 Torrent clone-piloted defensive starfighters and Delta-7 Aethersprite light interceptors flanked arrowhead Acclamator transports like great red-white raptors, floating in an corona of black and silver glitter. That glitter, of course, belonged to the countless models of new Sienar Fleet Systems/Kuat Systems Engineering Republic Fighters.
At the heart of the corona painted from a patina of greys, a pair of the new Kuat Drive Yards Gladiator-class Star Dreadnoughts flew in unison; the prime vessel, the GRS Gladiator, Admiral Giel's flagship, and his second-in-command's flagship, the GRS Honor of the Republic.
Around them sailed more Kuati dreadnoughts, scores of Kuati and Alderaanian battleships, many more flanking Rothanan and Alderaanian battlecruisers, fleet and troop carriers from Kuat and Rothana, countless cruisers of all types from Alderaan, Kuat, Rothana, and the numerous Rendili yards, destroyers from Kuat and Rendili in the thousands and thousands, frigates, escort carriers, and transports including the Rothanan Acclamator-class vessels, enveloped with miniscule lesser craft, all flying as an enormous mass tens of thousands of kilometers across.
Yes. Here, at Fondor, the future began.
The Fondor System
KDY Administration Skyhook
The large treated-wood table glistened with the warm, almost-natural light from the glowstaffs symmetrically framing the large conference room. Around the table sat four Jedi Knights: the tall, dark-skinned, long-robed, and calm Jedi Council member, Master Windu. Master Windu was a veteran of many battles on the fringe and was, along with Master Yoda, instrumental in guiding the Jedi role in the Wars against the Confederacy. His increasingly haunted dark eyes spoke of his brooding fear and growing tension regarding the progress of the war, and the fate of the galaxy. To his right sat the Corellian with the brown and thick-beard: Jedi Master, Nejaa Halcyon. Master Halcyon, always a rebel against the rigid codes and traditions of the Order, called Corellia his home and shared a personal stake in this campaign. The Corellian Jedi belonged to the schismatic Corellian Jedi. Tracing their roots back to before the last Sith War, they had earned the ire and frustration of the Council by refusing to obey amendments to the Jedi Code after the last war, claiming they were not the will of the Force. The rules forbidding marriage and procreation among Jedi were disobeyed; Halcyon himself had a wife and young son. His borderline heretical ideology had resulted in many a heated argument between himself and the dark Council member. Last among the robed Knights was the bald and broad-shouldered, powerful-framed Master Jerec. Jerec had been born blind, and wore a thin black ribbon of cloth around his head and covering his eyes. The soft-spoken Jedi Master was obsessed with his archeology, which he actually had a doctorate degree in from Coruscant University. A symbol of his passion was the antique lightsabre hanging from his belt, a memory of the Second Sith War nearly three millennia ago.
To the warrior-priests' left sat the Army's officers. They counted among their number two younger Surface Marshals, both faces readily recognizable from the propagandistic holocasts on Holonet News for victories and proud leadership—and for their surnames. Military families hundreds of generations in length had become quite entrenched at the Citadel on Anaxes and the Castle at Carida. Quite literally many of them were nobility, especially from Kuat, Alderaan, or Tapani. And in the minds of their career officer colleagues, there were better soldiers for the jobs than these spoiled dynasts. Finally, there was the senior, High Marshal Malcor Brashin. Brashin, still a rather young officer, was trained in the finest tradition at the military academy at Carida and received education at Empress Teta. Serving in the Planetary Security Forces for Empress Teta, he quickly rose through the ranks due to his confidence and excellent discipline and precision at duty. Then, amazingly, he resigned to accept a commission with the Outland Defence Force. Brashin felt that in the sheltered worlds of Empress Teta, he would never find the action that was to be found on the Outer Rim. Leading volunteer and militia groups, he routed mercenary and Hutt private armies. When the Jedi Knight commanding the Grand Army troops on his adopted world was assassinated, he assumed command of the clonetroopers and routed the enemy despite being outnumbered. He was already a hero of the Republic, even before receiving a commission in the new Army.
Across from the Jedi were the naval officers: a pair of High Admirals and the commander-in-chief, Crimson Blade Command, Flag Admiral Minvosk Giel. The first Moff commissioned by the order of the Senate, the long-disused pan-service flag officer rank plaque now clung to his simple olive-grey uniform, the first time it had been seen since before Ruusan. They were joined by three advisors from the office of His Excellency the Supreme Chancellor, cloaked in mysterious robes, often originating from the customs of their homeworlds. The room’s doors were guarded by pairs of full field-uniformed and armored clonetroopers. The anonymous white figures stood at attention without flaw or falter or sound. They grasped DC-15 carbines, a smaller, lighter, and less unwieldy weapon than its design predecessor, the DC-15 heavy rifle. The highest echelons of the Navy, Army, and the former Grand Army were waiting, some in discussion with their subordinates, and others, like the Jedi, in silent meditation.
