Star Wars: Broken Empire

[Esquire]

Recycling's a beautiful thing.

[masterarminas]

Chan Palomar smiled as Zsinj’s attack force suddenly altered course and began to launch their own snub fighters—they had apparently just detected the wall of TIEs heading in their direction. “I do not think they were expecting that, Commodore,” he said.

Abril nodded. “It is an impressive sight, Commander. Well, Chyrs, they fly straight anyway,” he said to the SFS liaison who had shuttled up to join the defensive fleet.

“That they do. I cannot believe that someone just mothballed so many war droid brains—you know I found an entire warehouse down there with them thrown in and left to rust?”

The Commodore frowned and then he shook his head. “We still have a few minutes before they get into range—Tan Stele, I believe it would be best to slave each of the droid squadrons to your pilots; do you agree?”

“Affirmative,” the comm unit spat, but Abril noticed that Chyrs suddenly sighed. “Squadrons? Ah, well, the thing is . . . I haven’t assigned them to squadrons . . . yet. Prototypes, you know.”

Every officer on Ascension’s bridge simply stared at Chyrs and she shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting to throw these into battle—they will respond to your orders, but as individuals. It was that or use a central droid command unit, and that hasn’t worked out well historically.”

“Commander Palomar, open a channel to the droids. All Golem units, follow instructions from Gold One, designating now,” Abril said as he highlighted Maarek Stele’s TIE Avenger and then the comm system went crazy. Twelve hundred droids received the order and ALL of them immediately replied with “Roger, roger,” on the exact same channel and nearly at the same time, creating a cacophony of noise that lasted for almost six full seconds.

Abril glared at the fighter liaison. “Exactly what kind of droid brains did you use?”

“What I had available—they are from something called a B-1 series II Battle Droid.”

Abril sighed and he shook his head. “And you put ALL of them on the same comm channel, with no hierarchy?”

The woman squirmed. “That’s what field testing is for, to find out where we need to improve, Commodore. I wasn’t expec-. . .,” but Abril interrupted her.

“To take them into combat. They are going to clog up comm frequencies, some terrible.”

“Commodore, let’s try this,” said Maarek Stele as the distance between the two opposing forces rapidly fell. “All Golem units, DO NOT RESPOND by voice; acknowledge all further orders by blinking your navigation lights. Implement.”

And twelve hundred TIE Interceptors and Bombers blinked their lights in unison. Stele chuckled. “It’s all in knowing how to talk to them, Commodore. Deploy in attack pattern Theta and prepare to engage the enemy,” he ordered . . . but nothing happened except a sudden blinking and twinkling of lights.

“Oh,” said Chyrs softly. “I haven’t uploaded standard Imperial formations yet. They don’t know what attack pattern Theta is.”

Maarek bit back a curse, and he snapped out another order. “All Golem units, engage the enemy!”

And the hostile fighters merged with the defenders. Abril winced as Zsinj’s pilots tore into the droid fighters—each of whom was shooting full-bore . . . but taking no evasive actions. “Chyrs,” he growled.

The woman leaned over a control panel and she shook her head. “I don’t know why they aren’t maneuvering! It’s like . . . oh god. They are trying to deploy in line abreast and just advance—they aren’t programmed for evasion! Who builds a droid brain that doesn't have dodge as a basic program!” she wailed.

The Empire’s preeminent ace sighed as he banked his Avenger—at least the sheer numbers were having some effect on Zsinj’s own fighters, but the droids were easy prey. “All Gold, Obsidian, Jade, and Rainbow elements—fly top cover for the droids. All Golem units—target nearest hostile capital ship and set intercept course at maximum speed; engage target as you close, and then ram your targe. Acknowledge.”

Hundreds of droid fighter blinked their nav lights. “Execute. All other fighters, let’s keep the Eyeballs off their backs and then we follow them in. Attack pattern Delta-Four.”

Back on Ascension, Chyrs jerked upright. “Ram? RAM! He’s throwing them away!”

“Madame Offal, you can build more. All ships, follow the fighters in—concentrate all fire on that Torpedo Sphere and then take the Star Destroyers.”

Officers and ratings sprang into action and Chan Palomar walked along the catwalks to stand behind the gunnery stations. “All ships have acknowledged, Commodore.”

“Very well, Commander. Let’s get it stuck in, shall we?”

[FaxModem1]

Well, that's one way to phase out the old tie fighters.

[masterarminas]

Vice Admiral Janos Mycien snarled as his fighters ripped into the leading edge of the defenders and dozens of TIE Interceptors exploded in the first pass. He had not expected such a large number of fighters, but his own forces had over a thousand of their own. Morvin might outnumber him in fighters, but that would be no advantage once his capital ships ranged on the Yards and the Depot Planet. He shook his head as still more of the defenders were shot down and then he frowned.

“Commander, why are they not evading? Those fighters are ignoring our fire, soaking it up and they just keep on coming—it is like they are not concerned with their own deaths.”

“The TIE Avengers are evading, along with those new bombers and the gunboats, Admiral,” his executive officer answered. “But the Interceptors and standard bombers are not . . .,” his voice trailed off. “Admiral, could they be drones?”

“Drones?” Mycien repeated and then he cursed. “Order our fighters to concentrate on those Avengers—they are the threat. If the rest of that force is drones, well, our ships can handle them easily.”

