De Imperatoribus Galacticis: Chapter the Nineteenth.
Posted: 2005-05-25 11:23pm
De Imperatoribus Galacticis
"On the Galactic Emperors"
Chapter the Nineteenth.
(As continued from Chapter the Eighteenth.)
Vong-occupied Outer Rim,
Miat Temm's stealthship.
“This isn't exactly what I'd call a good situation,” Han murmured with a trace of sarcasm as he looked at the passive sensor returns. “Are you sure your friend's got all of her gyros tuned up and stabilized, kiddo?”
Jaina swallowed, and had to admit to more than a little doubt. The passive sensor returns were quite clear; there were at least five worldships in this system, probably more, and hordes of patrol vessels commisurate to a very large concentration. Shinnra was definitely here, the number of ships positioned defensively—thousands—left no doubt of that. But it also made any attempt to actually reach the worldship he was on seem somewhat less than hopeless. “It's alright, Dad. It's not as hard as it looks.”
“Why isn't it?” Han replied sharply. “We don't even know which one of those monsters Jacen is on. Maybe we could sneak through those hordes of patrol ships—just to find out we've arrived at the wrong worldship. My luck isn't good enough for doing that five times in a row, kiddo.”
Jaina paused, and then turned away; she sensed Miat's presence in her mind. You have an answer for him? She thought, studying the readouts on the bridge and feeling rather uncomfortable at the prospect of her father perhaps realizing just how close she was to the clone woman. She wasn't entirely sure just how close she was, herself, after all, and there was a constant and inescapable sense of unease in all her dealings with Miat Temm. Something that wasn't quite right, that she didn't fully understand, and that she couldn't be sure if it was her fault or Miat's, or simply.. Something else.
Of course I do. We're close enough to find out which worldship Jacen is on, the presence resolved into words. Your father's fears are justified from his perspective, but there is no worry in truth. I would come up to tell him so myself, but he will not trust my word, while you shall be able to convince him. Miat seemed comfortably sanguine, there.
Then show me where my brother is, Miat.
We shall both find him. Miat asserted, her presence flaring within Jaina's mind.
Jaina sighed softly and concentrated inward, catching Miat's presence and feeling the same comfortable union with it as she had felt at Corellia. Gradually the fears and concerns and distractions faded away. She was within in the force, and looked at through it at the panorama of darkness in the system. The holes were quite clear, and there were in fact six of the largest, the great dark null-spots in the force created by the presence of the Vong worldships. Many smaller ones surrounded within the system, it was like the life-force of the galaxy had been turned into a shredding board here. And in some sense, that impression was indeed quite true.
The power of their union was incredible, and Jaina was increasingly aware of how it came from her own side, power that since her union with Miat was being steadily awakened within her. Miat served as its guide, and not much more. Yet in her skill, in her finesse, she was still in charge, still the one with the accumulated wisdom. Above all, the brilliance and clarity of her spirit seemed incredible, the proud defiance of her individuality clear in the force, almost distinct from it in fact. Because of that, Jaina had no fear of being submerged in Miat, or possessing her in her own power that rose up through her. Indeed, their union seemed less a submergence through the force than the meeting of two equals, an uneasy but absolute sort of knowledge which could not be denied. Each presence individual, unique, uncompromised by the full understanding of the other. Jaina could not explain it, and did not attempt to.
They turned outward, through the panoply of lifelessness—but was it really lifelessness, that which still lived?--of the Vong fleet and worldships. Somewhere out there was Jacen, somewhere that he absolutely had to be. Yet it did not seem as though they could find him, for surely he was surrounded by the darkness of the unlife of the Vong. Would this not mask his presence? But to that inner fear Jaina received Miat's comforting reassurance. It is within our power to pierce the veil, echoed Miat's words within Jaina's mind, thoughts really, but in this moment containing absolute truth. There could be no lies here.
Concentration. The force was denied only to the Vong and their creations, not to those within them, untainted by them. If Jacen could be rescued at all, he could be sensed. Miat and Jaina, their minds sharing the experience, acting in concert, flung out their senses at the worldships. The veil was indeed pierced, but within there was only nothing. But they were six worldships, and each in turn they probed and pierced with their extrasensory perception, like seeking like, seeking brilliance in the midst of nullity. Time stood still for them and their thoughts drifted away. All that was left was that calm journey through the force, the probing through what they could only discern in turns. The Vong were backlighted by the whole of life, showing up in sharp relief by their very lack of appearance within the force, and yet they somewhat had to push through this to find the life within it.
They did it, again and again they searched. Desperation began to gnaw at Jaina, and for a moment they paused their search—an imperceptible moment—as Miat's voice broke through patiently, forming out of the fuzziness of perception into perfect thought with startling intensity for someone who was so absorbed in the world without. No, no, don't worry. Let us take all the time that we need, dear. Soothing, confident, Miat offered an anchoring certitude for the lurking fears that it had been a hopeless, fruitless effort that threatened Jaina's heart. Together, then, they looked once more out into the black, and shone a light into the darkness.
Their discovery came with an intensity that staggered Jaina physically. It was as thought at one moment there was nothing, the absolute nothingness of the Vong in the force, and then there was a terrible, bright light shining right back at them with great force and power, blinding. In the midst of the dark, light has an incredible brilliance. The image of a single force user surroundered by a living planet that was dead to the force, it was a beacon, a lighthouse, a pinprick that drove away the the darkness with its radiance. They had found Jacen, he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
Yet it wasn't. Jaina felt a degree of confusion in those next moments. It was almost like Jacen was recognizing that he had been discovered, who had found him, and yet was not quite recognizing it. Her perception of him was it seemed unchanged, and even as her heart soared with the knowledge that he was alive, and that he knew that there was now hope, she felt that his perception of her had been somehow very much been changed. It was something more felt that truly understood, but it troubled her nonetheless. The bond they had with each other as twins was not quite the same as it had always been before.
What's a matter? Jaina felt forming, calling out. She wasn't sure if she was trying to ask Jacen or if she was trying to ask Miat Temm. Perhaps that didn't even matter, it was just than an answer, any kind of answer, was needed to restore the clarity that had been felt only a moment before. This moment seemed one that should be absolutely joyous, and instead it was more of a taunting.
Our union is interfering, Miat answered. That distant sense of Jacen remained strong, and her words struck with confidence. We must, I fear, get much closer before you can succeed in restoring the fullness of your old contact, with your own power alone. Fear not, and do not falter. That moment is not coming on this day, but we will not have to wait long, I promise, Jaina.
I understand. And she did, for it made perfect sense, though it was somewhat sad. They had no choice then but to break that brief contact, and Jaina sent all the hope and encouragement through its mangled form as she could before that was done, trying to leave Jacen with confidence in his rescue as best she could. Gradually she fell back with Miat, their senses receding, their perception widening together, outwards, from the brilliance of Jacen's essence alone to once again encompass the whole of the system and then at last fall back in upon themselves.
Jaina was scarcely aware of the existance of her own body as their perception faded away and was replaced only with the shared knowledge that the two women had of each other. It was a feel that came even as she was so intensely aware of her own existance, an odd dichotomy, the body mattering nothing and yet the soul seeming powerful, intense, not wedded into the greater whole of the force. Yet, that equal individuality of Miat was also there, for all her own seeming lack of connection she could sense that with greater clarity than anything else. Like seeks like, and it seemed by that fundamental principle that this very feeling of individual Will drove her into Miat, two souls brought together by the dialectic of an essential similarity in essential individuality.
You must have confidence that things are going to work out, dear, Miat's thoughts sounded with the strange memory-echo of her living voice. What you Will, is what is restored to you and made right. The universe has a Will and so do you, so as the universe has Purpose so you do also. Direct that Purpose, focus it, and use the strength it lends you to gain our goal. Then bury that strength in patience and it will be waiting for you to draw upon when the time is right. Her mental words were soothing and yet held within them, irregardless of tone, an inner strength that carried through their imperceptible bond and bolstered Jaina's own resolution by the knowledge of that almost supine confidence.
Reinvigorated, and confident once more, Jaina felt herself in Miat's debt. The woman's confidence contained within it an inner willpower which had virtues all of its own, solely by existing. At last, Jaina dismissed her concerns about the odd drive of it, the assertion of Miat's that she was propelled in her quest by the ghosts of the Vong's mass slaughter on the surface of Coruscant. That wasn't relevant, only that she had it, the will they would need to rescue her brother and put an end to the heart of the Vong's barbarous rampage. Now, then, only patience... She thought.
Not quite only, but true enough. A pleasant, laughing thought. We are all adhering to a purpose, and don't worry about my role in it anymore, dear Jaina; now, indeed, we just need some patience.
I won't, Jaina promised, feeling the trance starting to slip, which surprised her for a moment for it didn't seem like she had initiated it, nor was it expected.
I'll be up in a bit, Miat promised, and then Jaina was shaken from her reverie.
Jaina looked around with a start, feeling herself fall against the rear bulkhead of the cabin, and then pushed upward woosily, looking around. Her father, though, was promptly engulfing her in a hug—which was quite embarassing, all things said! “You got really weird there for two minutes or so,” he said simply. “Are you alright, kiddo?”
