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De Imperatoribus Galacticis

"On the Galactic Emperors"

Chapter the Twenty-Seventh.

(As continued from Chapter the Twenty-Sixth.)


R.N.S. Lusankya
Irregular Coruscant Orbit


They had docked with the Lusankya only by the greatest of luck, amidst the hail of fire directed against her by the desperately trapped ships of Sule's fleet. Both Han and his son were quiet, tense, as they navigated through the battle and to the ship upon which Leia Organa-Solo stood her ground and fought for the future of the Republic. Tens of thousands of ships and millions of starfighters held their places and fought bitterly over Coruscant. The scene could only remind one of the great battles over the battered world during the Imperial Civil War. No mere hit and run like the Separatist attack which had prestaged the declaration of Palpatine's Empire, it was a hard fought battle to the end.

Now it was clearly ending, though, even if it might be hours or days until the fighting stopped. A significant portion—nearly half—of the Imperial fleet, though a far lesser amount of its firepower, to be sure, was trapped, cut off from the rest by the coalition forces which at once defended and blockaded the planet (for a bloody conflict was at that moment being waged on the surface, with a dubious outcome, just as it was in the sky above). This meant, inexorably, that the Imperial fleet was being defeated in detail, that those trapped ships were being compressed into a steadily smaller pocket and pounded unceasingly, even as the ships of Inaras' squadrons were suffering heavily themselves in their effort to keep the bulk of the Imperial starfleet from breaking through to its trapped companions.

Han and Jacen could not quite understand why Jaina had sent them when the circumstances, it appeared, had turned out so victorious. But at last Han, with his usual suspicion, guessed on something that made sense enough. “It looks like Admiral Ackbar has already bought the farm, kiddo,” he said rather grimly, “That means that the Lusankya essentially carries the whole concentration of the old Rebel leadership that is left. If Hamner attacks this ship the moment Sule's forces have been defeated he could decapacitate the Republic; only Bel Iblis would present a threat then, and he's not exactly very popular these days, to say the least.”

“That's probably it,” Jacen agreed with some reserve. There was no telling what his sister was doing, now. He couldn't really feel her anymore, and it saddened him, though it seemed now to be inevitable. He did not doubt that she was right, he just doubted that all of it was possible. Save, perhaps... But he dismissed the thought.

They arrived on the flagbridge. It was a scene of organized chaos as Wedge Antilles directed the remaining Republican forces of what had been the starboard flank of the entrapment force against the killers of Admiral Ackbar. Elise Kalar-Leben—the curiously cheery lunatic of Leia's meeting with Sule—had swung her ships around to face this portion of the fleet, to screen Pellaeon's effort to break through. They were battered, badly damaged ships, now, and the Republican heavies on this side were hitting them with everything they had. Several of them appeared to be near destruction, despite the great bulk and power of the Executor design.

“Han... JACEN!!?” Leia Organa-Solo stared at her son in shock, a delighted shock as though he had been raced from the grave. The exclaimation made Wedge glance from the holoprojector for a moment. When he looked back, there was a small, tight smile at the moment of the reunion upon his face even as his attention was once more fully focused on the battle ahead.

Mother and son embraced, tightly. The moment seemed like it surely should never end, and for several minutes they just held each other, Leia crying in delight, delight at her son's return on the eve of what seemed to be the salvation of the Republic. It was the most perfect moment in all of her life and mind was fixated upon it as that, for all of the time that it lasted, a blessing, a miracle, the impossible effort of her daughter bearing fruit.

At last, though, she noted a conspicious absence, and asked quietly, as though a loud voice might bring bad news, “where's Jaina?”

“Diplomatic mission to Baron Fel,” Han replied laconically, telling all and nothing at the same time. “That crazy Jedi lady of Pellaeon's is dead, but she's fine. I guess she went to try and stop him from intervening in this mess.”

“About time my daughter did something diplomatic,” Leia smiled brightly. The moment was complete; no fear, no losses for this miraculous gain, indeed, even a potential danger removed. It was as storybook as their incredible victories had been before.

But when history repeats itself, it does so as farce.

Jacen gently interrupted the moment. “Mom, we've got to prepare to get out of here. Jaina.. Jaina sensed something very bad about this battle, before she left to go speak with Baron Fel. We need to get out of here, as soon as possible.”

“Hamner Davion is going to backstab us the moment he's finished off Sule,” Han clarified, as he'd worked out, and it seemed good enough for him.

It was completely out of touch with the moment, so it brought Leia up short for a moment, as she thought on the matter and on the danger which had just been prevented. “I'll go tell Wedge to prepare for the fleet to break clear the moment the battle is won,” Leia replied at last. “That's the only way I'm leaving, anyway.”

“Well..”

“Alright,” Han added at once, before Jacen could dissent. Why leave now, after all? He couldn't think of a good reason, Jedi warnings included. They'd bug out with the fleet, and the fleet to provide the firepower for their escape. He wasn't going to risk all of their lives in this mess of a combat, not now, not without the Falcon at least, and stuck in a little stealthship.

“Good. I'll tell Wedge right now to begin preparing a bug-out plan,” Leia said, her old determination fully restored as she walked over to the starfighter General.

“Wedge, we've got some trouble. Jaina has brought news through Jacen and Han that there's going to be some serious danger, either to the fleet or to my life personally. Han thinks Hamner is planning a double-cross. Can you get the fleet arranged for a bug-out if that happens? Not until after we've won over Sule's forces would be it be possible, of course, so we just need to implement it immediately post-victory if the slightly thing suspicious happens.”