And suddenly, the ordered lines of the lead interceptors split and broke, accelerating to maximum speed on an attack vector straight for Mycien’s ships. “Admiral,” the XO began.

“I see it. Have the escorts concentrate on the fighters—Morvin’s ships are nearly in range, and I want my full firepower focused on them. The fighters are nothing.”

Bolts of turbo-lasers erupted from the escorts and still more explosion tore holes in the precise formations of fighters bearing down on the attackers—but still they came, their numbers reduced, but they still closed, hundreds upon hundreds of them. The TIE Interceptors shielding the heavily laden bombers trailing behind with their own lives. Mycien’s flagship—the Tector-class Star Destroyer Carnage—opened fire as the enemy capital ships closed the distance, and it shook as only a handful of bolts struck him back in reply.

“They are concentrating on the Torpedo Sphere, Admiral.”

“Have our Destroyers take up station on the Sphere to shield it—and hammer them.”

Mycien shook his head. You do not have the firepower to stop me, he thought, and then he frowned. The fighters were still advancing, and had increased their acceleration to maximum. What the . . . and then he blanched. “Shift all fire to the fighters! They are kamikazes! Shift all fire to . . .,” and Carnage lurched as the first wave slammed into her hull. Her shields were strong, her hull armor intact, and each of the impacts was only a pinprick—but there were dozens, scores of fighters firing non-stop as they closed to smash into her hull, their own mass and velocity battering away at the shields and armor. And then the TIE Bombers arrived, salvoing their entire payloads of missiles as they dove down into the hull and their own fiery destruction.

Carnage heaved and the lights flickered. “Shields down!” the XO yelled. “Main engineering reports primary reactor off-line; weapons off-line!”

Mycien looked up in horror as he saw another fighter accelerating directly towards the bridge; he didn’t have time to run as it slammed into bay windows, no longer shielded, and the bridge erupted in flame and the gale-force rush of atmosphere being drawn into the vacuum.

[masterarminas]

Of the twelve hundred droid fighters and bombers defending Ord Tanis that day, only four hundred survived to take the plunge into the hostile capital WarShips. But along their way, their unwavering, almost constant, stream of laser fire had cut a wide swath through Zsinj’s own fighter screen—and the TIE Avengers led by Maarek Stele had pounced onto the rest with a fury seldom seen. The combination of the kamikaze’s, aimed missile and laser strikes by Stele’s manned fighters, and the concentration of fire of Jonas’s ships shattered all of the plans that the enemy Fleet had.

Organized fire sputtered and died as every one of the attacking ships concentrated on trying to keep the droids from slamming into their hulls—and many succeeded. Of the two hundred and fifty Interceptors and one hundred and fifty surviving Bombers, less than a quarter managed to impact the hulls of the ships they targeted—that was more than enough.

The heavily armed Tector-class Star Destroyer shattered under their pounding, careening out of control, and organized, well-drilled squadrons of Starwings and Scimitars from Jonas’s Fleet swept in and finished the job with heavy missiles and torpedoes. Dozens of lighter ships simply vanished and the surface of the massive Torpedo Sphere was wracked in fire. Fire that only intensified as five Star Destroyers and their escorts of the Cyralis Fleet poured bolt after bolt into the massive vessel.

Despite the incredibly thick armor plating and heavy shields, no manufactured vessel could withstand the force of that assault . . . and the Sphere suddenly exploded as one its torpedo magazines was penetrated and the warheads detonated deep within the oblong hull.

But the casualties were not all one-sided, and Stele’s pilots—many of whom for which this was their first battle—suffered heavily. Superb found herself caught in a cross-fire between two of Zsinj’s surviving Imperators and a Victory, and while Taan’s flagship hammered them, her own hull was breached and shattered in hundreds of impacts and she vanished in an eye-tearing glare as her hyper-matter reactor took a direct hit. Mortally wounded, the Star Destroyer Harrow followed the example of the droids, and she slammed into the belly of a Secutor-class Star Destroyer . . . when the flash of the explosion faded, only debris was left.

Perhaps the enemy would have withdrawn, but the artificial gravity wells prevented the ships from jumping to light speed, and both sides redoubled their efforts to break the other. Ship after ship staggered out of the conflagration, streaming atmosphere and debris, and yet the fighting went on and on and on.

By now, the remaining fighters on both sides were spent, and on his flag bridge, Commodore Jonas ordered Tan Stele to withdraw to the Yard and rearm—Zsinj’s fighters found no such respite. But even with the destruction inflicted on the enemy, the Cyralis Fleet was painfully outnumbered and slowly the attackers began to gain the upper hand.

Until the promised reinforcements suddenly appeared in their rear, yanked out of hyperspace by the artificial gravity wells, and already well within engagement range. The relief force was led by three fresh Imperator- and one Glorious-class Star Destroyers, along with forty escorts, and it proved too much for the battered and broken ships Zsinj had assigned to this attack.

They scattered, breaking off and running at sub-light speed, crawling towards the edge of the gravity wells so that they might leap back into hyper-space and flee. Eighteen ships of Zsinj’s Fleet managed to achieve that—the remainder died well outside of the orbit of the Ord Tanis Yards. And of the ships under the command of Abril Jonas, the fifty-five who had stood their ground and fought with all their heart and soul in the finest traditions of the Fleet . . . only twelve remained. But of those twelve, three were the Star Destroyers Ascension, Invictus, and Fearless. Their hulls broken, their damage incredibly heavy, these three ships—and nine of their escorts—survived. Their sacrifice, and their fellows, saving the Yards (and the tens of thousands of civilian workers onboard) in the process.