She turned her attention to her father, looking up and blinking to clear the mental cobwebs from her eyes, at least. “Yeah, I am, dad.” A pause, then—and unhelpfully: “It was a Jedi thing.” Another long silence, she didn't want to tell her father much about it, but there was one critical point of information.... “If it helps, dad, I know which worldship that Jacen is on, now.”
“It sure does help!” Han stepped back with a weary look on his face, yet still grinning. He turned his own attention back to the readouts on the bridge of the stealthship. “Which one is it, kiddo? Sithspawn, we can go in right now if we know the ship.”
“Miat doesn't think we should.” She swallowed, then, not wanting her father to get suspicious. “We talked about it earlier—she thinks something is going to happen which will draw away some of the Vong escorts.”
“Like what? Jedi powers are on level, but Palpatine-style 'seeing the future' sure isn't.”
“It's not that, I'm speaking of something very practical. She's got experience with the Imperial fleet, she knows how their officers act, and she expects Sule and Pellaeon to attack the Vong quite soon. We've got enough food and fuel to just sit here, after all, for months if necessary, and they're not taking Jacen anywhere—he's on Shinnra's worldship.” Only then did she realize that she hadn't explicitly known it was Shinnra's worldship until then, it had just come to her and she had understood it to be absolutely true, as though her subconscious had discovered it, or been told it, during her search.
“Is he going to be alright in a few months?” Han countered, somewhat sharply.
“Yes. He's been hurt, but he's not in life-threatening danger, not at all. But I'm sure it will be sooner than that.”
“Okay then.” Han answered somewhat reluctantly. “Which worldship is Shinnra's, then? Maybe the loony-bird in the back will have a chance to take him out after all.”
“I am quite certain that I will,” Miat answered, standing at the back of the ship's small cockpit. She was dressed in her customary robes, hair splayed out behind her, and a look of serene confidence on her face. “At any rate, Jaina is quite correct. The Imperial fleet is surely on the move, and if we wait a bit longer—months is very conservative, I think a week is more likely—we shall have a much safer approach to Shinnra's worldship.”
Han looked levelly to the woman, unintimidated. “What makes you so sure of that? I can buy it happening soon enough, but within a week?”
“Grand Admiral Pellaeon was my mentor,” Miat replied with a voice scarcely more than a murmur, and then added in louder, more affiable and almost affection tone: “And the closest person to a father that I had, as well, General Solo. My assumption may not be accurate, I grant you, but it is based on the best knowledge of the Imperial command structure that anyone without direct access to its current deliberations can have, that I assure you.”
“Well, I guess that'll just have to do. What should we tell Jag and Shawnkyr, then?”
“Use the laser coms to tell them to wait. They've got the endurance for it in those fine Chiss ships. But warn them now—so that they're quite ready for it—that they may have to execute a diversion for us. In such case, if they are not able to lose their pursuers in the first eight minutes, they should escape to lightspeed.”
“Got something planned?” Suspicious, again.
“Absolutely,” Miat replied with a brilliant and affiable smile which even so revealed absolutely nothing. “Speaking of which... I have a gift for your son, General Solo.”
“Oh, yeah?”
She tossed back her cloak and smoothly grabbed two cylinders off her belt. They were lightsabres. One of them was tossed toward Jaina, and she found herself catching it naturally and scanning it with eyes well-used to the devices. It appeared to be of exceptional quality, and it seemed odd that Miat, who had disdained them before, would now build not one but two. “Give it to Jacen when you meet him, Jaina. He'll need it.”
“Of course.” Jaina replied, and then a moment later: “How in the hells did you make them, Miat?” Though it does at least explain where she spent all of her time and how readily she assented to let dad pilot her ship, Jaina thought, somewhat surprised that she hadn't realized what Miat was doing, herself, considering their closeness.
“All clones end up with unique personalities,” Miat replied somewhat distantly. “But those who have the knowledge of the force remembering details, skills, traits of that which went before. That is part of what drives a clone of a force user mad when created improperly. Pellaeon, of course, learned a lesson from the fate of his own mentor, Grand Admiral Thrawn. There were no mistakes made in my.. Birthing. Yet I remember these things, and one of them is how to make a lightsabre, a true and proper one as were made by the Jedi in those days in which my previous incarnation, if you prefer, lived.”
“I understand. But why now? You seemed almost disdainful of the lightsabre before.”
“I disdained to have one because one was not needed then. Now I desire one, because it shall be needed. Of that I am sure.” Miat smiled again. “And with that unfortunate digression into my past, I shall leave you for the moment. I have fallen behind on my time for meditation, these days.” With that, she turned away from them and left the ship's cockpit once more.
Han looked to his daughter. “Are you absolutely sure that she's sane?”
“Absolutely.”
“I'm glad someone is.”
“She seems to genuinely regret how she was created, but she can't help it, dad, and she's still a person, in fact, she seems to have almost a quest for greater individuality because of it. Don't hold it against her—she's right about Pellaeon learning Thrawn's lesson, for one—and give her a fair chance.” Jaina did not know how right—and how wrong—she was about that quest, but the point stood irregardless.
“We don't have much choice, so I guess that settles it. But I'm not going to stop worrying until I see Jacen alive and well with very my own eyes.”
“You've got yourself a deal there, dad.”
“Fine. Then which of the worldships is it, kiddo?”
Jaina stepped over, smiling to herself at her father's affiable gruffness, and brushing her hand through the relevant worldship before putting in an order to the sensor computer for the ship to keep a specific tab on it. “There you go.”
“Good. I'll start planning for a way to get at it.. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” Jaina nodded, accepting her father's natural degree of paranoia about Miat even as it was dismissed from her own mind. “Alright then. I'm going below, too. We've got some time to kill, after all.”
“That's for sure,” Han muttered as he turned his attention to tuning up the laser signallers to contact Jag and Shawnkyr, Jaina already leaving behind him. The next few days were going to be the longest in his already exceptionally eventful life.
CINCMW Flagship,
Torpedo Sphere Ulaumai,
Klingon Homeworld of Qo'noS.
“Your Majesty, the enemy fleet has been cleared away from Qo'noS orbit. Our torpedo spheres are now entering firing range against the planetary defensive shields. It appears that the rebel forces have not had enough time to upgrade the defences; they consist of nothing more than interlocking theatre shields. A massed bombardment by all two hundred torpedo spheres of my central shock force is ready to commence a concentrated fire against the shield over the capital city of Klinzhai. I await your further instructions, Sire.”
Grand Admiral Inaras knelt before Emperor Hamner I, dressed in a white version of a Grand Moff's uniform bedecked with gold epaluettes. The Emperor was silent, contemplative, taking his time. There was no hurry, after all, the enemy fleet—scarcely more than a thousand ships, most of them pitifully armed—having been routed in their final defence of Qo'noS, which effectively ended the resistance of the final pocket of enemy forces in the Milky Way. The fleet was still fighting, however, but was badly attrited and could no longer defend the planet. All the defensive platforms had been destroyed and the desultory fire from the surface was not making an impact on the massed fleet.
It was time to implement Harlann's plan. Inaras would be quite furious if he knew about how it had been privately proposed by his nominal subordinate, but he did not, and would not. Hamner knew the man had rescued him, and so did not give him to much power—lest he get ideas—but his intelligence and usefulness was undeniable. Inaras would command the fleet, but Harlann was and would remain its 'God of Operations.'
“Destroy Klinzhai as soon as the shield is down, Admiral. This is Our Will.” Hamner stated firmly. “Make sure the deep bunkers containing the rebel leaders are completely destroyed, but do not bother with the destruction of the rest of the planet or the landing of troops. We also desire for your fleet to cease pressing against the enemy starships; just hold them at bay as the bombardment proceeds.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. But if I may humbly inquire, why are we to not finish off the rebel fleet, Sire?”
“We desire their surrender. Offer them favourable terms—pardon and parole—if they surrender their ships intact. Any sabotage should result in a most heinous punishment, make that very clear. Once their leadership on the surface of the planet is destroyed, We are quite convinced that they shall accept these terms, for their purpose in fighting is gone. Execute these orders at once.”
“I Obey, Your Majesty.”
The hologram blinked out without a further response, and Grand Admiral Inaras rose and strode back onto the flagbridge proper. “Signal all torpedo spheres to concentrate on the theatre shield over the Klinzhai metropolitan area,” he commanded. “Turbolasers to stand by against the shield generator, all ships fire independently on detecting shield flucuations. As soon as it's down, code Theta Delta Epsilon is to be implemented.” He concluded, officers already moving to implement his orders, signals being dispatched. The order was one for a limited operation to destroy subsurface structures—the Imperials knew where all of them on the surface of Qo'noS were, of course—and melt the surface in a specific area above those structures, more or less a truncated BDZ operation.
They had endured more than five hundred kamikazi ships, plus many improvised ones and small vessels and fighters trying the same thing, but the full strength of the Imperial assault force had guaranteed that the rebels were unavailing even through the use of such desperation tactics. There were now at best three hundred enemy ships operational and they had been pushed to the outer fringes of the system by skirmishing lines as the main fleet destroyed the orbital defensive platforms and moon installations (the remains of Praxis had been turned into a fairly impressive fortress, which now no longer existed), leaving the planet below all but helpless.