“This battle isn't over by a longshot,” Wedge replied, frowning. “Though I can spare some of my staff to draw it up quickly, and we'll improvise beyond that if we need to. Damned shame about Admiral Ackbar—I'd trust him more with this. But we don't have a choice..” He sighed. “Okay.”

Then all hell broke loose.

Abruptly, a great number of additional contacts appeared on the holoplot behind the main body of the Imperial Fleet. Thousands of them.

“INCOMING! We are detecting close to six thousand destroyer type vessels! They're.. They're Venator-class destroyers, General! Coming in fast and broadcasting Imperial recog codes!”

Wedge Antilles looked to Leia grimly. “It looks like your daughter had another threat in mind, Princess.”

Leia was silent with the shock of the moment; and then, when her went to where those ships might have come from, logically, to fear.

The alternative, mercifully, never crossed her mind.


Coruscant Orbit
Imperial Frigate FPC-1167
Former USS Enterprise-E


“Incoming! -- Imperial transponders, on all of them!!”

William Riker somehow had survived. His ship was one of, what, a dozen, a hundred? that had survived; he wasn't sure. They were forming up with about twice that number, so far, of frigates, when death came around them in every direction.

Thousands and thousands of uniform red-and-gray ships that looked like products of the Kuat Drive Yards, but of an entirely new design. Or an old one. Bigger than the Victory-class, smaller than Imperators, but these monsters were tremendous in size and they were all around him, just dozens of kilometers off and driving in hard.

The Enterprise was out of torpedoes, but her shields had entirely recharged. There was only one hope—escape through the fleet as it charged past, because it was as clear as all hell from the transponder codes they were receiving that these guys weren't friendly at all, and the situation had suddenly taken on a dreadful and desperate tone for the Separatist Alliance. “Maximum impulse!” Riker shouted. “Take us clear for the outer system!”

The Enterprise accelerated even as the fleet around them realized that they had close to three hundred hostiles now essentially in their midst. The order was given to commence fire immediately, even as hundreds of thousands of starfighters were being launched. Eight thousand starships raced up to relieve Sule's fleet, and fling a second wave into the attack to break through Inaras' blockade around the trapped half of the Imperial fleet. They did so with a crisp precision and certain elegance, coming up fast even as the huge bays of the Venators unleashed 400 starfighters each; in total some 2,450,000 starfighters were launched from the whole of Baron Fel's fleet, pouring out in one vast stream which headed straight in against Hamner's blockade, all of excellent Chiss design.

For a moment nobody was shooting at the Enterprise; then it seemed like everyone was. For some splendid reason they did not die with the first broadside. “Return fire!” Riker ordered; there was nothing else to do, now that his hope of escaping without an exchange was gone. “Evasive manoeuvres, but get us out of this concentration fast!”

The Enterprise did indeed race clear. For a moment Riker's mind was filled with jubilation; somehow, again, they had managed to survive. Something of the Milky Way resistance would, at any rate, make it out of this terrible clash of great fleets. But then the rear batteries of the massed Venators locked in on the few of the straggling light which had managed to get through, and commenced with massed salvoes, no need for caution when they were to the stern of the fleet and there was no chance of a friendly fire incident, and every reason to fire rapidly to destroy them all before they got out of range.

Riker's jubilation vanished, of course, when he died, and the Enterprise died around him, in a brilliant flare of plasma and combusting anti-matter, torn apart by innumerable turbolaser bolts from the heavy batteries of the Venator-class ships now already quite distant up on ahead of the grave of the Enterprise, doomed to drift in shattered pieces and vapourized metal in orbit of a foreign star, forgotten in a clash of mass destruction and mass death which far outweighed the simple notation of the loss of another obsolete and tiny frigate. Other things were being destroyed here, far greater than that.


The Conquérant
Irregular Coruscant Orbit


“The conning tower shields won't hold for much longer under this kind of concentrated fire, Admiral,” Elise's Chief of Staff said quietly. “I suggest you evacuate to secondary control in the hull.”

“The shields are of such strength, Captain, that they make the conning tower much safer than even the interior of the hull.” Elise spoke, her eyes lit by the fires and plasma venting out from along the ravaged hull forward.

“But they're near collapse, and we can't spare power from anywhere else.”

“I...”

“Admiral! Contacts coming in to our stern quarter—eight thousand ships exiting hyperspace! They.. They have Imperial transponders, bearing regular recognition codes for the forces under the command of Grand Admiral Thrawn. Just like our own.”

Elise's attention was now drawn entirely to the plot. There she brought in a highlight on the fleet which had just arrived, and appeared to be now cleaning up the remnants of the light ships which had ambushed Pellaeon to create the disastrous situation in which they were now in. They were also launching starfighters in absolutely staggering numbers, and that meant... “Venator-class ships,” Elise said after a long moment, and with a relieved mutter, almost a moan. “Oh... It's the Condominion's fleet. Has to be.” It was like all the exhaustion of the knowledge of doom had at last gone out of her.

“We're picking up the feed from the broadcast of the arriving fleet commander to Grand Admiral Pellaeon,” Hallsburg reported.

“Put it on for me.”

Elise watched as the two men spoke to each other. Pellaeon on one end, and Baron Fel on the other. Obligingly, Fel obeyed Pellaeon's command to bring his full strength up for a general frontal attack, with the faster starfighters forming a first wave to which the capital ships would be the second. And all the starfighters that there were... Even as the two men confirmed their battleplans, the numbers easily exceeded two million and continued to climb, until nearly two and a half million starfighters had been launched, and they were all of designs that Elise had not seen before; large and impressive snubfighters to say the least.