Suddenly, a small ring unfolded from the center of the table, rising a few centimeters and projecting a map of the galaxy. Admiral Giel rose to his feet.
“Admirals, Marshals, Generals and Advisors: now that the formalities of the christening of the First Fleet are completed, we should discuss our orders and strategy. His Excellency the Supreme Chancellor’s emissary, Mr. Dangor, will speak regarding our directives.”
“Thank you, Admiral. His Excellency wishes to remind all officers here that the People’s confidence in the conflict and their Republic is sullied by mismanagement”—he turned an eye toward the Jedi—“and lack of progress. There is a COMPOR and an official public relations campaign aimed at increasing public morale coincident with this campaign. The outcome of your efforts could decide the direction of momentum in this conflict. The Supreme Chancellor would also wish to see lost friends return to the community of worlds.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dangor.” Giel pressed a button, and the hologram zoomed in on a region of space near where the galactic arms joined the bulge—“this is the Corellian Sector. The senator for the Corellian Sector, Garm bel Iblis”—the hologram transitioned to a bust of the mustachioed and bearded white-haired Corellian senator—“announced the Sector’s indefinite withdrawal from Senate proceedings and the closing of its borders. The senator has also resigned from that post and the Corellian Sectorial Assembly has instated the senator as General of CorSec—the commander-in-chief of the Sectorial Corellian Security Force. General bel Iblis is as stubborn as his politically astute. He will be hostile to our coming appearance, and care must be taken to not offend him or the Corellian people. Iblis withdrew to protest the Military Creation Act and is personally opposed to the war. Unfortunately, the Corellian System and her dependencies and colonies have shut out the Sacorrians, depriving them of CorSec’s protective arm. Corellia itself also comprehends the primary yards of Corellian Engineering Corporation and the Sector commands hordes of valuable resources. This self-inflicted blockade and separation is an unacceptable loss of potential advantage.”
The hologram changed into an image of the sector once again. A dash of color connected the Corellian System to another dot.
“The Confederacy is also aware of this; they have attempted to court bel Iblis several times; the General promptly ordered that the emissaries be thrown in prison, where they have remained indefinitely. So they are taking another approach; these lines show the stable and reliable major paths that an armada from the Trade Federation would take to enter the Corellian Sector.”
A spackle of blue.
“You may remember the Confederacy offensive, styled Operation DURGE’S LANCE, of which advance scouting elements reached as far as Duro. This projected assault follows a similar pattern, but plunges to Corellia, and represents significant naval might sufficient to totally overwhelm CorSec with throw-weight to spare. I give you Armand Isard.”
The newly instated Director of Republican Intelligence briefed the officers. Armand Isard was a gaunt, tall, aristocratic figure with dark brown hair and strikingly icy blue eyes. He donned a red uniform typical of the higher echelons of the intelligence organism. Rumor had it that a college of officers just junior to the public face that Isard provided made the key decisions and no one knew who they were; but the universal authority of RI over its agents and assets earned them the moniker “the Ubiqtoriate.” Of course, speaking simply, the Ubiqtoriate did not exist.
“Assets developed within the Nemodian command structure have indicated an armada, region-spanning in range and comprised of at least several thousand ships-of-the-line, is assembling for a decisive thrust into the Corellian Sector, aiming at seizing the CEC yards and obliterating CorSec. Stolen scout reports indicate that the abandoned Corellian Sector member Sacorria and the neighboring Duros Sector capital of Duro may be captured to support the general invasion of Corellia. The armada is sufficient to overwhelm any resistance offered by CorSec, and then some. Although Nute Gunray and his subordinates have heard vague reports of naval build-up by the Republic, our intelligence suggests that they feel only token additional might compared to the sum of CorSec will be able to be scrambled by us. Surprise and firepower are to your advantage.”
The Director winked out, and was again replaced with the spread of stars and nebulae that represented a small area of the galaxy.
“We will move for Sacorria and establish a provisional headquarters without alerting the greater sector to our presence. A token force will be sent along with Marine support to drive off attacks on Duro and interrupt ground operations undertaken by the enemy. The fleet will be involved in protecting the Corellian System in concert with CorSec, which will require negotiation with the General bel Iblis. The Army will be charged with hardening the world of the Corellian System against attack and to shrug off landing attempts when the offensive begins in earnest.”
Master Windu rose to his feet. “Admiral, I must speak on the matter of our objective once the Confederacy assaults the Corellian System? Do we intend to make a show of force and might and encourage a bloodless surrender, or to force a retreat or…”
Dangor was already at his feet. “General Windu, the Chief of Naval Operations and the Supreme Chancellor have been quite clear and concise in their intent; for this fleet to have the maximum possible psychological and morale effect on the Confederacy, the enemy should be annhiliated as completely and utterly as possible.”