Now it was time for what the Emperor had deemed would be the finishing blow. Two hundred torpedo spheres opened fire as one, concentrating on an area of not more than 5,000 square kilometers. 100,000 torpedoes a salvo fell in against the shield every half-second, battering it with an intense force against which only a few dozen defensive turbolasers and ion cannons could return fire. Some of the Torpedo Spheres suffered damage from these, mostly shield attrition and some temporarily disabled. Their numbers and the strength of the jamming against the targeting sensors for the defensive weapons largely negated their effect, however.
For fifteen minutes the awesome bombardment continued. Three million proton torpedoes hit the theatre shield. Scanners were constantly analyzing the shield, judging weak points, every ship waiting for the chance to fire. It was seriously overtaxed now, and the temporary failure was a spectatular one; the whole shield briefly failed, and part of a salvo got through, even as the targeted turbolaser fire of several Torpedo Spheres did succeed in hitting the generator. As they did, further salvoes of proton torpedoes were coming in.
Klinzhai ceased to exist. The torpedoes which struck it had the force of their detonations focused downwards, annihilating the underground shelters for the populace even as the bleed-off of their impacts annihilated much on the surface. Then the turbolasers began to fire, and the effect was simply magnified. The proximate result was that the surface of the planet was melted to a depth of several hundred meters in an expanding area. More and more turbolaser bolts hit the surface, causing deeper and deeper damage and vapourizing much of the lava into a cloud of steam that would roil through the atmosphere and do further damage. Earthquakes expanded outward from the sight as the whole stability of that tectonic plate was seriously compromised.
Under this barrage the underground shelters were annihilated. They lasted for a while, the deep shelters for the government, certainly longer than the shelters for the population at large. But the fire was focused, and the effect eventually became very deep. As a great sea of lava nearly 900 kilometers in size ultimately formed on the surface of Klinzhai, the rebel political leadership which had maintained their loyalty to Sule until the bitter end was destroyed in a flash of incoming energy. Several hundred million people on the surface of Qo'noS were dead or in the process of dying above their silent tomb.
Rano Inaras waited a while after the ships had ceased to fire, making it clear that they did not intend to conduct a full BDZ operation. Then he sent Hamner's message. The environmental damage to Qo'noS was quite severe, far worse than even after the destruction of Praxis, but the Empire had sent a message by not destroying the planet entirely, and it now remained for the surviving fleet to heed it or not. Inaras did not fully understand Hmaner's reasoning in bothering to spare those trifling ships, but he obeyed, and certainly the Imperials in the fleet now put themselves to reconsidering, as did most of the hangers-on who fought for reasons other than their country and honour. Most of the surviving Klingons chose to try and flee, but the rest of the intact fleet accepted the terms, and even a few of the Klingon ships.
Harlann watched from his flagbridge as commander of the fleet mobile forces on the Battle of Bajor. He was expressionless, mostly, over the hours of the surrender negotiations. But at last he smiled grimly when he saw that there were enough surrendered ships—of the right type, and with the right sorts of believable battle damage—for him to execute the next phase of the operation. Neither Hamner nor himself intended to stop with just the Milky Way, and it was Harlann who would make that possible, and soon.
FSC-1104, Scouting Force
Bimmiel System.
“Of all that's holy...” Commander Keralas looked at the displays on the frigate's bridge in awe as the readouts resolved themselves into data from the passive sensors. It was a feeling that no-one could really understand, save the commander of a stealth scoutship like himself, as submarine vessels had been on the oceans so long ago. The feeling of your data displays suddenly unveiling around you a fleet of five thousand enemy ships—of which you were in their exact center—manoeuvring placidly around you, as you sat in their midst, undetectable.
Duty, of course, snapped back to the foreground after that moment of natural awe. “Any sign—any sign at all—that they've detected us?” It was almost redundant, for if they had been detected, they would surely be dead by now. But Keralas asked it anyway as he thought over the situation for a moment.
“No Sir. They're sittin' pretty out there.” The sensor bank officer reported after a moment.
“Almost a shame we found such a concentration,” Keralas' XO muttered a his side—the enemy fleet had arrived so suddenly that they'd been caught at Condition Two, and he hadn't left the bridge yet for the second control center which was his post at Condition One. “Fifty or sixty, now, and it might be worthwhile to put a spread into one of the big ones. Here, it's just hopeless to try. Ah well.. With your permission, Sir?”
“That's for sure. We've got a bigger job to do anyway,” Keralas answered with a vague frustration, then, a moment later: “Oh, of course. Get to your duty station, Mark.” He watched his XO go for a moment, thinking about how annoying it was to be unable to go after the enemy; the dictates of prudence here were, however, rather obvious. “Very well.” He said to himself, and then clasped his hands behind his back and turned to address the whole of the bridge. “We must maintain an absolute minimal-emissions regime until the enemy fleet passes, while keeping up passive sensor surveillance the whole time so that we can plot their hyperspace destination, assuming they leave—if they don't, we'll have a bit of dancing to do.” A nervous chuckle reverbated through the bridge ever so faintly. “At any rate, Condition One will be maintained, and from here on out, we only manoeuvre if in danger of collision. That's all, gentlemen.”
The whole crew of the FSC-1104 'enjoyed' a tense fourteen and a half hours with the enemy fleet in their direct vicinity in the Bimmiel system. They were naturally quiet even when they didn't have to, fear and nervousness worked silently in the men during their long wait. The outer portions of the hull were evacuated and cooled down to further minimize emissions, even environmental systems were cut down to a minimum, the reactors were running on the lowest power settings possible. No Vong ships discovered them, and thus did they live. Time was passed in quiet ways, most of the men at their stations for the whole duration, running systems checks out of sheer boredom on the behest of officers who did not want them to be idle lest it let them dwell on the danger far to much.
Fortunately it did not last for all that long. Fourteen and a half hours of mental agony passed by with inextricable slowness, but then the Vong fleet began to align. Keralas watched intently on the displays, knowing it was a run-up for the jump to lightspeed, hoping their tracking would be good enough to peg the destination. The Vong were clearly concentrating almost the whole of their fleet in the Rim, which meant they probably expected to face much heavier opposition than they had originally planned on—that is to say, that the invasion of the Imperial Remnant had been transformed into an effort to seek out the main force of Sule's Empire and engage it in a decisive battle which would determine the course of the war.
Their job was to survive and report, nothing more, and in doing so they were performing an infinitely more valuable role than a small frigate could otherwise hope to offer in such a conflict as was coming up for the Imperial Starfleet. The key, however, was to make sure that they got the data down which make that report so valuable. This was the tensest moment in the life of the chief sensor operator. Everything was made ready, as perfect as could be, and double-checked again, and again, until they ran out of time. The Vong jump to lightspeed, their ships vanishing in a flicker of pseudomotion. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief as soon as they were told the Vong had left the system, save for those sensor operators, now hastily checking their data.
“What is the estimated Vong destination?” Keralas asked sharply the moment he finished sending the announcement over the ship's intercoms that the Vong fleet had left. The silence after the question was asked was just as tense as the danger they had been in before, which would turn out pointless unless the answer was positive.
“Dantooine,” a lieutenant called out, turning to his ship's Captain. “Dantooine, Sir, with ninety-three percentage probability.”
“Astrogation, prepare for the jump to lightspeed. Comms, ready a burst transmission at once. We send it, and then get out.” There was still the local system defence forces the Vong had here for them to deal with, after all, but they were in the wrong place, and Keralas was certain they could signal and then leave without any appreciable danger. What happened after that was up to the Emperor.
Intergalactic Portal
Milky Way Terminus.
The terminus was the last fortified point in the Milky Way held by Sule loyalists. It prevented Hamner from interfering with the operations in the home galaxy and enforced the threat of a counterattack against his nascent rival Empire. But it was not invincible; a major siege could reduce it, and Hamner did indeed have the resources to conduct such a siege. But it whittle away at his forces and use up valuable time which could better be used for raising the forces of those his rival had alienated in the other galaxy, and that meant that some other form of seizing the portal was absolutely necessary.
For all that they were in a great deal of danger in truth, no discernable threats had taken place to the installation to date. They knew it would change sooner or later, but the quiet was most deceptive. Sooner or later Hamner would attack, he would have to even to defend, for without holding the portal he would have no real way to resist the material strength of the home galaxy. Only that chokepoint could block a major Imperial effort, and possibly not even that would be sufficient. Yet these were secondary troops, and the steady stream of reconaissance and infiltration forces heading to the Milky Way over the past weeks left their watchfulness rather degraded with overconfidence.
Not well enough to allow for a successful surprise attack, of course, but that was not what was about to happen... At first. The routines of the officers and men on the defensive stations and supporting vessels were, however, very much interrupted. Three hundred battered starships, a mix of Imperial and native models, arrived with a flicker of pseudomotion. The native ships were quite unusual, many of them having hyperspace tugs to tow them, others with drive slides attached some integrated in the place of cargo bays and so on, and they were a mix of dozens of designs. The Imperial ships were more uniformly patrol frigates from the outer fringes which were officered by supporters of Sule and had succeeded in defecting to the defensive forces around Qo'noS without difficulty.