Abruptly their chance to relieve the increasingly attrited half of the fleet had been restored; they could break through the blockade with that kind of strength. And that meant that Elise needed to pay attention to the pressing situation of the ships under her own command; a fact which was confirmed the moment that Pellaeon finished his communication, for he then at once commenced a holo-communication to Elise's flagship.

“Elise, I want the Despot and the Conquérant out of the line now; your ships are barely in one piece, and the Emperor's life is in grave danger. Quite frankly, you're to badly damaged to contribute to the battle, and we don't need you anymore to break through. Get out while you can. Transfer immediate command of the remains of your group to Rear Admiral Qureson on the Star Lord. I'll integrate the trapped portions of your fleet element with my own when we punch through.”

“Of course, Sir—on all counts but the last. Qureson's command will be temporary. I'm transferring my flag to the Inexorable, and I'll reason control from there, including of my fleet element once the blockade has been broken.”

Pellaeon knew better than to argue. “Agreed,” he said with a moment's hesitation only.

“Very well, then, I'll attend to these matters at once.”

Elise immediately cut the channel and instead brought up—flatscreen communication only—the Captain of the Despot. “Captain. Turn away from the engagement immediately and make your way clear behind the protection of the Baron Fel's fleet forces. Your ship is near destruction as it is, and with the Emperor aboard you cannot afford to be in the line anymore. Ignore any command from him, no matter how it is worded, and if you are forced to explain yourself, tell His Majesty that he can take it up with Elise Kalar-Leben when the battle is over!”

The Captain came to attention and saluted formally, and stiffly. “Of course, Grand Admiral. I will withdraw at once.”

Elise cut the channel without another word, and then brought up Rear Admiral Qureson, on one of the surviving Shockwaves. “Admiral, you have command of the group. Both the Despot and the Conquérant are being withdrawn from the action now that Baron Fel has arrived. I am transferring my flag to the Inexorable. Once it is transferred I will retain overall command of the fleet element, and you shall report to me. Until then you are operating independently as the left-flank guard.”

Another crisp salute. “I understand, Grand Admiral. We've been preparing here for any eventuality and we can take over force control immediately with my squadron staff. Good luck.”

“Good luck to you too, Admiral,” Elise answered and cut that channel as well. The ship shuddered and slewed to the starboard noticeably as she did so; but she managed to avoid from falling outright. Straightening, she looked around at the nervous, tense flagbridge crew that comprised her staff. “Turn it off and pack it up!!” Elise shouted. “We're going to the VIP shuttle bay; it's still intact. We're transferring to the Inexorable--NOW.”

Elise spun on heel and began to stride for the turbolifts at the back of the flagbridge. At once everyone on the flagbridge was coming out of their chairs, unstrapping and getting up, grabbing hardcopies of the fleet data and stuffing them into attache cases, just in case a data-link transfer was not possible on account of jamming or, god forbid, the loss of the Conquérant, and then heading right along with her. A half-dozen or so managed to get into the first turbolift down with her; the others followed in the rest of the turbolifts of the bank, and in more cars as they were shuttled in by the computer to respond to the demand.

Elise settled on the back wall of the turbolift, braced against the railing that ran around it with her hands behind her, gloved, gripping hard onto the surface as the massive ship around her shook. Then, in a heartbeat, there was a particularly violent shock, and the power briefly failed, before it started back up again, noticeably dimmer, and their trip continued.

“What the kriff was that?” Someone muttered to no-one in particular inside the car.

“That was the whole kriffing conning tower going,” Elise replied in a matter-of-fact voice. “I figure the last car got out with, oh, twenty seconds to spare. The Captain's probably dead, but,” a gesture to the computer readout which showed where the tubes were still functional to. “Either the Executive Officer or the Chief Engineer is now conning the ship just fine, and,” a wane smile. “I can feel us accelerating clear.”

A few seconds later, in a turbolift filled with much more relieved personnel, strangely, than it had been, they arrived at the VIP bay and the doors opened. Elise was the first out; the rest of the alternatively stunned and determined flag staff following her out of the various turbolift cars calmly, toward a group of three assault shuttles and five assault gunboats which waited, the former to carry them and the later as a meagre escort, kept on hand in this bay precisely for the sole reason that they might be needed to effect a transfer of the flag in the midst of battle, as was now the case.

The leader of the assault shuttle section was outside of his craft, pacing, when he saw Elise arrive, and came to attention, saluting crisply with his helmet tucked under one arm.

“To the Inexorable, as quickly as you can!” Elise shouted and gestured sharply with her right arm, brushing past him to stride up the lowered boarding ramp of the central assault shuttle in the group.

“Aye-aye, Admiral!” He replied, pulling on his helmet and toggling it into locked position as he ran up the ramp himself, and raced past Elise to the cockpit of the craft, even as she was busy strapping herself onto one of the acceleration couches which lined the spartan troop compartment of the assault shuttle. It took two minutes at most for the shuttles to be loaded. The hatches were closed immediately and they accelerated clear of the bay, onto the horrid spectacle of the heavily damaged Conquérant clawing her way free of the battle on only three intact engines, plus thrusters, trailing a field of debris and plasma, conning tower a blacked ruined, the whole forward superstructure smashed flat, armoured slopes cratered viciously as though the ship had become an asteroid.

Elise could only barely make out the Despot, and she indeed seemed to be even worse off. It was a sight that filled her with fear; but there was no time for that. The shuttle was racing up toward the Inexorable, which still had a little general shield strength length and was still on the front line. The fire was flung hot and heavy through here, and two of their assault gunboats were vapourized by a heavy turbolaser shot, but steadily they closed with the other great Executor-class ship. And then the most marvelous thing happened.