[Crayz9000]

... thus proving the utility of "Ram them until they give up!"

[masterarminas]

Thom leaned on the edge of the holographic projection tank and he frowned as he considered what he was seeing, the words of his Fleet Admiral passing over him as he concentrated on what he saw there.

“. . . our losses, while heavy, are mostly off-set with gains in ships from Gaulus Sector and the defectors who have fled to our cause. Master Karyda believes that we might well be able to salvage two—perhaps even three—dozen of the ships disabled in the Ord Tanis system. But, for now, we have taken a large hit to our ability to conduct any offensive operations outside of the Cluster; though it could well have been far worse.”

“But why?” Conal Ise muttered. “Zsinj has lost almost every ship he sent against these targets, correct? I knew he was a vengeful man, but this? This . . . terror campaign makes little sense. Isard and the Ruling Council took their own losses, but they still outnumber his remaining Fleet strength—what does he have to gain?”

The Moff looked up and he nodded. “Exactly, General Ise. Oversector Quelli had an extremely powerful Fleet and Army presence—and he has thrown a third of that away. But in return, he managed to disable almost a fifth of the slips at Kuat, a third of those at Corellia, almost half of Fondor, a quarter of Loronar . . . he all but destroyed the Rothana Yards in their entirety, and well over two-thirds of those at Mandalore. Plus the strikes at smaller shipyards that were just as successful . . . Sluis Van, Sullest, Mon Cal . . . and his failed strike at Ord Tanis. He inflicted a grievous wound on the Empire with these attacks, and he DID manage to destroy nearly as many ships as he lost; but proportionally? He remains at a disadvantage to what Isard and the Council can send against him. We are missing something.”

Kell shook his head. “It could just be his pique—he’s always been known for his temper.”

“No, Kell,” Thom said softly. “Zsinj is head-strong and vengeful, but he is also very, very smart. He has a reason for why he struck where he did . . . it is up to us to figure out what that reason is. Why the shipyards?”

The High Admiral frowned and he considered the map. “As you said, Isard commands a larger force; by hitting the Yards he reduces her ability to build and repair vessels by . . . half? While his own industry in Quelli—particularly the Corporate Sector—remains intact.” But his voice held a hint of a question in it.

“You are wondering as well, aren’t you Admiral Morvin?” Thom asked as he smiled at his friend and Fleet Admiral. He sighed and looked at the map again. “Quelli has an excellent industrial base, but not of the sort needed for capital vessels. The CSA shipyards are designed for smaller craft—their large vessels all came from Corellia and Kuat. He cannot build new ships to replace his losses in Quelli . . . but he has enough forces to finish smashing Isard’s shipyards if he launches a second strike. Does he not?”

“That would be difficult, Moff Patrice,” Kell said after a moment. “Reports indicate that the Ruling Council has heavily reinforced all of the shipyards hit—except ours. If Zsinj tries a second strike, he will have almost nothing left to contend with Isard.”

“Ah, and where did the Council pull those reinforcements from, Kell?” Thom asked suddenly as his eyes grew bright and he stood up.

Every officer in the room, including Conal and Kell turned to stare at the projection where Thom had caused one system in particular to pulsate.

“That’s insane!” blurted Conal. “Coruscant is the most heavily defended system in the Empire!”

“Is it, General Ise? Where else are the ships and troops that the Ruling Council are deploying as reinforcements coming from?” asked Thom.

Kell shook his head. “Isard is already issuing orders stripping many Sector Fleets of a good portion of their ship strength—but those forces are all fairly small and need to be assembled into a concentrated Fleet before deployment,” his voice trailed off. “The Moff is right. The only deployable formations of any note—for a mass reinforcement of this size—had to come from Coruscant. She’s probably deployed eighty to eight-five percent of the Coruscant Defense Fleet. These new ships she is stripping away from her Moffs, they are probably heading to Coruscant to make good those losses.”

“And none of them will be on station immediately, eh, Kell?” Thom asked as he shook his head, admiration for the audacious nature of what Zsinj was attempting evident on his face.

“No. He has a window—a narrow window—in which he might be able to carry this off.”

“But the fixed defenses?” contributed newly promoted Vice Admiral Abril Jonas, his injuries from the Battle of Ord Tanis still very much in evidence with one arm slung in a cast. “Coruscant has the heaviest fixed defenses of any system in the Empire—and those cannot be deployed.”

Kell frowned and he shook his head. “And Zsinj knows those defenses, Abril. He commanded Home Fleet six years ago. He knows the weak spots, he knows where to come out of hyper, and he knows that they cannot be moved easily. I think Moff Patrice is right—he’s going all in and throwing the dice on being able to land a knock-out blow and seize the capital for himself. If he does that, and manages to capture and execute Isard and the Council, the Sector Moffs, Admirals, and Generals will line up behind him.”

Silence hung over the room. Thom nodded. “That is what he is planning—and he must be already moving.”

“Should we warn Director Isard?” Galen asked.

Thom winced. She blamed him for the advice which had led to this—apparently the woman firmly believed that you could indeed make an omelet without cracking any eggs. His last communication with her had been . . . cold to say the least.