It seemed obvious, of course, but the stations still went to the highest alert, fighters were launched and patrol squadrons mustered. Somehow, part of the defensive fleet around Qo'noS had managed to escape after the fall of that planet, and sought out the last refuge available—successfully. This did not bode well for Hamner, if it was confirmed. The force had lost all of its commanding officers, and the situation seemed very confused. At last, however, the garrison commander of the defensive fortresses got in touch with a Captain who appeared to be in charge.
From one of the VSDs in the center of the fleet which bore little battle damage a message resolved itself into a holographic image which made the old General stop short. There was something undeniably familiar about that man, something that could not help but make him feel uneasy. “General, Sir. This is Captain Harlann Quir of the Imperial Starfleet. I understand that there are some quite valid concerns about these squadrons under my effective command, but I believe I can put them rest—unfortunately, only to your superiours, Sir. I have a sealed message which I'd like to transmit to Grand Admiral Kalar-Leben at once, if you would be so kind as to allow me?”
“We'll have to read it first,” the garrison commander answered, quite suspicious.
“Understood, Sir. We'll hold position until we receive a reply on the matter. Transmitting... Now.”
“Receipt is acknowledged. Stand by.” The garrison commander, on receiving the message, began to immediately read it. There was something about this situation...
Dear Elise.
I apologize for the unusual way in which I am contacting you. I know I have been out of touch for a long time. As it happened, I did not die at the Dark Belts, but was instead taken prisoner by the Dominion. Sadly, Imperial forces did not reach us before the majority of the crew of the Ashanar perished. I survived, and have remained in captivity since. It is an unfortunate occurrence which took place in the late action, but I know you acted with the best of intentions at heart, for the greater glory of the Empire.
“Emperor” Davion made a series of agreements with the surviving resistance groups, including the one which still held me prisoner. I was released as part of these agreements and offered a position in Davion's Imperial Starfleet. This position I accepted, and it allowed me the opportunity to effect my escape and aide the escape of a considerable number of loyalist forces in the Qo'noS area. Because of this fortuitous event I come with a considerable amount of timely intelligence data regarding Hamner Davion's intentions, and request permission to speak with you and His Majesty the Emperor in person as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
Harlann Quir.
The message was sent immediately, flagged Urgent.
On the bridge of his temporary flagship, Harlann turned back to a man masked in the shadows, a Starfleet officer in the resistance. “Your boarding parties will have their chance soon enough now, Captain. I am quite sure of that.” It was just a matter of waiting until he could unleash them—as useful and expendable as clonetroopers—and it really was quite suitable to even the balance when it came to betrayal, wasn't it?
Ord Mantell Orbit,
Imperial Starfleet
The Despot.
“With the latest information from the FSC-1104,” Elise was explaining calmly—and perhaps a bit fondly, for she was a frigateer at heart—the situation with the massing Vong fleet, “we now know for certain that a Vong force of close to thirty-five thousand starships is being concentrated at Dantooine. The actual figure is probably closer to fourty thousand starships. We only have twenty-six thousand with the main body at current, Your Majesty, but we have full stocks of the x-ray warheads for our missiles, which should considerably reduce the effectiveness of the Vong defensive black-hole system. Furthermore, of course, we have a far superiour concentration of heavy ships. There are now twelve Executors with the fleet, along with three Superiour-class, eighteen Shockwave-class, and more than three hundred Allegiance-class Star Cruisers. The Vong, on the other hand, lost many of their heavy ships in the engagements of Corellia and Talfaglio.
“In short, Your Majesty, we're facing somewhat long odds here numerically, but these are the best and most homogenous forces we've had as the backbone of our Starfleet since Second Coruscant, and they're veterans in heavy fleet engagements, trained together, and experienced in fighting with each other, and we've finally evened things out technologically, we maybe even have the edge in a ranged engagement now because of the nature of the Vong ships. They can concentrate hundreds of thousands of patrol ships like they're doing and it simply wouldn't matter. None of those vessels can put a dent in an Allegiance, let alone an Executor. We shouldn't let the numbers deceive us, we quite possibly hold the advantage now in firepower—we have more Victory-class Destroyers in our fleet now than all of our frigates combined. There's no reason for us to wait for reinforcements from the various national contingents. Most of those ships aren't that compatible with us operationally, and don't add any appreciable firepower. As it stands, if we act now we may succeed in engaging the majority of the Vong fleet before the rest of it arrives—the hyperspace lanes from here to Dantooine are good, and it will take us six hours at most to make the trip and deploy the fleet.”
“That's all well and good, Elise, but I want Pellaeon's opinion before I commit to that course of action, and he's in communication with the Corporate Sector Authority at the moment,” Sule replied.
“Very well, Your Majesty,” Elise replied with a faint sigh, and returned to studying the strategic plots. They had to strike now, or else the concentrating Vong forces would—no matter how weak the individual ships—reach a numerical strength that would force them to delay for a great deal of time as they concentrated all the national contingents and occupation forces in this whole swathe of the galaxy to meet them. Not only that, but the Vong would be left in control of many planets and vast swathes of others if the fleets were taken away to be concentrated with the Grand Fleet itself. That would give them time in which they could continue to conduct mass slaughter and infections of the population, irretrievably. Certainly such a delay would thus cost billions of lives, and force Base Delta Zero operations against dozens of additional worlds besides.
“I don't doubt your arguments, Elise, but this is the main body of the Imperial Starfleet we are risking, and it is healthy to get a second opinion on such matters.” A light chuckle as the Emperor patiently his friend, and awaited for Pellaeon's return.
Something else happened, first. One of the officers in the plot room walked over to Elise, saluting and speaking to her quietly. “Admiral, there's a message for you, marked Urgent, from the defensive installations covering the Milky Way terminus of the portal.”
Elise straightened. “Odd. Your Majesty, a moment, please.”
“Of course.”
Elise stepped over to one of the consoles lining the room and sat down at it, reading the message as it scrolled across the screen, short and blunt, just like she remembered. Than she read it again. And again. And again. Just sitting there, in silent shock, doing nothing but reading the words over and over in perfect disbelief. At last it bothered Sule enough that he approached, placing a hand quietly on the back of the chair and looking down to the screen.
Elise looked up with a start. “Sule. He's alive. Harlann. My old XO and chief of staff during my days with the Ninth Destroyer Division.”
Sule leaned down and read the message himself. Then he read it again, too. “I don't like this,” he said at last, suspiciously. “Don't get your hopes up, Elise.”
But before they could continue the conversation, Pellaeon arrived in the room, bowing to Sule. “Your Majesty?” he asked, with perhaps a trace of curiousity at what Sule and Elise were doing hunched over at one of the consoles like that.
“Grand Admiral, it's good to see you back.” Sule replied, straightening and stepping over to him, then gesturing to the plot. “What's the Corporate Sector's commitment?”
“They've agreed to conduct a full offensive as long as we undertake to recognize their tax immunity. Six Imperators and two hundred and four Victorys, plus an equal number of armed lighters. They'll be hitting a fairly weakly defended area of Vong space—which is conveniently important for trade, from their perspective—so they're willing to risk it as long as we maintain an aggressive fleet posture, which I promised that we would.”
“It was a good promise to make,” Sule answered. “That's exactly what Elise is advocating right now. We have indications that the Vong are massing around Dantooine; perhaps as many as fourty thousand ships altogether. She thinks we have sufficient firepower and have negated their technological edge to the point where we can reliably attack despite the numerical disadvantage.”
“We can.” Pellaeon answered simply. “May I see the latest scouting dispatches?”
“Of course.” Sule stepped back from the side of the projector, which Pellaeon stepped over in turn and became to manipulate, bringing up the data.
“Hmm. Yes, it's only six hours to Dantooine from here, and if these position reports are correct we may be able to have up to four hours to hit at their fleet when a quarter of it still hasn't arrived yet. Even at full strength we can test the matter with a long-range missile engagement using our new warheads, and see if it's worthwhile to close; if we have to withdraw it can be done without great harm to the fleet at that point. I'll begin formulating the attack plan at once, Your Majesty, if you wish.”
“Do so, Grand Admiral. The fleet shall leave as soon as you deem it feasable.”
“Of course. Thank you, Your Majesty.” He turned to Elise. “Admiral? I shall need your assistance.”
Elise got up, but instead of going straight over to Pellaeon paused by Sule for a moment and whispered to him. “Well, what shall I do?”
“To be honest,” Sule answered, “It's not that important compared to the battle planning. But if it will ease your mind for the later, let him through with a small escort. We'll detail the rest of the survivors to form the extreme outer perimeter for the defences at the portal, where their reliability will not be a great issue.”
“Thank you. I'll issue orders to the garrison commander to that effect as soon as we're done with the planning for the engagement,” Elise replied, feeling as relieved and alive as she could remember since that dark moment on the surface of Coruscant when she had learned of the death of her family. Fate most surely worked in strange and mysterious ways, its wonders to perform.