All around, space was flooded by Chiss-built starfighters, trefoil heat-exhaustion panels marking their long divergence from Imperial design, inspired by the TIE Defender only in the most vague sense, all of them with crews of two and a great and powerful engine capacity. They raced in to close with the Separatist fleet and begin their attack runs, innumerable quantities of the light snubfighters heralding the way for eight thousand capital ships to follow them on in. The tide of the battle was turning, but it was hardly decided.


Baron Fel's Flagship
The Cunctator.


Vice Admiral Kyshalara, from the harsh set of her face to the severe cut of her hair, was every inch the grim, proficient tactician. Not with the flair of Thrawn, to be sure, but she had in her the ability to certainly put forces in the places where they were needed, with the minimum in excess manoeuvring, and this was what she was accomplishing now, as she arranged the fleet to support the areas of Pellaeon's forces which needed to be supported, and concentrated the rest of it into a striking arm to break through the Separatist blockade of the rest of the Imperial starfleet. Having argued against this mission, she nontheless executed it to the best of her ability, with every hallmark of a true professional at the art of war.

For the moment, however, the heavy forces of the Condominion were not yet engaged. Her plans, being executed and constantly refined as they were issued, were almost noncommitally based on by Baron Fel; but they were not yet being executed, and it was Baron Fel's task which was immediate, and constant. The ISD Mk.III on which they were on was of the command ship type, with expanded bridge control facilities for a flagship. From these Baron Fel was now directing the operations of close to two and a half million starfighters which were engaged in a general combat with the Separatist forces. They had so far accomplished much, by his careful dispositions and instruction, but alone they would not turn the battle.

Instead, the Baron Fel was concentrating on weakening the blockade as much as possible. Each wave of starfighters raced through, loosing their warheads, and then passed cleanly through the whole of the blockade to sweep into the embattled Imperial ships beyond, clearing Hamner's starfighters which were hounding them, and launching local counterattacks on Separatist taskforces which were pressing particular weak points, strengthening the resistance long enough so that the pocket could hold out, and thus be relieved.

Brooding, looming over all on the bridge, however, was Jaina Solo. She paced back and forth, nervous Imperial officers wondering at her intention during this engagement. But she said nothing, and had done nothing since aiding Baron Fel in arranging the destination plots for the reversion from hyperspace before they had even left the Hand. She was simply There, and her mind was for herself and for no-one else. Equally concealed were her purposes, when she had turned against her family and aided the Empire; surely the stated purpose seemed insufficient? But perhaps it was not. The galaxy had been torn by war for nearly a century, and it yearned for peace. But peace would come only way, through the blood which was being spilled here.

The weight of the fire of Baron Fel's capital ships would soon be felt. They were now manoeuvring to take up the positions designated by Vice Admiral Kyshalara. All around the central core of Pellaeon's fleet, six Executors and three Superiours, were forming up close to six thousand entirely fresh destroyers. As each squadron in turn entered its designated position, it commenced to fire. Embattled flank-guards fell back, and fresh taskforces and flotillas took their place. Kyshalara's plan was simple and in a moment it was approved by both Baron Fel and then Grand Admiral Pellaeon. Elise's remaining heavy ships would initiating a cutting maneouvre across the left flank of the blockade force, while the combined forces of Pellaeon's heavy ships and Baron Fel's destroyers would commence a direct frontal assault. As Elise's ships drew the fire of the Republican heavies, the combined central force would punch through and relieve the pocket. Elise's remaining ships would then swing through the centre of the combined force and withdraw out of it to recover, save lucky Inexorable, sufficiently undamaged that she would assume the role of flagship for the pocket forces.

Then something happened which appeared, at the first onset, to change everything. One minute the ship was slowly making its way clear of the field of battle. The next minute, it simply blew up. The Despot's damage had gone out of control, and there had been scarcely enough time to commence an evacuation. The whole fleet saw it and was demoralized by it; they knew that it could mean only one thing, that the author of their cause, Sule I Tienyz, was dead. He surely must be, and it raised a host of issues which could not be solved in battle. The spinning debris of the Despot heralded not just personal tragedy for those lost, but perhaps for the whole of the galaxy, of countless more years of civil war, chaos, rivalry, and general death. For a moment everyone was in shock by the simplicitly of the event, when the ship had seemed at last safe, before it was overcome by the compiled and compounded damage which it had suffered. But gradually the great and tenuous severity of the situation forced Action upon the minds of the men who fought here today, and for none did it occur that there should be negotiation or surrender; but chaos was another threat entirely..

The shock of it meant it was taken matter-of-factly at first. “The Despot has been lost!” One staff officer exclaimed.


“She does not figure into our tactical planning anyway,” Kyshalara replied laconically.

“That.. That was the Emperor's ship.” Someone else said; and another person swore.

Jaina had stopped pacing, and remained standing still on the bridge. But it was not because of the news that she had heard, though indeed she had processed it and understood what it meant. It was because of something else.

”Jaina... Oh, Jaina.. Don't worry. This is the last piece... A ruler who grows up accustomed to the sanctity of the Orders. You know what to do, now. Bring to the fore a new generation, without the corruption of the old.”.

”Miat? Miat?! But; I can't see you, or feel you.

I'd just be a distraction right now; you will speak to me again, and many other things. But now—you understand what I mean?