“I must protest, Advisor Dangor; the Jedi Knights do not stand behind naked shows of force and unnecessary bloodshed—”
Giel responded in turn. “The net loss of life is dependent on the duration of this conflict, not the relative mercy of any single battle. Your role in this Fleet is firstly as an officer and protector of the Republic. And removing the ownership of this fleet from the Confederacy will save Republic lives and worlds. We no longer have time for Jedi moralizing.”
Windu sat down, setting his jaw. The military grew in power and autonomy, frustrated with progress with the Jedi in control. He foresaw more shatterpoints close at hand. He could hardly blame his Navy and Army compatriots; Jabiim had been a disaster, and it was the rescue of the Jedi in the arena which had committed the Republic to this war and despite the sincerest efforts of the Republic to praise and uphold the Jedi, resentment grew. Still, they were a formidable obstacle to the Confederacy, and retained both their traditional rights, and the command of the Clonetroopers of Kamino.
“General Windu, I direct you and your fellow Knights to the defence of Duro.”
An orange-brown planet with dingy and wispy clouds obscuring large regions of the temperate latitudes replaced the spread of stars: the planet Duro. The projector soon added the massive orbiting cities that contained the lion’s share of the system’s Duros citizens. Beyond those laid the frames and drydocks of Duro Starshipwrights Shipyards; a potentially powerful asset in the war, but one that thus far had contented itself to the building of token warships and tankers and freighters. Then, a blue cloud spiraled up from points on the planet’s surface to envelop each orbital city in the bulb of the tear-shaped bubbles.
“The cities are protected by powerful deflector shields; but the weak link in the chain lies on the planet’s surface. The bases containing each generator site are vulnerable to heavy ground attack. We recommend that your forces prepare to harden and hold off incursions on these locations. It may be necessary to make landings as the Confederacy attacks are even in progress.”
Windu nodded slowly. “General Halcyon will repulse the landings; that is, unless you have a protest, Master Halcyon?”
“None here, General; my troopers can out-manouvre and out-fight the latest droids out of the Xi Char cathedrals. We’ll be ready,” the confident and energetic Corellian replied.
“Very well then. The detailed will be discussed on our next briefing. Fellow officers, we disembark within two hours. We will confer upon arrival at Sacorria. Dismissed.” With that, the middle-aged admiral nodded in acknowledgement and left through the doors behind him, his clonetrooper guard in close pursuit.
The Fondor System
GRS Beast of Burden
“That went well, wouldn’t you say, old friend?” spoke the middle-aged uniformed man.
“The Jedi frustrate me, Minvosk. I feel they are going to offer resistance and obstacles to our pursuit of this war in the future. Windu does not have the stomach or spine of a general; he is a diplomat and a martial artist, not a pragmatic leader of troops.” Brashin was not pleased. He would often be forced to count on the Clonetroopers as spearheads, for support on the ground, and to establish beachheads. And he already found them attempting to obstruct him, and the fleet had not even left for Sacorria.
“Don’t expect much actual problems. The Jedi, despite their moralizing, are interested in winning this war.”
“I hope so. We all have personal stakes in this. Have you heard from your son yet?”
“No. His last holomessage indicated that he was intending to volunteer for CorSec’s Home Defence Corps. Seems that bel Iblis is catching some of the foul wind blowing. Mobilization is moving at a fevered pitch.”
“I hope you reach him soon. It is not always good to follow your father, especially into war. You might end up like my snobby subordinates.”
Giel laughed, breaking his deep concern momentarily.
“I hope you're right, and that is all I have to fear.”
The characters and universe herein are the moral and legal property of Lucasfilm Limited and George Lucas and are used under Fair Use law. Special regards to LFL and Mr. Lucas without whom this would never have been. Also regards to the work of Dr. Curtis Saxton, Ph.D. Also thanks to the analytical work of Mr. Daniel Krouse, Mr. Phongn Nguyen, and Mr. Julius Sykes. Also, thanks is offered to the inspiration provided by the work of Miss Marina O’Leary. Oh, and thanks to a “Thrawn McEwok” for the Prologue introduction idea.
The Eve of a New Order
Prologue
To my readers:
Throughout the annals of galactic history, from the earliest wars between human pathfinders and non-human civilizations to the rise of our great Galactic Republic, people of all races have gazed out into the void and wondered what happened both out there and back then. This cursory examination of the rise of His Imperial Majesty the Galactic Emperor Palpatine I and the brief stumble of our great and timeless Republic aspires to quench this deep urge and compulsion among civilized peoples.