But before he could reply, Kell was already shaking his head no. “Say what you will about Zsinj; if he is anything it is a planner. His only chance of pulling this off is to launch his assault before those ships recalled by the Council arrive—that means his Fleet is already in motion and he will probably be assaulting the capital within hours, a day or two at the most.”

“And if Zsinj and Isard grind their forces into dust over Coruscant . . . ?” Thom mused.

Kell nodded. “It is likely that BOTH will lose. The vast majority of the Moffs are following the Council only because they control Coruscant—if they each gut the others forces, someone else will make a play. Teradoc, Harrsk, and Kaine being the most likely candidates for such an action.”

“That is assuming that the Empire retains any control over the capital to begin with,” Thom said with a smile. “Where do the latest reports place the Rebel Fleet?”

"We show them massing near Kashyyk, in the Mid Rim."

“Where General Solo and Admiral Ackbar just successfully liberated the Wookie homeworld,” Thom said softly. “Through the Perlemian Trade Route, they could be over Coruscant in a day, perhaps two.”

No one spoke, although everyone was staring at Thom and the Moff chuckled. “Gentlemen, I do not think that they could hold Coruscant, but it is certainly a magnet to them, is it not? And they can perhaps ensure that neither Isard and her Council nor Zsinj interferes with us any further. If they arrive on time, that is.”

“Ackbar is too cautious,” Kell said. “That Mon Cal knows better than to risk the bulk of the Alliance Fleet—I was frankly shocked that he stood his ground at Endor.”

“But Solo?”

And the Fleet Admiral chuckled. “Point, Moff Patrice.”

Thom stood up straight and he nodded. “Very well then. Kell, see to strengthening the defenses at Ord Tanis—and Cyralis—as much as you can without weakening our overall strength for patrols in the rest of the Cluster and Lamaredd. Abril, once again, well done out there. I want you and Master Karyda to work on salvaging as much as we can recover and repairing our damage. Conal, Galen, I need you two to finish up the preparations for the summit next week.”

“We are going ahead with that?” Galen asked in an incredulous voice.

“We are. Gentlemen, the time is drawing nigh when we will be forced to make public that we are no longer part of Palpatine’s Empire—or Isard’s or Zsinj’s or anyone else’s. The risks are high, but that comes with the uniform we wear. And the charge laid at our feet of protecting our citizens from predation. Let us hope that once this madness is past, that we can restore unto OUR Empire a measure of the honor that it should have had.”

And one by one, each of the men, the senior advisors to Moff Patrice, nodded their agreement.

[masterarminas]

The scream of artillery missiles passed by close overhead, suddenly ending in a thunderous explosion as they impacted mere blocks away. Dust, actually flakes of the metals and mineral aggregates used in the construction of the command bunker, floated down upon officers and men as the ground shook and the walls groaned. The holographic map display upon the table shivered and broke momentarily before reforming, but a thread of static ran through it.

“Past time to leave, Colonel,” one of the officers whispered. “The Eriadu Authority is done for with this last push by the Rebels—maybe if Delvardus had stayed, it might be different, but he ran and he took two-thirds of the Army with him.”

Zel “The Rancor” Johans frowned at his operations officer. The frown was not because he disagreed with the assessment of Major Tadeus Harkin, but rather because of the white uniforms worn by several of the other officers present. Luckily, General Kieran Loas of the Imperial Security Bureau either hadn’t heard the whisper, or he was temporarily ignoring it. Zel held onto the table as another flight of missiles passed overhead and still more dust particles rained down upon them. Damn Superior General Sander Delvardus, self-appointed guardian of the Eriadu Authority. When he had broken with Imperial Center on Coruscant AND simultaneously with Grand Moff Kaine, he had managed to assemble a formidable force under his command . . . that he had since squandered.

He fought a war of expansion against his neighbors, while cracking down even harder upon the non-human life forces of Seswenna Sector. And that had caused the Rebels to move forward their schedule for conquering the homeworld of the deceased Grand Moff Tarkin. The Rebels should never have stood a chance, but they had bypassed several fortress worlds to attack the capital of Eriadu directly—and Superior General (HAH!) Delvardus had panicked and fled, with his most loyal forces running along behind him.

Leaving General Loas in command of the forlorn and forsaken defense that included Johans’ own 112th Heavy Repulsortank Regiment.

“Colonel, our infantry are holding the line, but they need support. Your Regiment has the firepower that they so desperately need to hold off the Rebel advance until our reinforcements arrive. Accordingly, I want you to divide your command into squadrons and directly reinforce the infantry companies holding our defensive line,” Loas said bluntly.

And Zel sighed. Aside from his brutality as the commander of the local ISB and CompForce—seventeen full regiments on this most Imperial world!—the man knew nothing of warfare. “Sir, that is a job for walkers, not repulsorlift tanks! We are an offensive unit,” as I have told you for three bloody weeks now, “not a defensive element. Let me concentrate the Hammers and we can exit this urban environment, pretend to flee and then circle around and hit them from behind! We will be the Hammer to your infantry’s anvil—we can break them!”

Loas shook his head as he stared down at the map. “No. Too risky. Our enemy has speeders of his own, Colonel, and he could defeat you where my infantry cannot support you.”

“Speeders, sir. Not TANKS. Repulsorlift tanks are not designed for fighting within a city, Sir. Let us do our job.”

“You are, Colonel. You are going to reinforce the defenses and shatter the Rebels as they come!” And Loas’ eyes narrowed. “Unless you are refusing my orders, Colonel?”