Jaina mastered herself, silent the whole while, and impressed upon herself the need for exerting the greatest force of Will possible to control her own emotions in this moment and focus on the cause for which she had become devoted.

”Of course, I understand.”

”Good; the Emperor has a heir, an unborn son. Elise Kalar-Leben is the executor of his testament. Arrange what must be arranged.”

”The boy will need a tutor.. Miat.” She said the name just to say, it really.

”Vergere.” Miat replied, and seemed to fade away.

When Jaina turned about, the Baron Fel and Grand Admiral Pellaeon were having a heated discussion over the holonet. The situation was somewhat stabilized as Baron Fel's destroyers continued a massed barrage, but it was clear that the momentum had gone out of their attack and indeed out of the whole fleet. She strode without a second thought into the feed, standing next to the surprised Baron Fel.

“I have foreseen this,” Jaina said flatly, a term necessary enough at the moment. “The Emperor has an unborn son; there will be no civil war, no disputed succession. You men shall form the core of the Regency Council. If you do not believe me, contact Elise Kalar-Leben. She is the executor of the Emperor's will, and she knows of his unborn child.”

“Make the connection at once,” Grand Admiral Pellaeon ordered, and Baron Fel nodded his assent.


The Inexorable
Irregular Coruscant Orbit


Elise breezed her way onto the flagbridge of the Inexorable like a tempest, trailing staff officers in her wake.

“Signals for you from the Baron Fel's forces,” a young, aristocratic-faced female lieutenant with dark hair but bright eyes approached, and saluted, offering of a copy of the message on a stylus, which Elise read through in a heartbeat.

“Yes, we can do that immediately..” A pause. There was something familiar about that face... “What's your name, lieutenant?”

“Huavara di Kuat, Admiral,” she replied half in awe, and then added a bit sadly—for that matter, she seemed to be somewhat distracted the whole time: “I'm Director Mystrela di Kuat's grand-niece.”

Elise brightened perceptibly at that. “Stand next to me, kiddo, and hang on. We're going to cut the cloud, so to speak. Your Grand Aunt was a good woman and I'm glad to have accounted her as one of my closest friends.” A pause: “You joined up as a student-volunteer after she died, didn't you?”

“Yes Admiral, three years engineering school, so I was given a direct commission.”

“Good.” Elise glanced over to Hallsburg. “Got the comms set up and running, Commander?”

“Yes, Admiral!”

“Then patch me through to Admiral Qureson on the Star Lord!”

“Coming through, Admiral...”

The image of Rear Admiral Qureson resolved itself onto the screen before Elise as she settled down into the command chair, Huavara di Kuat grabbing onto the left side armrest to steady herself—for the Inexorable was still under fire—and obeying the eccentric request of her eccentric commander.

“Grand Admiral Kalar-Leben! It's good to see that you've made it through alright.”

“Thank you, Rear Admiral. You've received the instructions from Grand Admiral Pellaeon?”

“Yes, Sir, but... We have urgent news!”

“If it doesn't supercede these orders, it isn't urgent. Does it?”

A grated, nervous response: “No, Sir.”

“Then execute them at once. We're going to 'cut the cloud'.”

“Of course, Admiral,” Qureson replied, mastering himself, and snapping off a salute before he cut the channel peremptorily.

At once, the squadron began to advance on the left-right evolution in echelon to swing along the firing arc of the Republican heavies. The Inexorable, Achille, and the Shockwaves and a gaggle of destroyers and light ships which made up of the force was a poor excuse for the heavy assault group which had once existed here, but it would be sufficient. Immediately an intensification in the fire directed against them was noted, and it was replied to eagerly by the massed batteries of the ships, an electrifying and aggressive movement by this fleet element which to some extent revitalized the fleet through which rumour and speculation were now raging.

And then the news finally got back to Elise. Or, more precisely, she noticed herself as she studied the holoprojector, that something wasn't quite right...

“Where is the Despot?” She asked almost second-hand, concentrated much more thoroughly on the events ahead of her, where her ships were heading.. And on what appeared to be the lack of action from the central fleet forces. If that kept up for a while longer, Elise's exposed position would become untentable, which would not be good at all, and was her main concern at the moment; she was already contemplating sending an angry message off to Pellaeon.

“Admiral,” Huavara began, strangely gently. “The Despot was lost to uncontrollable internal damage as she withdrew.”

Elise didn't speak. Instead she just reached out and grabbed onto one of Huavara di Kuat's hands in her gloved own, grasping it tightly. “Strange, how fate works...”

Much, much more alert: “Get me Pellaeon, now..!”

“A message is already coming through from the Grand Admiral; he wants you on holonet, Sir,” Commander Hallsburg replied, his voice seeming to carry the cold sweat of his body with it.

“Put it through.” Elise did not even bother to take her hand from Huavara's. She couldn't. She just stared at the images of both Pellaeon and the Baron Fel. But there was someone else there, too, black-cloaked and red-haired.

“You are the executor of the Emperor's will, yes?” that third person, standing next to the Baron Fel, asked.”

“Yes,” Elise answered automatically, without even really realizing it.

“And he has an heir?”

A pause, fumbled, reinterpretated, but that was answered to.. And for a long time in the future, Elise would never know for sure if she had been under Jaina's influence or not. “Martina is pregnant, yes.”

“Well, then, it appears that you are a Regency Council,” Jaina said softly. And then, louder, firmer: “Now go fight.”

For the two Imperial officers it was a done deal. For Sule's friend, it was another matter entirely. She looked on into Jaina's infinite eyes, and for a long moment just stared. Then she nodded a single time. “I've already put my ships in motion. Support me, Pellaeon, and we'll carry the day.”