De Imperatoribus Galacticis will continue in Chapter the Twentieth.
"On the Galactic Emperors"
Chapter the Nineteenth.
(As continued from Chapter the Eighteenth.)
Vong-occupied Outer Rim,
Miat Temm's stealthship.
“This isn't exactly what I'd call a good situation,” Han murmured with a trace of sarcasm as he looked at the passive sensor returns. “Are you sure your friend's got all of her gyros tuned up and stabilized, kiddo?”
Jaina swallowed, and had to admit to more than a little doubt. The passive sensor returns were quite clear; there were at least five worldships in this system, probably more, and hordes of patrol vessels commisurate to a very large concentration. Shinnra was definitely here, the number of ships positioned defensively—thousands—left no doubt of that. But it also made any attempt to actually reach the worldship he was on seem somewhat less than hopeless. “It's alright, Dad. It's not as hard as it looks.”
“Why isn't it?” Han replied sharply. “We don't even know which one of those monsters Jacen is on. Maybe we could sneak through those hordes of patrol ships—just to find out we've arrived at the wrong worldship. My luck isn't good enough for doing that five times in a row, kiddo.”
Jaina paused, and then turned away; she sensed Miat's presence in her mind. You have an answer for him? She thought, studying the readouts on the bridge and feeling rather uncomfortable at the prospect of her father perhaps realizing just how close she was to the clone woman. She wasn't entirely sure just how close she was, herself, after all, and there was a constant and inescapable sense of unease in all her dealings with Miat Temm. Something that wasn't quite right, that she didn't fully understand, and that she couldn't be sure if it was her fault or Miat's, or simply.. Something else.
Of course I do. We're close enough to find out which worldship Jacen is on, the presence resolved into words. Your father's fears are justified from his perspective, but there is no worry in truth. I would come up to tell him so myself, but he will not trust my word, while you shall be able to convince him. Miat seemed comfortably sanguine, there.
Then show me where my brother is, Miat.
We shall both find him. Miat asserted, her presence flaring within Jaina's mind.
Jaina sighed softly and concentrated inward, catching Miat's presence and feeling the same comfortable union with it as she had felt at Corellia. Gradually the fears and concerns and distractions faded away. She was within in the force, and looked at through it at the panorama of darkness in the system. The holes were quite clear, and there were in fact six of the largest, the great dark null-spots in the force created by the presence of the Vong worldships. Many smaller ones surrounded within the system, it was like the life-force of the galaxy had been turned into a shredding board here. And in some sense, that impression was indeed quite true.
The power of their union was incredible, and Jaina was increasingly aware of how it came from her own side, power that since her union with Miat was being steadily awakened within her. Miat served as its guide, and not much more. Yet in her skill, in her finesse, she was still in charge, still the one with the accumulated wisdom. Above all, the brilliance and clarity of her spirit seemed incredible, the proud defiance of her individuality clear in the force, almost distinct from it in fact. Because of that, Jaina had no fear of being submerged in Miat, or possessing her in her own power that rose up through her. Indeed, their union seemed less a submergence through the force than the meeting of two equals, an uneasy but absolute sort of knowledge which could not be denied. Each presence individual, unique, uncompromised by the full understanding of the other. Jaina could not explain it, and did not attempt to.
They turned outward, through the panoply of lifelessness—but was it really lifelessness, that which still lived?--of the Vong fleet and worldships. Somewhere out there was Jacen, somewhere that he absolutely had to be. Yet it did not seem as though they could find him, for surely he was surrounded by the darkness of the unlife of the Vong. Would this not mask his presence? But to that inner fear Jaina received Miat's comforting reassurance. It is within our power to pierce the veil, echoed Miat's words within Jaina's mind, thoughts really, but in this moment containing absolute truth. There could be no lies here.
Concentration. The force was denied only to the Vong and their creations, not to those within them, untainted by them. If Jacen could be rescued at all, he could be sensed. Miat and Jaina, their minds sharing the experience, acting in concert, flung out their senses at the worldships. The veil was indeed pierced, but within there was only nothing. But they were six worldships, and each in turn they probed and pierced with their extrasensory perception, like seeking like, seeking brilliance in the midst of nullity. Time stood still for them and their thoughts drifted away. All that was left was that calm journey through the force, the probing through what they could only discern in turns. The Vong were backlighted by the whole of life, showing up in sharp relief by their very lack of appearance within the force, and yet they somewhat had to push through this to find the life within it.
They did it, again and again they searched. Desperation began to gnaw at Jaina, and for a moment they paused their search—an imperceptible moment—as Miat's voice broke through patiently, forming out of the fuzziness of perception into perfect thought with startling intensity for someone who was so absorbed in the world without. No, no, don't worry. Let us take all the time that we need, dear. Soothing, confident, Miat offered an anchoring certitude for the lurking fears that it had been a hopeless, fruitless effort that threatened Jaina's heart. Together, then, they looked once more out into the black, and shone a light into the darkness.
Their discovery came with an intensity that staggered Jaina physically. It was as thought at one moment there was nothing, the absolute nothingness of the Vong in the force, and then there was a terrible, bright light shining right back at them with great force and power, blinding. In the midst of the dark, light has an incredible brilliance. The image of a single force user surroundered by a living planet that was dead to the force, it was a beacon, a lighthouse, a pinprick that drove away the the darkness with its radiance. They had found Jacen, he was alive, and that was all that mattered.
Yet it wasn't. Jaina felt a degree of confusion in those next moments. It was almost like Jacen was recognizing that he had been discovered, who had found him, and yet was not quite recognizing it. Her perception of him was it seemed unchanged, and even as her heart soared with the knowledge that he was alive, and that he knew that there was now hope, she felt that his perception of her had been somehow very much been changed. It was something more felt that truly understood, but it troubled her nonetheless. The bond they had with each other as twins was not quite the same as it had always been before.
What's a matter? Jaina felt forming, calling out. She wasn't sure if she was trying to ask Jacen or if she was trying to ask Miat Temm. Perhaps that didn't even matter, it was just than an answer, any kind of answer, was needed to restore the clarity that had been felt only a moment before. This moment seemed one that should be absolutely joyous, and instead it was more of a taunting.
Our union is interfering, Miat answered. That distant sense of Jacen remained strong, and her words struck with confidence. We must, I fear, get much closer before you can succeed in restoring the fullness of your old contact, with your own power alone. Fear not, and do not falter. That moment is not coming on this day, but we will not have to wait long, I promise, Jaina.
I understand. And she did, for it made perfect sense, though it was somewhat sad. They had no choice then but to break that brief contact, and Jaina sent all the hope and encouragement through its mangled form as she could before that was done, trying to leave Jacen with confidence in his rescue as best she could. Gradually she fell back with Miat, their senses receding, their perception widening together, outwards, from the brilliance of Jacen's essence alone to once again encompass the whole of the system and then at last fall back in upon themselves.
Jaina was scarcely aware of the existance of her own body as their perception faded away and was replaced only with the shared knowledge that the two women had of each other. It was a feel that came even as she was so intensely aware of her own existance, an odd dichotomy, the body mattering nothing and yet the soul seeming powerful, intense, not wedded into the greater whole of the force. Yet, that equal individuality of Miat was also there, for all her own seeming lack of connection she could sense that with greater clarity than anything else. Like seeks like, and it seemed by that fundamental principle that this very feeling of individual Will drove her into Miat, two souls brought together by the dialectic of an essential similarity in essential individuality.
You must have confidence that things are going to work out, dear, Miat's thoughts sounded with the strange memory-echo of her living voice. What you Will, is what is restored to you and made right. The universe has a Will and so do you, so as the universe has Purpose so you do also. Direct that Purpose, focus it, and use the strength it lends you to gain our goal. Then bury that strength in patience and it will be waiting for you to draw upon when the time is right. Her mental words were soothing and yet held within them, irregardless of tone, an inner strength that carried through their imperceptible bond and bolstered Jaina's own resolution by the knowledge of that almost supine confidence.
Reinvigorated, and confident once more, Jaina felt herself in Miat's debt. The woman's confidence contained within it an inner willpower which had virtues all of its own, solely by existing. At last, Jaina dismissed her concerns about the odd drive of it, the assertion of Miat's that she was propelled in her quest by the ghosts of the Vong's mass slaughter on the surface of Coruscant. That wasn't relevant, only that she had it, the will they would need to rescue her brother and put an end to the heart of the Vong's barbarous rampage. Now, then, only patience... She thought.
Not quite only, but true enough. A pleasant, laughing thought. We are all adhering to a purpose, and don't worry about my role in it anymore, dear Jaina; now, indeed, we just need some patience.
I won't, Jaina promised, feeling the trance starting to slip, which surprised her for a moment for it didn't seem like she had initiated it, nor was it expected.
I'll be up in a bit, Miat promised, and then Jaina was shaken from her reverie.
Jaina looked around with a start, feeling herself fall against the rear bulkhead of the cabin, and then pushed upward woosily, looking around. Her father, though, was promptly engulfing her in a hug—which was quite embarassing, all things said! “You got really weird there for two minutes or so,” he said simply. “Are you alright, kiddo?”