There was another thundering crack and dust poured down from above again. And Zel shook his head. I should have never obeyed Delvardus when he ordered the Hammers from Brintooin to here. And in that pause, while Zel remained silent, Loas smiled slightly. “The Superior General is leading our reinforcements here personally. We must only hold out for another three days before his return.”

You idiot, Zel thought. Sander Delvardus wasn’t coming back. Not in three days, nor in three years. He was fleeing back to Kaine to beg forgiveness in order to save his own skin. And something in the smile—the humorless cold smile—of the ISB General caused part of Zel’s soul to snap.

“Sir!” he said as he snapped to attention. “I will issue the orders immediately. All Hammer elements,” he broadcast, “execute Special Order Besh Osk. I repeat, Special Order Besh Osk is now in effect.”

Major Harkin suddenly smiled, even as the insipid grin faded from the face of Loas. The rest of the HQ staff drew their weapons and before the ISB officers and men could react, gunned them down—only one managed to draw his blaster pistol and he didn’t manage to get off a single shot. Loas simply stood there, his face turning puce.

“Take him outside and hang him from a light-post, Major Harkin. Everyone else, we are bugging out to FireHawke. Move, people!”

Loas worked his jaw, but he never managed to get a word past his clenched teeth as Harkin dragged him outside.

“FireHawke, Hammer Six Actual,” Zel broadcast. “Verify Special Order Besh Osk.”

“Verified, Hammer Six Actual. We are warming up the engines and will be ready to make the run to light-speed as soon as we clear the planet.”

“Good, we don’t have a lot of time, FireHawke. Get the boys aboard and we will worry about stowing the gear properly in transit.”

“Acknowledged. Destination, Colonel?”

Zel stood still for a moment—even though he was a traitor and a coward, Delvardus would retain enough power in Kaine’s hierarchy that his unit would be decimated if they rejoined the forces of the Grand Moff. And Isard had already put a price on their heads for siding with first Kaine and then Delvardus—but the Seswenna Sector was home. A home that his men would have to leave behind them.

“Anywhere away from here,” Zel answered briskly. “We will worry about the details later; for now we need to get clear and into hyper.”

“Can do, Hammer Six Actual. The clock is ticking, Sir.”

“On our way, FireHawke.”

All of the vital systems in the forward command bunker were already gone from the walls and tables—stripped out by his staff as they rushed to the waiting vehicles outside. Only the Regimental Flag remained, and Zel took it down carefully from the wall and folded it precisely, tucking it within his armored cuirass.

“Sir,” said Tadeus. “It is done. Time to go, Sir.”

“Aye. Time to go—but go where?”

His executive officer smiled. “Remember General Conal Ise? I had a rather interesting message from him a few weeks back—something about Cyralis not really caring why a unit joins their forces . . . and basically saying that regardless of charges leveled against them, they are willing to judge any volunteers to their forces on an individual basis. He and that Moff of his . . . Patrice, I think . . . they are building up a major force out there on the Rim, Sir. We could do worse.”

“We have done worse, Major. Okay,” he trotted out of the bunker with Harkin following and climbed up the ramp of his command vehicle, the ramp closing behind the two men and the vehicle moving fast and low towards the space port. “Once we board ship, send Ise a message and tell him that Hell’s Hammers are en route . . . and that we are willing to work out a deal.”

[atg]

Patrice is building quite the force and reputation out there it seems.

[Vianca]

Good read, just finished it.
Thus I am now following it.

[masterarminas]

An update on the ships under Patrice's authority at this moment. That makes his total force as follows:

1 x Tector-class Star Destroyer
8 x Imperator I-class Star Destroyer
2 x Imperator II-class Star Destroyer
1 x Secutor-class Star Destroyer
1 x Venator-class Star Destroyer
3 x Glorious-class Star Destroyer
2 x Procursator-class Star Destroyer
15 x Victory I-class Star Destroyer
3 x Victory II-class Star Destroyer
29 x Acclamator-class Heavy Assault Ship
6 x Immobilizer 418-class Interdiction Cruiser
5 x Dreadnought-class Heavy Cruiser
22 x Vindicator-class Heavy Cruiser
27 x Strike-class Medium Cruiser
14 x Bayonet-class Light Cruiser
51 x Carrack-class Light Cruiser
42 x Millenium-class Light Cruiser, a.k.a. KDY Class 1000
11 x Tartan-class Light Cruiser
23 x Adamant-class Frigate
9 x DP20-class Frigate
13 x Lancer-class Frigate
42 x Nebulon B-class Frigate
61 x CR90-class Corvette
18 x CR90a-class Corvette, a.k.a. Assassin-class Corvette
8 x Marauder-class Corvette

Total: 419 capital ships, including 36 Star Destroyers (18 of that total consisting of Victory I and II class), and 383 lesser warships. All totals are post the Battle of Ord Tanis, where Patrice and Morvin lost 43 ships, including a Imperator I-class and a Victory II-class. Another 12 ships (led by a Venator-class, a Glorious-class, and Victory I-class) are HEAVILY damaged and will require major yard time to restore to service, but they are included in the ship numbers above. The older ships in mothballs have mostly been sent to Isard, or other end-users, so the boneyard is empty. Now Ran Karyda believes that he might be able to salvage two Imperator, three Victory, and eighteen other ships destroyed at Ord Tanis. MIGHT. But even if he can it will take years to put them back into service.