“Of course,” he answered with a bit of deference, for the exact political situation was now unclear.

But to that, Elise just added something harsh, other, irrelevant and vastly important as well: “Martina will head the council.”

Jaina nodded, and then cut out the transmission of her own accord. There was nothing more to say.

It was a glorious moment. The fleet, shocked at the death of their leader, was reinvigorated by the bold manoeuvre of Elise's, so exposed to fire as her ships were, and cutting such a daring, aggressive stroke through Rano Inaras' defences. Just when it seemed that the assault would turn into a futile, suicidal gesture through lack of support, the whole of the centre force advanced forward at battle flank acceleration. Inaras' blockade, without the support of the heavy guns of the Republican ships on the Left, was outgunned six-to-one, and that firepower was concentrated almost entirely in fresh ships with fully charged shields, against vessels battered and damaged by hours of combat and constant massed starfighter attacks.

As it thus came to pass, Sule's death served to preserve the aspirations of Hamner Davion for fifteen minutes longer than would otherwise have come to pass; though the confusion it briefly sowed in the fleet, before Elise's act—be it born of suicidal despair or a desire to honour the memory of Sule, or of some eldricht force, or of simple inertia from the orders having already been issued—galvanized the crews into action once more. Inexorable and Achille were under as heavy of fire as they had been before, but they survived, portside guns dueling with the Republican heavies all the way in. Nobody in the fleet could fail to miss it, who had access to any kind of sensor, and word spread quickly. Then the general advance followed.

Two fleets collided and the thunder of conflict followed at its closest intensity. The missile launchers of the Venators were fresh, and they provided a bountiful accompaniment to the engagement of the turbolaser batteries, even as Hamner's hoarded missile stockpiles quickly proved insufficient for the task before them. Quickly whole squadrons began to concentrate on enemy ships and begin heavy, directed fire upon them, and the Separatists would find a dozen vessels firing against one of their own, simultaneously, even as the big Executor and Superiour-class ships of Pellaeon's central force proved sufficient to destroy whole hosts of destroyers by virtue of the great power of their concentrated main batteries, fire going from one to the other and to other, smashing them all, sending charred hulks spinning off under the force of thousands of turbolaser bolts striking home within a fraction of a second, of continuous bombardments of tens of thousands of concussion missiles.

For a while the unequal contest was maintained by the desperation of the ships under Inaras' command to make something of their apparent advantage, which had evaporated so rudely with the arrival of the Baron Fel to aide Sule's cause. Rano Inaras was a competent commander, and he was duly blessed with an iron gut. He stood firm, directing the action from the Uluamai, right at the centre of the line, torpedo salvo after torpedo salvo issuing from her tubes, aided by the maximum rate of fire from the ion cannon. In this fashion the torpedo sphere, for a while, held off several cruiser formations with the support of the surrounding ships. But in choosing such a vessel as his flagship, Rano had made it impossible for himself to retreat.

It was also fairly obvious, by that point, from the electronic warfare analysis and from the positioning of that torpedo sphere, that it was an important command vessel. Thus it was natural that Elise made it her first target of priority.

Elise herself was sitting slumped forward in her command chair on the bridge of the Inexorable, holding Huavara's hand clasped between her own two gloved hands. She looked more like a broken down drunk than a Grand Admiral; but every command that she issued was perfectly competent, as she studied the holoprojector with a half-lidded gaze, observing what was happening and peremptorily issuing directives for the group of heavies under her effective control.

“All starboard firepower should be directed against that torpedo sphere,” Elise said, bringing it up in an expanded view on one part of the holoprojector image of the battlefield and highlighting it; that required but one hand to leave Huavara's, and then only for one minute.

“At once, Admiral,” Commander Hallsburg answered, sparing a glance to that dissolute, depressing sight, which nonetheless represented the whole courage of the star forces which now fought, bundled in that pallid and raven-haired form which, in this moment, seemed so old and nearly used up. Yet Elise had always persevered; she would not have even met Sule without that sort of dreadful, mordant, indomitable perseverence. It had dragged her out of the mud once, long ago, and here it preserved her courage and her competence.

Many of the bolts struck and blasted through lighter ships in the path. Some missed. Many more struck home, and soon Rano Inaras' flagship was under the heaviest of fires from the two Executors and their attendants, a third of their batteries concentrated on that single ship. It was clearly untenable, and Rano knew it; but he also knew that his flagship was to slow to escape. And so, showing the courage that the man was possible of giving forth, even though his honour had been betrayed by sweet words and the fatal flaw of lust, he stood his ground, made no attempt to pull his flagship back, or to seek shelter. In doing so, he gained another five minutes for Hamner Davion, a noble gesture that was empty to the vanquished and the dead, but recorded for history nonetheless.

For those minutes, Rano Inaras lived and the line held. One Shockwave under Elise's command was lost to the fire of the Republican heavy ships. The fire against Rano's flagship briefly slackened, but that reduction in the barrage against it was insufficient. The shields of his flagship soon collapsed and the massed turbolaser fire tore into it constantly. The hull was soon rent through, damage to every quarter. Critical systems failed, and the weakness of what was in essence just a heavily modified bombardment platform was soon shown. Once the powerful shields were gone, the hull was a thin shell that the great hammers that were the main batteries of the battlecruisers rapidly hammered to pieces. In one bright moment of radiation and plasma, it was over, and Rano Inaras (though not the poisonous woman who had seduced and strangled his loyalty, for such is the way of such people, when even their fallen victims may yet show honour) was dead.