Let all peoples, human and non-human, male and female grasp the lessons and knowledge grafted from the shadowy spectres of our past and bring these to bare in the determination of our free future. The romantic rise and fall of statesmen, ideologues, generals, and philosophers continues its ceaseless opera even now. I found myself enraptured by the drama of a great statesman and genius, who composed the symphonies of politics and metaphysics in an unmatchable quest for the absolute domination of Will. There was the arduous and long life and duty of a sailor following the journey paved by his ancestors, in a simple pursuit of honor. Twilight of the age for an order of spiritual warriors, for whom the complexities of obeying the pantheistic Force and seeking a perfect balance in the small galaxy was overshadowed by the fight for simple survival: a reduction to the incessant struggle maintained by even the most insignificant organisms everywhere and that never ended. They fought the struggle for the right to exist. This weathered chapter of history contained that struggle along side those dynamic struggles for law and order, for greed, for absolute power, and for love.
Trillions would die as the corruption was forcefully burned out of the necrotic shadow of the Republic of legend. Darkness would fall across the free and liberal societies which stood as pillars of freedom for millennia. And anew would rise a regime of order through fear; law by decree and force. This history belongs not only to its victims, but also its victors. For this history is the architecture designed and constructed from its most basic foundation to completion by the Galactic Emperor. Very much my writing is personified by the Emperor Palpatine I himself. The impossibly perfect and synchronous strategy that once launched, followed through its intricate paths to completion, inexorably. His new order would see countless legions of faceless antiseptic warriors replacing machines yet more identifiable as a mechanism than as any organizational construct or collection of sapient organisms. It would see the foundation of great armadas which could stretch from planet to planet in a star system and crush any resistance or variance beneath the Sovereign’s black heel.
And yet, there was peace to be found in the systems and protocols initiated by the last Lord of the Sith. In the new, clean galaxy, the trains always ran on time. All the public works were paid for and completed on time. All the drug traffickers disappeared from the plazas where your children played while you haggled for your daily bargain. Where there exists chaos and plurality in a balkanized republic, there exists order and singular, precise purpose in a rigid empire. From the bright dreams of the idealists under the Imperial banner, this history speaks as well.
Lastly, for the countless patriots, be they representing Republic or Confederacy; planet or sector; order or free, there is also a voice. Countless numbers of men and women would die for their homes and belief, in the most timeless of sentient impulses and sacrifices. Pay heed to the convictions of those who would sacrifice their lives for a singleminded goal.
This history aims at being at once authoritative and engaging to the scholars who happen upon it. Explore this and profit from what you learn and see. Let such a fiery speck in our times not be brushed away on the grounds of its breadth of Duration, and the stark mortality of the individuals described therein.
- A.C.S. Iturbide
[Editor's Note: This decoded document belongs to the Tenth Volume of "Iturbide"'s The Galactic Republic and Her Citizens; the publication, on the authority of the Jedi High Council has been declared heretical; on that of the Supreme Court of the Galaxy, judged fraudulent and henceforth banned as an educational text; and upon analysis of the Obra-Skai College of History, classed as apocryphal by the Dean, Dr. Chee. Despite these judgments, and the emphatic protests of Jedi Master Randal Siren-Antilles and Senator Laghida Lobap, this excerpt is being filed in the Archives on the grounds of its possible literary value and also as an excellent example of a forgery for comparison to other contested works. It is hoped the reader may find it a possible source of interest.
- Jedi Knight and Historian Aniram Katarn]
Chapter I
The Fondor System
The outer reaches.
The observation buoy was clear in all directions: a perfect transparisteel capsule, only a small tether leading off the tiny globe was an imperfection. It led to a one of hundreds of thousands of platforms which hovered throughout the planets and moons which clung to the source of the ubiquitous pale glow. The blonde-haired, blue-eyed uniformed man sat in a repulsor chair capable of rotating in all of the three spatial dimensions. He dimmed the glowrod, leaving him naked to the reflections of the must awesome force in the galaxy.
Lieutenant Commander Dannik Chee gazed intently across the vacuum to the future of the galaxy. Well, almost a vacuum.
The First Fleet of the Republican Navy emerged from its berths and slips throughout the expanses of the Fondor System. Around the planet Fondor herself, the diminutive and airless Merc, the molten Sadom, the frozen Freya, and the gas giants Jomus and Dumus, the armada stretched across all planes of vision from the small observation pod cabled to the standard platform.
The First Fleet had begun production approximately seven months earlier. Gathering designs from Alderaanian Fleet Yards, Kuat Drive Yards, Rothana Heavy Engineering, Rendili StarDrive, and Chandrilla Starshipwrights, Inc., one of the most impressive warfleets in the galaxy's history had been assembled. Only missing were the pragmatic-looking and practical designs of Corellian Engineering Corporation. A pity, thought Chee. He had always been partial to their rough exteriors and simple aesthetics. Beauty through function.