MA

[masterarminas]

“Fallen brothers,” Gare Devalis toasted quietly from his seat against the wall in the dimly lit cantina. ‘Deke’ and the six other Clones of their squad raised their own drinks in silent salute; then they drained them and threw the glasses against the wall, ignoring the protests of the serving droid.

Deke—Boba Fett—had been caught off-guard by how these Clones so differed from the ones he had known back when he served in the Five Hundred and First under Lord Vader. There, it had been nothing but duty and constant training; here, in Cyralis, the Clones retained their sense of duty, and if anything trained harder, but when their day was done, they were no longer under military discipline. For several days, Fett had worried that it might raise some suspicion about him, his lack of familiarity with the ease at which these troopers lived their lives outside their armor. But, those worries had been for naught, for he had seen other defectors and volunteers gasp at the changes as well.

He shook his head and allowed himself a small smile. After all these years, the Clones had become people—who would have thought it? The Sergeant—Gare—had a wife and child; so did Corporal Jason and Trooper Lorne. Trooper Malik spent his free time and credits on exquisite models, perfect in every detail, of various military and civilian vehicles and ships, while Trooper Zell had become well-known for his skill at a strange table game involving spheres and wooden sticks on a surface of smooth felt, although Trooper Petra almost matched him, but usually fell short. Trooper Rand had confessed to Deke that he spent his time away from the unit creating living art from small shrubs, a rather surprising hobby for a former Storm trooper. Only Corporal Madra remained dour and stoic in all things . . . but even he had a weakness for these short passes away from base.

Still, these eight men possessed a warm camaraderie which Fett had never before experienced. And becoming actual people instead of armor-clad killing machines had not blunted their edge. Deke took a sip of a frosted mug of a strange honey-mead, and he shook his head. One-on-one, he could take any single one of his seven squad mates or the Sergeant. Easily. They had learned quickly that his skills, senses, and instincts were finely honed and because of that Fett had become the squad’s point-man. Which presented its own problems to his aims, given the nature of those in that position to become statistics very quickly. But Fett hadn’t protested—it would not have been in character, after all.

Together, now, together, the Clones were a very different story. While Fett did not doubt that he could take—if not quite as easily—an entire squad of normal Stormtroopers, he knew that would not live even if he attacked this group with the element of surprise. Luckily, perhaps, he had not been forced to try, for this squad had not yet been stationed to guard the Moff. Instead, their days and nights (when on duty) had concentrated on drilling new techniques and tactics and unlearning old skills.

“Never thought I would see the day when they emphasized rescuing hostages instead of just shooting our targets,” Deke said with a shake of his head.

“Bit of a sea change, eh, Deke?” asked the Sergeant as he smiled. “Back in the days of the Old Empire, he had a whole bunch of different special operations outfits that specialized in these things. Well, out here, though . . . we don’t have them. And we ain’t gonna be getting them. So Colon—excuse me, General Camlaan is making us learn how to do it right. Which means no grenades and no disintegrations? Right?”

“RIGHT!” Eight voices answered.

“We aren’t Stormtroopers anymore Deke, we are the Sith-damned BEST Clone troopers in the entire Galaxy,” the Sergeant continued. “That means we’ve got be better than Palpatine’s Royal Guards, better than Storm Commandoes, better than those poor lousy bastards that served under Vader in the 501st, God rest their souls.”

Silence hung over the table for a moment, and then each clone took another drink, drained it dry, and threw the glasses against the wall, ignoring the wailing droid—except to call for another round.

“Kamino-clones, vat-clones, or freeborn, we will be better,” the Sergeant continued. “We will prove to the Galaxy that we are better,” and then his voice trailed off as a group of men and aliens entered the cantina. Gare stood and he dropped a cred-stick on the table. “Next round is mine, boys. I’ll be back,” and he walked over the newcomers.

Fett raised an eyebrow and he watched as Gare and the gaggle of scoundrels—how well the bounty hunter knew that type—began to argue, and then he saw the Sergeant tense as he was led into the corridor heading to the back rooms.

Boba Fett frowned, and he drained his glass. “Gotta visit the little Troopers room,” he said, earning a chuckle from his squad mates.

“Just remember, yellow is good, green means you best not be wearing my pelvic armor,” Jason said with a laugh.

Fett made his way through the crowd and he ducked down the corridor to the back rooms. As he walked down the dimly lit and tight space, he reached back to his waist band and loosened the hide-away blaster pistol he wore in a holster. Sure enough, one of the doors was guarded by two thugs, and he could hear a rather intense conversation behind the wood.

“Where’s the latrine?” he asked, as he made himself slur his words and then stumble forward as if he were drunk—which Fett most assuredly was not. One of the guards caught him—and received a stun bolt for his help, the second guard barely had time to grow alarmed before he too was sleeping on the grimy floor. The music from the cantina had masked the whine of the blaster on stun, and Fett pulled a device from his belt and attached it to the door, placing a small ear-piece in his right ear.

“Look, Chaine, we had an unscheduled drill! I couldn’t make it last night, so that’s why I’m here now. There’s your payment and there will be another one next month!” his Sergeant said.

“Don’t work that way, soldier boy. You came to me for a loan, and I gave you the credits you needed. We had a deal; deal was you pay on time. You missed your payment last night. You broke the deal.”

Silence for a moment.