With the death of Hamner's ranking commander, control of the fleet effectively devolved upon General Antilles and Admiral Harlann Quir. But neither of them could reestablish control of the blockading forces in time. This was not a battle to the death for many involved; in a hopeless situation they fled, rather than surrender, for there was no danger of the savage inhumanity of the Vong if they surrendered. The ships broke and tried to make their retreats independently in the most heavily affected sectors, and with that collapse, the situation was abruptly reserved for the two sides. Pellaeon and the Baron Fel rushed through to the relief of the ships trapped in the pocket, and Elise's quiet commands brought the dismissal of the majority of the heavy ships under her command, now all of them battered near to as badly as the Despot had been, save her own Inexorable, shieldless but effectively undamaged, which proceeded through the centre of the main fleet formation, shields recharging, to assume its command position for the survivors of the pocket. She had lost a fourth Shockwave, but she had done her duty, and now it was not the Imperial fleet cut in two, but the Separatist fleet.

Kyshalara's plan to gain a decisive victory meant that there was no waiting here, no pause in the intensity of the combat. Instead, the core forces of Pellaeon's heavies and the Baron Fel's destroyers immediately pivoted, passing through the battered ships of the pocket in a dangerous evolution, two fleets of thousands of ships interpenetrating with each other, traveling at thousands of kilometers per second and often passing by only hundreds of kilometers distant from each other. There were two fatal collisions, and several minor ones, the stars radiation which showed the death of their crews by carelessness or simple bad luck adding more to the horrible toll of the field. But it served its purpose; the Imperial fleet was reoriented against the right flank of the Separatists in just a few minutes, and charging on against it, as what had been the right flank-guard of the Imperial forces itself was being reformed into a scratch pursuit squadron under Pellaeon's directives.

The fighters were flung forward enmasse without time to refuel or rearm. Baron Fel knew that it would be a terrible price to pay on account of this among their ranks, but it had to be done. Everything counted on the maximum force being directed against this half of the enemy fleet, in the least amount of time. It was the half bereft of most of its heavy ships, thanks to Elise's early action, and thus the most vulnerable to the massed fire of the battlecruisers and the destroyers. With the pivot complete, onset commenced immediately, and Pellaeon guided the ships in close, where their cannonade began to have a devasating effect on the battered ranks of Hamner's ships.

Hamner, recalling the occasional success of weaker parties which had succeeded in closing to melee range, ordered his ships to press in closer, as close as the Rebels had put their fight to the touch at the Endor. Closing the gap, however, proved a terrible sacrifice as his ships rushed in against the organized formations of the enemy, putting out excellently aimed massed fire at close range, all concentrated against singular ships; the numbers of the right flank had been so reduced by that point that the issue of the battle was clearly not in doubt on this side.

But a vigorous counterattack from the left flank might have caused trouble. Here, only the ships which had been in the pocket remained, all equally damaged and battered as their foes, and under Elise's command, in the lonely Inexorable. This was not to be. The rats were fleeing the sinking ship; the rag-tag collection of people with grievances who had fought in Hamner wanted no part in a mad, desperate assault to expend their own strength, to dubious effect, with the goal of salvaging his cause and in the process quite possibly ruining their own. Thus it was that Elise's forces were now scarcely engaged, suffering through only a desultory bombardment at considerable distance. The Separatists were at the breaking point.


R.N.S. Lusankya
Irregular Coruscant Orbit


Disaster on every side. The blockade shattered and annihilated, ships fleeing the action, whole contingents breaking loose and fleeing, now, and Hamner's forces on the verge of collapse. Jacen realized now that his sister had failed—or, more darkly—or succeeded in her task in the Condominion, whatever it had been. He had suspicions, to, that she was close.. Close enough for it to mean only one thing, only one location. But they were suspicions and he did not voice them, not now.

“It's clear that Jaina saw that this was possible,” he said at last, breaking through the reverie of his shocked, even devastated mother. “And something happened in her mission to halt it; though I believe she is okay and alive.”

“Well that's good,” Han muttered. “Damn stab in the back,” he added softly, shaking his head twice and looking on at the forlorn hope of the fleet as the taskforces of Sule's advanced toward glory and victory and the prize of control over a whole galaxy.

“We must preserve the fleet of the Republic,” Jacen continued, addressing Wedge now more than his own mother. “We can hold the Outer Rim if nothing else.”

“You're right. We've got to break off now, before they can swing around and organize a pursuit,” Wedge concluded at Jacen's words, and he didn't waste a second after that. “All taskforces under our control—commence a general withdrawal en echelon by taskforce to work our way clear of Coruscant's gravity well. We should prepare for a hyper-jump to reserve concentration point JTRY-076, and final directives for the general withdraw of the fleet will be issued then.”

It was done. With the order to execute an organized retreat on the part of the left flank forces, they had preserved themselves, but doomed Hamner. There was no hope for his cause now, and as the minutes passed and it became clear that what Wedge Antilles had ordered was a retreat, even Hamner realized this, and he at once made preparations to escape. At the same time, Elise watched the Republican vessels and those aligned with them, and the others which had simply decided to retire in concert with them, or obeyed out of habit, and let them go. She did not have the ability with her battered ships to pursue, nor did she really have the energy. She sat slumped, gazing with mad eyes at the holoprojector, and simply watched them go as her ships held station, guard against a threat that was no longer present while Pellaeon and the Baron Fel pressed on for the honour of the victory.


Hamner Davion's
Imperial Flagship.