The First Fleet was the first launched of the eight main fleets under development. The Second Fleet would launch from Kuat within the month; the Third from Gyndine and Alderaan a few weeks after that. The Fourth and Fifth would be ready in two months, at Rothana and Chandrilla, respectively. The Sixth and Seventh at Rendili and her satellite yards in five months, and in seven months, the Eighth Fleet would be ready again at Kuat. The brilliance of the Supreme Chancellor had brought these fleets into existence now. Inciting their construction and development only weeks after the Battle of Geonosis, he quietly channeled funds and directives to the regional forces, academies, training centers, shipyards, and military bases, seeking to focus and develop the juggernaught in manpower and resources spread among the Republic’s members which had been mobilizing since before the crisis at Naboo, progressively fearing and tasting impending war, and preparing accordingly. For months, components of the First Fleet, and an increasing number of her younger siblings had been conducting exercises and shakedown cruises. He had participated in these, a classic example of this new fleet’s officers. Groomed and trained at the local academies, he was preparing and training for service in this fleet, before Palpatine had ever accomplished its approval by Senate. Itself a stroke of genius, Palpatine had no need for Senatorial approval, but by capturing it, he only solidified his position and the strength of his support.
Chee felt privledged to be part of this great new force, this dawn of order in the galaxy. He felt proud of his uniform and government again. Most of his fellow officers spent their off-duty time in the brothels, holoparlors, or bars. Some of the decadencies and corruptions of war were timeless.
Chee was not the average officer. One of the members of the then-waning Republic Youth Volunteers, serving several-month internships as volunteered help aboard one of the Republican Guard's Dreadnaught-class frigates, Chee had possessed an instinctive love and adoration for his Republic—the Republic of old—the Republic of legend. Chee did not think there was anything more glorious he could do on the Fleet's christening but go to see it off.
He had not only anticipated this sight, but eagerly welcomed it. A graduate of the newly consolidated Republican Naval Academy at Empress Teta, and formerly a top student of the Alderaaanian Naval Academy with education in Political Science, Economics, and Modern Military History, he had advanced not only in fields of thought currently experiencing an optimistic, progressive renaissance in major institutions, but also as an officer in the Alderaanian Defence Force, and now in the Republican Navy. While in university he had poured over Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's essays and theories, and followed galactic politics and macroeconomics with an educated and keen eye.
As a rising cadet and officer, he'd continued to observe the changes of the galaxy, and became an outspoken proponent of Palpatine's politics and policies in the traditionally ideologically-neutral military atmosphere. When several advocate groups formed The Commission for the Preservation of the Galactic Republic—aptly abbreviated “COMPOR”—he was one of the first to join. And he had risen to a minor yet significant post for the Commission’s offices on his home of Alderaan. Many of his fellow, generational officers frowned on what they saw as distasteful displays of crass populism and fad politics. A proper gentleman—and warrior—in their minds contented their pursuits with the esoterics of ancient history and the rote-memorized tactics and strategies that had been in place since the last Sith War. Indulging in modern politics, especially political activism was frowned upon. But the climate of everything was changing, and changing quickly. Chee had watched the changed closely, and Palpatine had now, at last, taken the first decisive step toward undoing the decline during the recent history of his Republic.
The Clone Wars had inexorably moved the galaxy away from the stasis, stability, and strength of over twenty-five millennia.
The old order had seen the waning of Republican power; the loss of the Senate's right to maintain a standing military, and then it was not difficult to lose the right to raise one at all. The Galactic Army and Galactic Navy were dispersed amongst the regions and sectors of the galaxy. The rimworlds and fringeworlds could not afford or supply the substantial and grand fleets of old, and their forces and defences fell to the wayside--save for the miniscule martial welfare fettered out from the Senate's shrinking coffers--reducing whole regions of the fringe to little more than meager policing by cheap, second-rate picket ships or frigates based on civilian craft or belonging to those models simply poorly designed and undesired by those who could afford better.
As a great philosopher once said, "peace and freedom is maintained by law and order; law and order are maintained by force and fear." A power vacuum so great could not go unfilled; an entirely disarmed galaxy would be at the whims of any petty despot who held so much as a handful of systems, or even a particularly impetuous band of criminals. Rather, the richest localities and organizations raised previously unheard-of armies and navies. Merchants provided their own armed guard, which had little qualms about abusing small, weak, and unwieldy customers. The aristocrats and monarchists, the industrialists and entrepreneurs, found money and will to maintain great defenses and even greater weapons. In the end, the military of the galaxy shrunk little; it only became more concentrated under those with most money, and answering to the voice of fewer beings. Kuat and Nemodia and Corellia still fielded mighty dreadnoughts and battlecruisers, and countless lesser vessels. The oppressive hand of war would not be dissuaded by naïve moves on the part of the Senate.
Individual sectors and individual corporations concerned themselves with local regions only. Bush wars and small rivalries fanned into flame, now unabated by the stern eye of a galactic military. Corporate hostile takeovers became quite literally so: the "acquisition" of Rothana Heavy Engineering by Kuat Drive Yards involved the landings of several millions of Kuati soliders and hired mercenaries under the shadows of heavy Kuati guns. Still, corporations and firms found the galactic market uncharacteristically defiant compared with their local regions, or under the thrall of more proximate rivals. And so it became that organizations of corporations in the same business began to cooperate in more intimate manners. Price fixing became overshadowed by the crimes of invasion or attack on boycotting worlds or independent competitors.