“Here’s what I am do, Gare, since I like you. I’m gonna take this payment as earnest money. And you have twenty-four hours to get me the same again—as a penalty against your lateness. And never, ever, be late again.”

“I can’t get that much money on such short notice.”

“You had better, my friend, between in 24 hours and 1 second, you are going to me ANOTHER payment as an additional penalty. Same for every day thereafter. And don’t even think about trying to report me—loan sharking is illegal here, and you came to me.”

“That is robbery, and I am not going to pay it, Chaine. That’s my installment, you will get your next one on schedule.”

“Gare, Gare, Gare,” the mobster laughed. “This is my business. And you will pay.”

“Or what?”

“Or you’ve a really lovely wife and a daughter. I would hate to see anything . . . unfortunate happen to them. I would threaten your in-laws, but if they are like my in-laws, you might thank me for knocking them out of the picture.”

“Leave them out of this—this is between you and me.”

“Gare, you brought them into this deal when you missed your payment. But being the nice person that I am, how about this? I will forgive your lateness and forgo the penalty . . . in exchange for Moff Patrice’s schedule and route at the upcoming summit.”

“Go to Hell, you son of a Sith.”

“Pity, soldier boy. I think your daughter—as young and fresh and virginal as she is—will bring a good price to the slave traders. Your choice.”

There was an inarticulate cry of rage and then the bounty hunter heard the sounds of fists striking flesh—too fast for a single clone to be landing those blows.

Fett pulled away the listening device and he sighed. It was none of his business, damn it, he told himself. Walk away, Boba. Walk away, and one of the problems of this job will take care of itself. But even as his mercenary side of his conscience was protesting, Fett was sliding a fresh power cell into the pistol grip of his blaster and he drew in a deep breath and kicked down the door.

His first three aimed shots slammed into the trio of muscled guards beating on Gare, but one was a Trandoshan and Fett put two more rapid fire bolts into that one. Acting on instinct, he ducked and then lashed out in a vicious side-kick that put a fourth thug on the ground, rapidly followed by a double-tap of blaster bolts, and then he nailed the fifth standing behind the mobster seated at the desk. The fifth had just managed to clear his weapon from the leather of his holster when he ate a final bolt and dropped to the ground.

“That is murder, soldier,” Chaine said in a firm voice, but the faint sweat beads on his head told a different story. “Leave now, and I won’t call the local enforcers.”

Fett smiled. “Your first mistake was getting greedy; you had to push for more, didn' you? The second was thinking that someone like you could intimidate one of us—that doesn’t happen. Your third was believing that he was alone. He isn’t and he never will be. There are twenty-five thousand of us here in this system—twenty-five thousand brothers. Joined together in blood, and bonded in war, Chaine. The fourth mistake was threatening his family—because his family is my family, and it is the family of ALL of my brothers,” Fett glanced down at Gare, who was unconscious on the floor—for a moment, he feared that the Sergeant was already dead, but then he saw the ribcage move as the clone continued to breath. “The last mistake you will ever make was to interfere in my affairs. My name is Boba Fett.”

The blood drained from Chaine’s face and he opened his mouth to speak, but the blaster bolt arrived before he could say a word.

Fett holstered the blaster and he thumbed his radio. “One, this is Eight. We’ve got a problem—back rooms.”

He knelt down beside the groaning clone and frowned as he checked the injuries. They were mostly superficial, but Trandoshan’s hit HARD. Three—maybe four—broken ribs, a good possibility of a concussion, and severe soft-tissue bruising. Fett took the cred-stick from the desk—Gare’s cred-stick—and stuck it back in the Sergeant's wallet, even as Corporal Madra came through the door with a drawn blaster. Faintly in the background, the bounty hunter could hear the droid screaming, “No blasters! No blasters!” and he smiled.

“Sarge needs medical treatment, One. I’ll take care of the evidence.”

The corporal nodded, his lips tight. “Fire Team Besh, get the Sergeant out of here and to the vehicle—find us a doc. The rest of you, clear the cantina. Eight, what the hell happened?”

“Take too long to explain, One,” Fett said as he rifled through the desk and found what he was looking for—a data recorder for the hidden cameras. He yanked it out, made certain to press the button that would erase the data and tossed it over to the clone non-com. “Everything is on there. FIRE IN HOLE!” he yelled as he drew out an incendiary grenade from one of his pockets, popped the safety clip and dropped it inside the wooden desk filled with old-fashioned paper before closing the drawer.

“You are insane, Eight,” Madra mumbled as Fett passed him and closed the door to the office, but he just shook his head as he heard the grenade go SNAP, and then crackle of fire within. He pulled the fire alarm as he followed his junior out of the cantina. “I think I could learn to like you.”

[Sidewinder]

I foresee Fett being ordered to arrest those that put a bounty on Patrice, before he gets a chance to get close to Patrice. Anyone care to guess whose side he'll be on?

[Diverball]

One criticism: I cannot, under any circumstances, see Fett as being sufficiently reckless to actually admit his real name when he is supposed to be undercover - even to people he intends to kill immediately. The man is far too professional too take that kind of a risk just for the satisfaction of a couple of seconds of gloating.

[Vianca]

Or deleting the data of it all, acting as if he's Fett can be forgiven, even by Fett, if done right.
Why, it might make his legend even bigger and up the fear for the clones.

Would be funny if the loyality mission is to take care of the ones that are paying for his current job.
Heh, maybe he can get himself a long term mission to get info from across the galaxy, if he plays the aftermath of things right.