She turned her attention to her father, looking up and blinking to clear the mental cobwebs from her eyes, at least. “Yeah, I am, dad.” A pause, then—and unhelpfully: “It was a Jedi thing.” Another long silence, she didn't want to tell her father much about it, but there was one critical point of information.... “If it helps, dad, I know which worldship that Jacen is on, now.”
“It sure does help!” Han stepped back with a weary look on his face, yet still grinning. He turned his own attention back to the readouts on the bridge of the stealthship. “Which one is it, kiddo? Sithspawn, we can go in right now if we know the ship.”
“Miat doesn't think we should.” She swallowed, then, not wanting her father to get suspicious. “We talked about it earlier—she thinks something is going to happen which will draw away some of the Vong escorts.”
“Like what? Jedi powers are on level, but Palpatine-style 'seeing the future' sure isn't.”
“It's not that, I'm speaking of something very practical. She's got experience with the Imperial fleet, she knows how their officers act, and she expects Sule and Pellaeon to attack the Vong quite soon. We've got enough food and fuel to just sit here, after all, for months if necessary, and they're not taking Jacen anywhere—he's on Shinnra's worldship.” Only then did she realize that she hadn't explicitly known it was Shinnra's worldship until then, it had just come to her and she had understood it to be absolutely true, as though her subconscious had discovered it, or been told it, during her search.
“Is he going to be alright in a few months?” Han countered, somewhat sharply.
“Yes. He's been hurt, but he's not in life-threatening danger, not at all. But I'm sure it will be sooner than that.”
“Okay then.” Han answered somewhat reluctantly. “Which worldship is Shinnra's, then? Maybe the loony-bird in the back will have a chance to take him out after all.”
“I am quite certain that I will,” Miat answered, standing at the back of the ship's small cockpit. She was dressed in her customary robes, hair splayed out behind her, and a look of serene confidence on her face. “At any rate, Jaina is quite correct. The Imperial fleet is surely on the move, and if we wait a bit longer—months is very conservative, I think a week is more likely—we shall have a much safer approach to Shinnra's worldship.”
Han looked levelly to the woman, unintimidated. “What makes you so sure of that? I can buy it happening soon enough, but within a week?”
“Grand Admiral Pellaeon was my mentor,” Miat replied with a voice scarcely more than a murmur, and then added in louder, more affiable and almost affection tone: “And the closest person to a father that I had, as well, General Solo. My assumption may not be accurate, I grant you, but it is based on the best knowledge of the Imperial command structure that anyone without direct access to its current deliberations can have, that I assure you.”
“Well, I guess that'll just have to do. What should we tell Jag and Shawnkyr, then?”
“Use the laser coms to tell them to wait. They've got the endurance for it in those fine Chiss ships. But warn them now—so that they're quite ready for it—that they may have to execute a diversion for us. In such case, if they are not able to lose their pursuers in the first eight minutes, they should escape to lightspeed.”
“Got something planned?” Suspicious, again.
“Absolutely,” Miat replied with a brilliant and affiable smile which even so revealed absolutely nothing. “Speaking of which... I have a gift for your son, General Solo.”
“Oh, yeah?”
She tossed back her cloak and smoothly grabbed two cylinders off her belt. They were lightsabres. One of them was tossed toward Jaina, and she found herself catching it naturally and scanning it with eyes well-used to the devices. It appeared to be of exceptional quality, and it seemed odd that Miat, who had disdained them before, would now build not one but two. “Give it to Jacen when you meet him, Jaina. He'll need it.”
“Of course.” Jaina replied, and then a moment later: “How in the hells did you make them, Miat?” Though it does at least explain where she spent all of her time and how readily she assented to let dad pilot her ship, Jaina thought, somewhat surprised that she hadn't realized what Miat was doing, herself, considering their closeness.
“All clones end up with unique personalities,” Miat replied somewhat distantly. “But those who have the knowledge of the force remembering details, skills, traits of that which went before. That is part of what drives a clone of a force user mad when created improperly. Pellaeon, of course, learned a lesson from the fate of his own mentor, Grand Admiral Thrawn. There were no mistakes made in my.. Birthing. Yet I remember these things, and one of them is how to make a lightsabre, a true and proper one as were made by the Jedi in those days in which my previous incarnation, if you prefer, lived.”
“I understand. But why now? You seemed almost disdainful of the lightsabre before.”
“I disdained to have one because one was not needed then. Now I desire one, because it shall be needed. Of that I am sure.” Miat smiled again. “And with that unfortunate digression into my past, I shall leave you for the moment. I have fallen behind on my time for meditation, these days.” With that, she turned away from them and left the ship's cockpit once more.
Han looked to his daughter. “Are you absolutely sure that she's sane?”
“Absolutely.”
“I'm glad someone is.”
“She seems to genuinely regret how she was created, but she can't help it, dad, and she's still a person, in fact, she seems to have almost a quest for greater individuality because of it. Don't hold it against her—she's right about Pellaeon learning Thrawn's lesson, for one—and give her a fair chance.” Jaina did not know how right—and how wrong—she was about that quest, but the point stood irregardless.
“We don't have much choice, so I guess that settles it. But I'm not going to stop worrying until I see Jacen alive and well with very my own eyes.”
“You've got yourself a deal there, dad.”
“Fine. Then which of the worldships is it, kiddo?”
Jaina stepped over, smiling to herself at her father's affiable gruffness, and brushing her hand through the relevant worldship before putting in an order to the sensor computer for the ship to keep a specific tab on it. “There you go.”
“Good. I'll start planning for a way to get at it.. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” Jaina nodded, accepting her father's natural degree of paranoia about Miat even as it was dismissed from her own mind. “Alright then. I'm going below, too. We've got some time to kill, after all.”
“That's for sure,” Han muttered as he turned his attention to tuning up the laser signallers to contact Jag and Shawnkyr, Jaina already leaving behind him. The next few days were going to be the longest in his already exceptionally eventful life.
CINCMW Flagship,
Torpedo Sphere Ulaumai,
Klingon Homeworld of Qo'noS.
“Your Majesty, the enemy fleet has been cleared away from Qo'noS orbit. Our torpedo spheres are now entering firing range against the planetary defensive shields. It appears that the rebel forces have not had enough time to upgrade the defences; they consist of nothing more than interlocking theatre shields. A massed bombardment by all two hundred torpedo spheres of my central shock force is ready to commence a concentrated fire against the shield over the capital city of Klinzhai. I await your further instructions, Sire.”
Grand Admiral Inaras knelt before Emperor Hamner I, dressed in a white version of a Grand Moff's uniform bedecked with gold epaluettes. The Emperor was silent, contemplative, taking his time. There was no hurry, after all, the enemy fleet—scarcely more than a thousand ships, most of them pitifully armed—having been routed in their final defence of Qo'noS, which effectively ended the resistance of the final pocket of enemy forces in the Milky Way. The fleet was still fighting, however, but was badly attrited and could no longer defend the planet. All the defensive platforms had been destroyed and the desultory fire from the surface was not making an impact on the massed fleet.
It was time to implement Harlann's plan. Inaras would be quite furious if he knew about how it had been privately proposed by his nominal subordinate, but he did not, and would not. Hamner knew the man had rescued him, and so did not give him to much power—lest he get ideas—but his intelligence and usefulness was undeniable. Inaras would command the fleet, but Harlann was and would remain its 'God of Operations.'
“Destroy Klinzhai as soon as the shield is down, Admiral. This is Our Will.” Hamner stated firmly. “Make sure the deep bunkers containing the rebel leaders are completely destroyed, but do not bother with the destruction of the rest of the planet or the landing of troops. We also desire for your fleet to cease pressing against the enemy starships; just hold them at bay as the bombardment proceeds.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. But if I may humbly inquire, why are we to not finish off the rebel fleet, Sire?”
“We desire their surrender. Offer them favourable terms—pardon and parole—if they surrender their ships intact. Any sabotage should result in a most heinous punishment, make that very clear. Once their leadership on the surface of the planet is destroyed, We are quite convinced that they shall accept these terms, for their purpose in fighting is gone. Execute these orders at once.”
“I Obey, Your Majesty.”
The hologram blinked out without a further response, and Grand Admiral Inaras rose and strode back onto the flagbridge proper. “Signal all torpedo spheres to concentrate on the theatre shield over the Klinzhai metropolitan area,” he commanded. “Turbolasers to stand by against the shield generator, all ships fire independently on detecting shield flucuations. As soon as it's down, code Theta Delta Epsilon is to be implemented.” He concluded, officers already moving to implement his orders, signals being dispatched. The order was one for a limited operation to destroy subsurface structures—the Imperials knew where all of them on the surface of Qo'noS were, of course—and melt the surface in a specific area above those structures, more or less a truncated BDZ operation.
They had endured more than five hundred kamikazi ships, plus many improvised ones and small vessels and fighters trying the same thing, but the full strength of the Imperial assault force had guaranteed that the rebels were unavailing even through the use of such desperation tactics. There were now at best three hundred enemy ships operational and they had been pushed to the outer fringes of the system by skirmishing lines as the main fleet destroyed the orbital defensive platforms and moon installations (the remains of Praxis had been turned into a fairly impressive fortress, which now no longer existed), leaving the planet below all but helpless.