The two men raced, along with the Romulan ambassador (and functional spy chief of the group), to reach the shuttlebay, where a skipray blastboat was waiting with a pilot to take them clear. A mixture of stealth and speed would surely suffice to escape this disaster. But not everyone was going to leave this ship alive. Harlann Quir did not even think twice about it. After all, there were many, many people on this ship he held in higher esteem than the tool of his own ambitions, pitiful man that he was, and of those he had decided to take at least one.

Hamner Davion was very much surprised when the woman dressed in an ISB uniform stepped out from behind some crates of fuel cells in the bay, just twenty meters from the skipray blastboat and safety. “There isn't enough room for you,” he barked, forgetting his Imperial dignity in this time where survival was everything.

As he was distracted by the woman, though, Harlann Quir drew his blaster and in one swift motion blasted out the back of Hamner Davion's chest cavity. The pretender dropped dead, without even enough time for a look of surprise to form on his face. As his body relaxed into the usual human squalor, Harlann Quir looked over and smiled fondly; the Romulan ambassador at his side making no comment, save for, at best, a small smirk of amusement at how things had ended.

“Veli Kuisa, I do believe there is a seat waiting for you aboard.”

“Thank you, Harlann. Let's be about it, then, we don't have much time.”

“Of course.” Harlann bowed, stepped over the corpse of Hamner Davion, and followed by the Romulan ambassador, walked to the Blastboat, piloted by one of his own men, of course, and boarded it along with the ambassador, and Veli. At once the craft was sealed, and an accelerated emergency battle-launch was initiated. The blastboat was quickly lost in the background noise of the great battle going on all around, and, indeed, in the destruction of Hamner's flagship which followed little more than eight minutes later, as the pursuit forces fell amongst the broken and fleeing remnants of his forces like wolves upon sheep. With the usual pursuit of the swift light forces, the war at last ended.


The Inexorable
Irregular Coruscant Orbit


Many ships were destroyed in their efforts to flee by the pursuing lights. Hamner's fate was uncertain. The rest of those that failed to escape surrendered, of course, and it had taken a single, peremptory bark from Elise over the holonet to guarantee them the excellent terms which Sule would have guaranteed them. Soon there was nothing left to the battle. A few pockets of dead-enders being cleaned out by long range missile bombardments, and the surrender negotiations between Baron Fel and the forces on the surface. Bel Iblis had surfaced out of some nook or cranny of the Separatist regime to negotiate for them, and Elise had made a last suggestion, “co-opt him,” to Pellaeon and Baron Fel, and then shut down communications. She would take no more messages, nor send any, save for one.

For about twenty minutes she simply sat on the bridge of the foreign-seeming flagship, sometimes idly gazing at reports on the progress of damage control on the Conquérant, gloved fingers stroking in a somewhat unpleasant way across Huavara's bare hand. When Elise seemed content that the Conquérant would survive, she got up. “The Flag Captain shall be in charge of fleet operational details until further notice,” she said, and recorded it for the log. Her Chief of Staff assented, and took up her post, as she turned, tucking Huavara's arm under her own, like a gentleman leading a lady to a dance...

“Come on. There is something I need to do.”

“Ah.. Admiral?” Came the querrelous voice, uncertain of what Elise intended.

“I must send a message to the Empress.”

A dread silence fell, and Elise let it hang, and then at last broke it herself. “I want you there, Huavara di Kuat, so that I can look at your face while I write that letter, and imagine—no, delude myself, through a living picture--that I have more than one friend left alive in the whole universe; and she has just lost her husband.”

In silence once more, the two left the flagbridge.


It was a day later when Martina arrived from Kuat. She, to, arrived in silence; but the moment she was on the Inexorable she moved like a demoness through the corridors and the turolift connections, her guards barely keeping up, such that might reach the spartan quarters which Elise had received in the VIP section of the vast Executor.

A strange scene it was. Elise and Huavara were by that time quite drunk, and indeed there were kegs of Corellian Whiskey seeming to be strewn about the place; most, at least, were unopened.

“You sot!” Martina snarled, even as she choked back sobs. “I can't even join you, for the child, and when Sule has died the first thing you can do, the only thing, is drink yourself into a stupor?”

“It's an affectation of the lower classes,” Elise replied bitingly, seeming not drunk at all.

“And who's that, then? Some pretty lieutenant to amuse your night with while you wait for me, when my bed shall be cold and empty forever!?” The tears came freely, now.

“Huavara. Is. Mystrela's. Grand-Niece.” The clipped, bitten words were delivered harshly despite the betraying sympathy in Elise's eyes.

“Hullo!” Huavara spoke up then, equally composed as a drunk, though much more as an exertion of self-control than Elise's familarity with the whole concept. “We've talked a lot about you.. Elise says it's like old times. Care to join us?”

That, at last, broke through Martina's anger. Crying, she seemed to almost sag down, eyes wide and filled with a black despair; that, yet, a glimmery of hope broke through. “A friend and a ghost of a friend. Good company, I suppose.”

At last, Elise held the final card, and it sealed the deal. She produced a hypospray, with a half-crazed grin. “Doctors obey Grand Admirals. This will protect the baby.”

And so did two friends and the ghost of a third drink together; for two or three days, it scarcely mattered. They had been the center of the universe, and they would be again; but for those days, they were just two lonely friends, and the awkward ghost of the third. Empires wax and wane, states cleave asunder and coalesce, and through it all, the lives of the mortals in their grasp go on; where the states themselves ebb and flow like the tide, this thing has always been the constant of human society, and always will be.





De Imperatoribus Galacticis will conclude in the Epilogue

It's almost finished! Amazing!