And so these entities, joining with the unlikely brethren of the dispossessed and abused fringeworld patriots, broke from the aging and doddering Republic of legend. So began the Clone Wars.
Now, finally, the dream of the Republic’s— nay!—the Galaxy's future was being realized. Here, at Fondor, the First Fleet prepared for its first test a cohesive entity in combat having been through two years of preparation. Combined with her Army components, she formed the new and mighty Crimson Blade Command. The vast armada united and assembled at Fondor; officially Fondor had the largest facilities of the participating yards in the construction of the First Fleet, and also had constructed the largest share, thus it was only natural a choice. And in no small part due to Kuat Drive Yard's lobby to the Supreme Chancellor, as well. The tens of thousands of platforms, millions of tenders, dozens of huge yards and bays--all emblazed with Kuat's corporate logo must look real nice on the propaganda holos that would be transmitted on Holonet News by month’s end.
Dannik Chee had already stopped reading the sensor readings, and began again to gaze. The hard angles of thick durasteel impressed with the Republic cog on their bone-white or silver-grey planes glissened in the deep yellow-orange and throbbing glow eminating from Fondora, the distant spotlight around which this celestial carousel of orbs had danced for scores of thousands of millienia. The surge of white knives and needles, silver wedges, and grey spikes moved in unison. The V-19 Torrent clone-piloted defensive starfighters and Delta-7 Aethersprite light interceptors flanked arrowhead Acclamator transports like great red-white raptors, floating in an corona of black and silver glitter. That glitter, of course, belonged to the countless models of new Sienar Fleet Systems/Kuat Systems Engineering Republic Fighters.
At the heart of the corona painted from a patina of greys, a pair of the new Kuat Drive Yards Gladiator-class Star Dreadnoughts flew in unison; the prime vessel, the GRS Gladiator, Admiral Giel's flagship, and his second-in-command's flagship, the GRS Honor of the Republic.
Around them sailed more Kuati dreadnoughts, scores of Kuati and Alderaanian battleships, many more flanking Rothanan and Alderaanian battlecruisers, fleet and troop carriers from Kuat and Rothana, countless cruisers of all types from Alderaan, Kuat, Rothana, and the numerous Rendili yards, destroyers from Kuat and Rendili in the thousands and thousands, frigates, escort carriers, and transports including the Rothanan Acclamator-class vessels, enveloped with miniscule lesser craft, all flying as an enormous mass tens of thousands of kilometers across.
Yes. Here, at Fondor, the future began.
The Fondor System
KDY Administration Skyhook
The large treated-wood table glistened with the warm, almost-natural light from the glowstaffs symmetrically framing the large conference room. Around the table sat four Jedi Knights: the tall, dark-skinned, long-robed, and calm Jedi Council member, Master Windu. Master Windu was a veteran of many battles on the fringe and was, along with Master Yoda, instrumental in guiding the Jedi role in the Wars against the Confederacy. His increasingly haunted dark eyes spoke of his brooding fear and growing tension regarding the progress of the war, and the fate of the galaxy. To his right sat the Corellian with the brown and thick-beard: Jedi Master, Nejaa Halcyon. Master Halcyon, always a rebel against the rigid codes and traditions of the Order, called Corellia his home and shared a personal stake in this campaign. The Corellian Jedi belonged to the schismatic Corellian Jedi. Tracing their roots back to before the last Sith War, they had earned the ire and frustration of the Council by refusing to obey amendments to the Jedi Code after the last war, claiming they were not the will of the Force. The rules forbidding marriage and procreation among Jedi were disobeyed; Halcyon himself had a wife and young son. His borderline heretical ideology had resulted in many a heated argument between himself and the dark Council member. Last among the robed Knights was the bald and broad-shouldered, powerful-framed Master Jerec. Jerec had been born blind, and wore a thin black ribbon of cloth around his head and covering his eyes. The soft-spoken Jedi Master was obsessed with his archeology, which he actually had a doctorate degree in from Coruscant University. A symbol of his passion was the antique lightsabre hanging from his belt, a memory of the Second Sith War nearly three millennia ago.
To the warrior-priests' left sat the Army's officers. They counted among their number two younger Surface Marshals, both faces readily recognizable from the propagandistic holocasts on Holonet News for victories and proud leadership—and for their surnames. Military families hundreds of generations in length had become quite entrenched at the Citadel on Anaxes and the Castle at Carida. Quite literally many of them were nobility, especially from Kuat, Alderaan, or Tapani. And in the minds of their career officer colleagues, there were better soldiers for the jobs than these spoiled dynasts. Finally, there was the senior, High Marshal Malcor Brashin. Brashin, still a rather young officer, was trained in the finest tradition at the military academy at Carida and received education at Empress Teta. Serving in the Planetary Security Forces for Empress Teta, he quickly rose through the ranks due to his confidence and excellent discipline and precision at duty. Then, amazingly, he resigned to accept a commission with the Outland Defence Force. Brashin felt that in the sheltered worlds of Empress Teta, he would never find the action that was to be found on the Outer Rim. Leading volunteer and militia groups, he routed mercenary and Hutt private armies. When the Jedi Knight commanding the Grand Army troops on his adopted world was assassinated, he assumed command of the clonetroopers and routed the enemy despite being outnumbered. He was already a hero of the Republic, even before receiving a commission in the new Army.