Now it was time for what the Emperor had deemed would be the finishing blow. Two hundred torpedo spheres opened fire as one, concentrating on an area of not more than 5,000 square kilometers. 100,000 torpedoes a salvo fell in against the shield every half-second, battering it with an intense force against which only a few dozen defensive turbolasers and ion cannons could return fire. Some of the Torpedo Spheres suffered damage from these, mostly shield attrition and some temporarily disabled. Their numbers and the strength of the jamming against the targeting sensors for the defensive weapons largely negated their effect, however.
For fifteen minutes the awesome bombardment continued. Three million proton torpedoes hit the theatre shield. Scanners were constantly analyzing the shield, judging weak points, every ship waiting for the chance to fire. It was seriously overtaxed now, and the temporary failure was a spectatular one; the whole shield briefly failed, and part of a salvo got through, even as the targeted turbolaser fire of several Torpedo Spheres did succeed in hitting the generator. As they did, further salvoes of proton torpedoes were coming in.
Klinzhai ceased to exist. The torpedoes which struck it had the force of their detonations focused downwards, annihilating the underground shelters for the populace even as the bleed-off of their impacts annihilated much on the surface. Then the turbolasers began to fire, and the effect was simply magnified. The proximate result was that the surface of the planet was melted to a depth of several hundred meters in an expanding area. More and more turbolaser bolts hit the surface, causing deeper and deeper damage and vapourizing much of the lava into a cloud of steam that would roil through the atmosphere and do further damage. Earthquakes expanded outward from the sight as the whole stability of that tectonic plate was seriously compromised.
Under this barrage the underground shelters were annihilated. They lasted for a while, the deep shelters for the government, certainly longer than the shelters for the population at large. But the fire was focused, and the effect eventually became very deep. As a great sea of lava nearly 900 kilometers in size ultimately formed on the surface of Klinzhai, the rebel political leadership which had maintained their loyalty to Sule until the bitter end was destroyed in a flash of incoming energy. Several hundred million people on the surface of Qo'noS were dead or in the process of dying above their silent tomb.
Rano Inaras waited a while after the ships had ceased to fire, making it clear that they did not intend to conduct a full BDZ operation. Then he sent Hamner's message. The environmental damage to Qo'noS was quite severe, far worse than even after the destruction of Praxis, but the Empire had sent a message by not destroying the planet entirely, and it now remained for the surviving fleet to heed it or not. Inaras did not fully understand Hmaner's reasoning in bothering to spare those trifling ships, but he obeyed, and certainly the Imperials in the fleet now put themselves to reconsidering, as did most of the hangers-on who fought for reasons other than their country and honour. Most of the surviving Klingons chose to try and flee, but the rest of the intact fleet accepted the terms, and even a few of the Klingon ships.
Harlann watched from his flagbridge as commander of the fleet mobile forces on the Battle of Bajor. He was expressionless, mostly, over the hours of the surrender negotiations. But at last he smiled grimly when he saw that there were enough surrendered ships—of the right type, and with the right sorts of believable battle damage—for him to execute the next phase of the operation. Neither Hamner nor himself intended to stop with just the Milky Way, and it was Harlann who would make that possible, and soon.
FSC-1104, Scouting Force
Bimmiel System.
“Of all that's holy...” Commander Keralas looked at the displays on the frigate's bridge in awe as the readouts resolved themselves into data from the passive sensors. It was a feeling that no-one could really understand, save the commander of a stealth scoutship like himself, as submarine vessels had been on the oceans so long ago. The feeling of your data displays suddenly unveiling around you a fleet of five thousand enemy ships—of which you were in their exact center—manoeuvring placidly around you, as you sat in their midst, undetectable.
Duty, of course, snapped back to the foreground after that moment of natural awe. “Any sign—any sign at all—that they've detected us?” It was almost redundant, for if they had been detected, they would surely be dead by now. But Keralas asked it anyway as he thought over the situation for a moment.
“No Sir. They're sittin' pretty out there.” The sensor bank officer reported after a moment.
“Almost a shame we found such a concentration,” Keralas' XO muttered a his side—the enemy fleet had arrived so suddenly that they'd been caught at Condition Two, and he hadn't left the bridge yet for the second control center which was his post at Condition One. “Fifty or sixty, now, and it might be worthwhile to put a spread into one of the big ones. Here, it's just hopeless to try. Ah well.. With your permission, Sir?”
“That's for sure. We've got a bigger job to do anyway,” Keralas answered with a vague frustration, then, a moment later: “Oh, of course. Get to your duty station, Mark.” He watched his XO go for a moment, thinking about how annoying it was to be unable to go after the enemy; the dictates of prudence here were, however, rather obvious. “Very well.” He said to himself, and then clasped his hands behind his back and turned to address the whole of the bridge. “We must maintain an absolute minimal-emissions regime until the enemy fleet passes, while keeping up passive sensor surveillance the whole time so that we can plot their hyperspace destination, assuming they leave—if they don't, we'll have a bit of dancing to do.” A nervous chuckle reverbated through the bridge ever so faintly. “At any rate, Condition One will be maintained, and from here on out, we only manoeuvre if in danger of collision. That's all, gentlemen.”
The whole crew of the FSC-1104 'enjoyed' a tense fourteen and a half hours with the enemy fleet in their direct vicinity in the Bimmiel system. They were naturally quiet even when they didn't have to, fear and nervousness worked silently in the men during their long wait. The outer portions of the hull were evacuated and cooled down to further minimize emissions, even environmental systems were cut down to a minimum, the reactors were running on the lowest power settings possible. No Vong ships discovered them, and thus did they live. Time was passed in quiet ways, most of the men at their stations for the whole duration, running systems checks out of sheer boredom on the behest of officers who did not want them to be idle lest it let them dwell on the danger far to much.
Fortunately it did not last for all that long. Fourteen and a half hours of mental agony passed by with inextricable slowness, but then the Vong fleet began to align. Keralas watched intently on the displays, knowing it was a run-up for the jump to lightspeed, hoping their tracking would be good enough to peg the destination. The Vong were clearly concentrating almost the whole of their fleet in the Rim, which meant they probably expected to face much heavier opposition than they had originally planned on—that is to say, that the invasion of the Imperial Remnant had been transformed into an effort to seek out the main force of Sule's Empire and engage it in a decisive battle which would determine the course of the war.
Their job was to survive and report, nothing more, and in doing so they were performing an infinitely more valuable role than a small frigate could otherwise hope to offer in such a conflict as was coming up for the Imperial Starfleet. The key, however, was to make sure that they got the data down which make that report so valuable. This was the tensest moment in the life of the chief sensor operator. Everything was made ready, as perfect as could be, and double-checked again, and again, until they ran out of time. The Vong jump to lightspeed, their ships vanishing in a flicker of pseudomotion. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief as soon as they were told the Vong had left the system, save for those sensor operators, now hastily checking their data.
“What is the estimated Vong destination?” Keralas asked sharply the moment he finished sending the announcement over the ship's intercoms that the Vong fleet had left. The silence after the question was asked was just as tense as the danger they had been in before, which would turn out pointless unless the answer was positive.
“Dantooine,” a lieutenant called out, turning to his ship's Captain. “Dantooine, Sir, with ninety-three percentage probability.”
“Astrogation, prepare for the jump to lightspeed. Comms, ready a burst transmission at once. We send it, and then get out.” There was still the local system defence forces the Vong had here for them to deal with, after all, but they were in the wrong place, and Keralas was certain they could signal and then leave without any appreciable danger. What happened after that was up to the Emperor.
Intergalactic Portal
Milky Way Terminus.
The terminus was the last fortified point in the Milky Way held by Sule loyalists. It prevented Hamner from interfering with the operations in the home galaxy and enforced the threat of a counterattack against his nascent rival Empire. But it was not invincible; a major siege could reduce it, and Hamner did indeed have the resources to conduct such a siege. But it whittle away at his forces and use up valuable time which could better be used for raising the forces of those his rival had alienated in the other galaxy, and that meant that some other form of seizing the portal was absolutely necessary.
For all that they were in a great deal of danger in truth, no discernable threats had taken place to the installation to date. They knew it would change sooner or later, but the quiet was most deceptive. Sooner or later Hamner would attack, he would have to even to defend, for without holding the portal he would have no real way to resist the material strength of the home galaxy. Only that chokepoint could block a major Imperial effort, and possibly not even that would be sufficient. Yet these were secondary troops, and the steady stream of reconaissance and infiltration forces heading to the Milky Way over the past weeks left their watchfulness rather degraded with overconfidence.
Not well enough to allow for a successful surprise attack, of course, but that was not what was about to happen... At first. The routines of the officers and men on the defensive stations and supporting vessels were, however, very much interrupted. Three hundred battered starships, a mix of Imperial and native models, arrived with a flicker of pseudomotion. The native ships were quite unusual, many of them having hyperspace tugs to tow them, others with drive slides attached some integrated in the place of cargo bays and so on, and they were a mix of dozens of designs. The Imperial ships were more uniformly patrol frigates from the outer fringes which were officered by supporters of Sule and had succeeded in defecting to the defensive forces around Qo'noS without difficulty.
It seemed obvious, of course, but the stations still went to the highest alert, fighters were launched and patrol squadrons mustered. Somehow, part of the defensive fleet around Qo'noS had managed to escape after the fall of that planet, and sought out the last refuge available—successfully. This did not bode well for Hamner, if it was confirmed. The force had lost all of its commanding officers, and the situation seemed very confused. At last, however, the garrison commander of the defensive fortresses got in touch with a Captain who appeared to be in charge.
From one of the VSDs in the center of the fleet which bore little battle damage a message resolved itself into a holographic image which made the old General stop short. There was something undeniably familiar about that man, something that could not help but make him feel uneasy. “General, Sir. This is Captain Harlann Quir of the Imperial Starfleet. I understand that there are some quite valid concerns about these squadrons under my effective command, but I believe I can put them rest—unfortunately, only to your superiours, Sir. I have a sealed message which I'd like to transmit to Grand Admiral Kalar-Leben at once, if you would be so kind as to allow me?”
“We'll have to read it first,” the garrison commander answered, quite suspicious.
“Understood, Sir. We'll hold position until we receive a reply on the matter. Transmitting... Now.”
“Receipt is acknowledged. Stand by.” The garrison commander, on receiving the message, began to immediately read it. There was something about this situation...
Dear Elise.
I apologize for the unusual way in which I am contacting you. I know I have been out of touch for a long time. As it happened, I did not die at the Dark Belts, but was instead taken prisoner by the Dominion. Sadly, Imperial forces did not reach us before the majority of the crew of the Ashanar perished. I survived, and have remained in captivity since. It is an unfortunate occurrence which took place in the late action, but I know you acted with the best of intentions at heart, for the greater glory of the Empire.
“Emperor” Davion made a series of agreements with the surviving resistance groups, including the one which still held me prisoner. I was released as part of these agreements and offered a position in Davion's Imperial Starfleet. This position I accepted, and it allowed me the opportunity to effect my escape and aide the escape of a considerable number of loyalist forces in the Qo'noS area. Because of this fortuitous event I come with a considerable amount of timely intelligence data regarding Hamner Davion's intentions, and request permission to speak with you and His Majesty the Emperor in person as soon as possible.
Sincerely,
Harlann Quir.
The message was sent immediately, flagged Urgent.
On the bridge of his temporary flagship, Harlann turned back to a man masked in the shadows, a Starfleet officer in the resistance. “Your boarding parties will have their chance soon enough now, Captain. I am quite sure of that.” It was just a matter of waiting until he could unleash them—as useful and expendable as clonetroopers—and it really was quite suitable to even the balance when it came to betrayal, wasn't it?
Ord Mantell Orbit,
Imperial Starfleet
The Despot.
“With the latest information from the FSC-1104,” Elise was explaining calmly—and perhaps a bit fondly, for she was a frigateer at heart—the situation with the massing Vong fleet, “we now know for certain that a Vong force of close to thirty-five thousand starships is being concentrated at Dantooine. The actual figure is probably closer to fourty thousand starships. We only have twenty-six thousand with the main body at current, Your Majesty, but we have full stocks of the x-ray warheads for our missiles, which should considerably reduce the effectiveness of the Vong defensive black-hole system. Furthermore, of course, we have a far superiour concentration of heavy ships. There are now twelve Executors with the fleet, along with three Superiour-class, eighteen Shockwave-class, and more than three hundred Allegiance-class Star Cruisers. The Vong, on the other hand, lost many of their heavy ships in the engagements of Corellia and Talfaglio.
“In short, Your Majesty, we're facing somewhat long odds here numerically, but these are the best and most homogenous forces we've had as the backbone of our Starfleet since Second Coruscant, and they're veterans in heavy fleet engagements, trained together, and experienced in fighting with each other, and we've finally evened things out technologically, we maybe even have the edge in a ranged engagement now because of the nature of the Vong ships. They can concentrate hundreds of thousands of patrol ships like they're doing and it simply wouldn't matter. None of those vessels can put a dent in an Allegiance, let alone an Executor. We shouldn't let the numbers deceive us, we quite possibly hold the advantage now in firepower—we have more Victory-class Destroyers in our fleet now than all of our frigates combined. There's no reason for us to wait for reinforcements from the various national contingents. Most of those ships aren't that compatible with us operationally, and don't add any appreciable firepower. As it stands, if we act now we may succeed in engaging the majority of the Vong fleet before the rest of it arrives—the hyperspace lanes from here to Dantooine are good, and it will take us six hours at most to make the trip and deploy the fleet.”
“That's all well and good, Elise, but I want Pellaeon's opinion before I commit to that course of action, and he's in communication with the Corporate Sector Authority at the moment,” Sule replied.
“Very well, Your Majesty,” Elise replied with a faint sigh, and returned to studying the strategic plots. They had to strike now, or else the concentrating Vong forces would—no matter how weak the individual ships—reach a numerical strength that would force them to delay for a great deal of time as they concentrated all the national contingents and occupation forces in this whole swathe of the galaxy to meet them. Not only that, but the Vong would be left in control of many planets and vast swathes of others if the fleets were taken away to be concentrated with the Grand Fleet itself. That would give them time in which they could continue to conduct mass slaughter and infections of the population, irretrievably. Certainly such a delay would thus cost billions of lives, and force Base Delta Zero operations against dozens of additional worlds besides.
“I don't doubt your arguments, Elise, but this is the main body of the Imperial Starfleet we are risking, and it is healthy to get a second opinion on such matters.” A light chuckle as the Emperor patiently his friend, and awaited for Pellaeon's return.
Something else happened, first. One of the officers in the plot room walked over to Elise, saluting and speaking to her quietly. “Admiral, there's a message for you, marked Urgent, from the defensive installations covering the Milky Way terminus of the portal.”
Elise straightened. “Odd. Your Majesty, a moment, please.”
“Of course.”
Elise stepped over to one of the consoles lining the room and sat down at it, reading the message as it scrolled across the screen, short and blunt, just like she remembered. Than she read it again. And again. And again. Just sitting there, in silent shock, doing nothing but reading the words over and over in perfect disbelief. At last it bothered Sule enough that he approached, placing a hand quietly on the back of the chair and looking down to the screen.
Elise looked up with a start. “Sule. He's alive. Harlann. My old XO and chief of staff during my days with the Ninth Destroyer Division.”
Sule leaned down and read the message himself. Then he read it again, too. “I don't like this,” he said at last, suspiciously. “Don't get your hopes up, Elise.”
But before they could continue the conversation, Pellaeon arrived in the room, bowing to Sule. “Your Majesty?” he asked, with perhaps a trace of curiousity at what Sule and Elise were doing hunched over at one of the consoles like that.
“Grand Admiral, it's good to see you back.” Sule replied, straightening and stepping over to him, then gesturing to the plot. “What's the Corporate Sector's commitment?”
“They've agreed to conduct a full offensive as long as we undertake to recognize their tax immunity. Six Imperators and two hundred and four Victorys, plus an equal number of armed lighters. They'll be hitting a fairly weakly defended area of Vong space—which is conveniently important for trade, from their perspective—so they're willing to risk it as long as we maintain an aggressive fleet posture, which I promised that we would.”
“It was a good promise to make,” Sule answered. “That's exactly what Elise is advocating right now. We have indications that the Vong are massing around Dantooine; perhaps as many as fourty thousand ships altogether. She thinks we have sufficient firepower and have negated their technological edge to the point where we can reliably attack despite the numerical disadvantage.”
“We can.” Pellaeon answered simply. “May I see the latest scouting dispatches?”
“Of course.” Sule stepped back from the side of the projector, which Pellaeon stepped over in turn and became to manipulate, bringing up the data.
“Hmm. Yes, it's only six hours to Dantooine from here, and if these position reports are correct we may be able to have up to four hours to hit at their fleet when a quarter of it still hasn't arrived yet. Even at full strength we can test the matter with a long-range missile engagement using our new warheads, and see if it's worthwhile to close; if we have to withdraw it can be done without great harm to the fleet at that point. I'll begin formulating the attack plan at once, Your Majesty, if you wish.”
“Do so, Grand Admiral. The fleet shall leave as soon as you deem it feasable.”
“Of course. Thank you, Your Majesty.” He turned to Elise. “Admiral? I shall need your assistance.”
Elise got up, but instead of going straight over to Pellaeon paused by Sule for a moment and whispered to him. “Well, what shall I do?”
“To be honest,” Sule answered, “It's not that important compared to the battle planning. But if it will ease your mind for the later, let him through with a small escort. We'll detail the rest of the survivors to form the extreme outer perimeter for the defences at the portal, where their reliability will not be a great issue.”
“Thank you. I'll issue orders to the garrison commander to that effect as soon as we're done with the planning for the engagement,” Elise replied, feeling as relieved and alive as she could remember since that dark moment on the surface of Coruscant when she had learned of the death of her family. Fate most surely worked in strange and mysterious ways, its wonders to perform.
De Imperatoribus Galacticis will continue in Chapter the Twentieth.