Across from the Jedi were the naval officers: a pair of High Admirals and the commander-in-chief, Crimson Blade Command, Flag Admiral Minvosk Giel. The first Moff commissioned by the order of the Senate, the long-disused pan-service flag officer rank plaque now clung to his simple olive-grey uniform, the first time it had been seen since before Ruusan. They were joined by three advisors from the office of His Excellency the Supreme Chancellor, cloaked in mysterious robes, often originating from the customs of their homeworlds. The room’s doors were guarded by pairs of full field-uniformed and armored clonetroopers. The anonymous white figures stood at attention without flaw or falter or sound. They grasped DC-15 carbines, a smaller, lighter, and less unwieldy weapon than its design predecessor, the DC-15 heavy rifle. The highest echelons of the Navy, Army, and the former Grand Army were waiting, some in discussion with their subordinates, and others, like the Jedi, in silent meditation.
Suddenly, a small ring unfolded from the center of the table, rising a few centimeters and projecting a map of the galaxy. Admiral Giel rose to his feet.
“Admirals, Marshals, Generals and Advisors: now that the formalities of the christening of the First Fleet are completed, we should discuss our orders and strategy. His Excellency the Supreme Chancellor’s emissary, Mr. Dangor, will speak regarding our directives.”
“Thank you, Admiral. His Excellency wishes to remind all officers here that the People’s confidence in the conflict and their Republic is sullied by mismanagement”—he turned an eye toward the Jedi—“and lack of progress. There is a COMPOR and an official public relations campaign aimed at increasing public morale coincident with this campaign. The outcome of your efforts could decide the direction of momentum in this conflict. The Supreme Chancellor would also wish to see lost friends return to the community of worlds.”
“Thank you, Mr. Dangor.” Giel pressed a button, and the hologram zoomed in on a region of space near where the galactic arms joined the bulge—“this is the Corellian Sector. The senator for the Corellian Sector, Garm bel Iblis”—the hologram transitioned to a bust of the mustachioed and bearded white-haired Corellian senator—“announced the Sector’s indefinite withdrawal from Senate proceedings and the closing of its borders. The senator has also resigned from that post and the Corellian Sectorial Assembly has instated the senator as General of CorSec—the commander-in-chief of the Sectorial Corellian Security Force. General bel Iblis is as stubborn as his politically astute. He will be hostile to our coming appearance, and care must be taken to not offend him or the Corellian people. Iblis withdrew to protest the Military Creation Act and is personally opposed to the war. Unfortunately, the Corellian System and her dependencies and colonies have shut out the Sacorrians, depriving them of CorSec’s protective arm. Corellia itself also comprehends the primary yards of Corellian Engineering Corporation and the Sector commands hordes of valuable resources. This self-inflicted blockade and separation is an unacceptable loss of potential advantage.”
The hologram changed into an image of the sector once again. A dash of color connected the Corellian System to another dot.
“The Confederacy is also aware of this; they have attempted to court bel Iblis several times; the General promptly ordered that the emissaries be thrown in prison, where they have remained indefinitely. So they are taking another approach; these lines show the stable and reliable major paths that an armada from the Trade Federation would take to enter the Corellian Sector.”
A spackle of blue.
“You may remember the Confederacy offensive, styled Operation DURGE’S LANCE, of which advance scouting elements reached as far as Duro. This projected assault follows a similar pattern, but plunges to Corellia, and represents significant naval might sufficient to totally overwhelm CorSec with throw-weight to spare. I give you Armand Isard.”
The newly instated Director of Republican Intelligence briefed the officers. Armand Isard was a gaunt, tall, aristocratic figure with dark brown hair and strikingly icy blue eyes. He donned a red uniform typical of the higher echelons of the intelligence organism. Rumor had it that a college of officers just junior to the public face that Isard provided made the key decisions and no one knew who they were; but the universal authority of RI over its agents and assets earned them the moniker “the Ubiqtoriate.” Of course, speaking simply, the Ubiqtoriate did not exist.
“Assets developed within the Nemodian command structure have indicated an armada, region-spanning in range and comprised of at least several thousand ships-of-the-line, is assembling for a decisive thrust into the Corellian Sector, aiming at seizing the CEC yards and obliterating CorSec. Stolen scout reports indicate that the abandoned Corellian Sector member Sacorria and the neighboring Duros Sector capital of Duro may be captured to support the general invasion of Corellia. The armada is sufficient to overwhelm any resistance offered by CorSec, and then some. Although Nute Gunray and his subordinates have heard vague reports of naval build-up by the Republic, our intelligence suggests that they feel only token additional might compared to the sum of CorSec will be able to be scrambled by us. Surprise and firepower are to your advantage.”
The Director winked out, and was again replaced with the spread of stars and nebulae that represented a small area of the galaxy.
“We will move for Sacorria and establish a provisional headquarters without alerting the greater sector to our presence. A token force will be sent along with Marine support to drive off attacks on Duro and interrupt ground operations undertaken by the enemy. The fleet will be involved in protecting the Corellian System in concert with CorSec, which will require negotiation with the General bel Iblis. The Army will be charged with hardening the world of the Corellian System against attack and to shrug off landing attempts when the offensive begins in earnest.”
Master Windu rose to his feet. “Admiral, I must speak on the matter of our objective once the Confederacy assaults the Corellian System? Do we intend to make a show of force and might and encourage a bloodless surrender, or to force a retreat or…”
Dangor was already at his feet. “General Windu, the Chief of Naval Operations and the Supreme Chancellor have been quite clear and concise in their intent; for this fleet to have the maximum possible psychological and morale effect on the Confederacy, the enemy should be annhiliated as completely and utterly as possible.”
“I must protest, Advisor Dangor; the Jedi Knights do not stand behind naked shows of force and unnecessary bloodshed—”
Giel responded in turn. “The net loss of life is dependent on the duration of this conflict, not the relative mercy of any single battle. Your role in this Fleet is firstly as an officer and protector of the Republic. And removing the ownership of this fleet from the Confederacy will save Republic lives and worlds. We no longer have time for Jedi moralizing.”
Windu sat down, setting his jaw. The military grew in power and autonomy, frustrated with progress with the Jedi in control. He foresaw more shatterpoints close at hand. He could hardly blame his Navy and Army compatriots; Jabiim had been a disaster, and it was the rescue of the Jedi in the arena which had committed the Republic to this war and despite the sincerest efforts of the Republic to praise and uphold the Jedi, resentment grew. Still, they were a formidable obstacle to the Confederacy, and retained both their traditional rights, and the command of the Clonetroopers of Kamino.
“General Windu, I direct you and your fellow Knights to the defence of Duro.”
An orange-brown planet with dingy and wispy clouds obscuring large regions of the temperate latitudes replaced the spread of stars: the planet Duro. The projector soon added the massive orbiting cities that contained the lion’s share of the system’s Duros citizens. Beyond those laid the frames and drydocks of Duro Starshipwrights Shipyards; a potentially powerful asset in the war, but one that thus far had contented itself to the building of token warships and tankers and freighters. Then, a blue cloud spiraled up from points on the planet’s surface to envelop each orbital city in the bulb of the tear-shaped bubbles.
“The cities are protected by powerful deflector shields; but the weak link in the chain lies on the planet’s surface. The bases containing each generator site are vulnerable to heavy ground attack. We recommend that your forces prepare to harden and hold off incursions on these locations. It may be necessary to make landings as the Confederacy attacks are even in progress.”
Windu nodded slowly. “General Halcyon will repulse the landings; that is, unless you have a protest, Master Halcyon?”
“None here, General; my troopers can out-manouvre and out-fight the latest droids out of the Xi Char cathedrals. We’ll be ready,” the confident and energetic Corellian replied.
“Very well then. The detailed will be discussed on our next briefing. Fellow officers, we disembark within two hours. We will confer upon arrival at Sacorria. Dismissed.” With that, the middle-aged admiral nodded in acknowledgement and left through the doors behind him, his clonetrooper guard in close pursuit.
The Fondor System
GRS Beast of Burden
“That went well, wouldn’t you say, old friend?” spoke the middle-aged uniformed man.
“The Jedi frustrate me, Minvosk. I feel they are going to offer resistance and obstacles to our pursuit of this war in the future. Windu does not have the stomach or spine of a general; he is a diplomat and a martial artist, not a pragmatic leader of troops.” Brashin was not pleased. He would often be forced to count on the Clonetroopers as spearheads, for support on the ground, and to establish beachheads. And he already found them attempting to obstruct him, and the fleet had not even left for Sacorria.
“Don’t expect much actual problems. The Jedi, despite their moralizing, are interested in winning this war.”
“I hope so. We all have personal stakes in this. Have you heard from your son yet?”
“No. His last holomessage indicated that he was intending to volunteer for CorSec’s Home Defence Corps. Seems that bel Iblis is catching some of the foul wind blowing. Mobilization is moving at a fevered pitch.”
“I hope you reach him soon. It is not always good to follow your father, especially into war. You might end up like my snobby subordinates.”
Giel laughed, breaking his deep concern momentarily.
“I hope you're right, and that is all I have to fear.”