[masterarminas]

Interlude

The sudden emergence of more than two thousand capital ships over Coruscant stunned the defenders of the Imperial Capital. And the mass Fleet was led in person by none other than Grand Moff Zsinj aboard his flagship: the Super Star Destroyer Iron Fist. Had the Coruscant Defense Fleet not deployed to reinforce the shipyards, even this force which contained over a hundred Star Destroyers would have posed little threat. But Isard and the Ruling Council had sent out dozens of Fleets to insure the safety of those yards, reducing their defenders from over five thousand ships to little more than a fifth of that, and now Zsinj outnumbered the defenders by almost two-to-one. To make matters worse, his ships emerged from hyperspace in one of the few sectors of the Coruscant System not heavily protected by the Golan Defense Stations placed strategically thoughout the local space to cover the most heavily used hyper exit points.

By themselves, the immobile stations would have gutted Zsinj’s Fleet—but he knew where they were and he nearly managed to avoid them all . . . except for the twenty which floated in close orbit over the capital world itself.

High Admiral Chan-shun did his best with what he had at hand . . . but it wasn’t enough, and while the attacker was heavily concentrated, over three hundred of Chan-shun’s vessels were scattered throughout the system. Eight hundred Imperial vessels loyal to the Council met Zsinj’s two thousand ships of war in high orbit—and the carnage began. In heavy ships, the two were almost matched, for Chan-shun had sixty Star Destroyers of his own to face the hundred deployed by Zsinj and they were supported by the Golan III NovaGun stations floating in orbit. But Zsinj had been nothing if not meticulous in his planning; Task Forces build around Interdictors moved out and blocked those ships further out-system from reinforcing the High Admiral. Four Torpedo Spheres—the last four in Zsinj’s command—engaged the Golan platforms and the stations died under the hammering barrage of thousands of capital proton torpedoes. And nothing in the Coruscant system could match the firepower and shielding of Iron Fist.

The battle was vicious, on a scale that had not been fought since the Clone Wars and the last battle over Coruscant—but the odds were too much for the Imperial forces to contend with. Within four hours, all but a handful of loyal Imperial vessels throughout had been destroyed or disabled, along with all twenty of the stations. Less than one hundred managed to withdraw and flee to safety. But they had not perished alone. Twelve hundred of Zsinj’s ships were broken and battered hulks incapable of supporting life—and none of his Torpedo Spheres had survived. Of the eight hundred which remained, most were damaged, but Iron Fist, his Flagship was almost untouched.

With local space clear, Grand Moff Zsinj—soon enough to be crowned as Emperor Zsinj the First!—ordered his troop carriers to begin their landings. And that is when the plan went awry.

A new Fleet—a rebel Fleet—two hundred ships strong (smaller ships mainly, but led by a pair of captured Imperator-class Star Destroyers) emerged over Coruscant. Commanded by General Solo, the fresh ships tore into their Imperial opponents supported by dozens of squadrons of X-Wings and Y-Wings and B-Wings and gunboats of all shapes and sizes. And the warships and fighters were not alone, for nearly three hundred space transports—crewed by smugglers gathered together at the promise of looting the Imperial capital—trailed in their wake.

Caught by surprise, in the midst of landing his ground forces, Zsinj moved his ships into position to crush the rebel scum—and that is when the ground on Coruscant itself heaved and another nineteen kilometer long Super Star Destroyer emerged from its hiding place on the surface. The troop carriers were past the point of no return; their shields overstressed by the heat of reentry . . . they died as Lusankya opened fire with hundreds of heavy turbolaser batteries into their vulnerable bellies. Hundreds of thousands of troops vanished along with their transports in a string of explosions across one quarter of Coruscant’s skyline.

And Lusankya clawed for orbit as the rebels and Zsinj merged into another pitched battle.

Isard, with her chance to defeat the Grand Moff once and for all, ordered her crew to ignore the rebels and concentrate on the flagship of the Warlord—and for the first time in Imperial history, two Super Star Destroyers—both Executor-class—engaged each other at close range.

This second phase of the battle was no long-lived well-choreographed dance, but a bitter slug-fest against enemies who neither desired nor granted quarter. Iron Fist and Lusankya spiraled around each other, their fire smashing into shields designed for just this occasion; with bolts penetrating to the heavily armored hulls. But nothing made by sapient hands could resist such energies for long, and both flagships began to stream debris and air and lifeless bodies in their wake as they continued to pound each other into wrack and ruin.

The exhausted Imperials aboard Zsinj’s fleet held the rebels at bay—but they too were near the point of breaking, with disabled or destroyed weapons and empty flight decks and skeleton crews manning stations amid piles of the dead and dying. Still, theirs was the battle to lose and they were on the verge of emerging victorious when a second Rebel Fleet, this one led by the Mon Cal Admiral Ackbar emerged on top of them. Thirty-two fresh Mon Calamari Star Cruisers led this Fleet and it was simply too much for Zsinj’s crews.

They had fought for hours, their ships were in tatters, and now still more fresh enemies had arrived. Hundreds of assault ships launched from Ackbar’s Fleet and panicked cries arose over the comm systems as the Imperial crews fought off Wookie boarders! It was too much, and the remnants of Zsinj’s once-magnificent Fleet broke and ran. Barely one hundred and fifty of his ships survived to escape into hyper once more, leaving the Rebels—Solo and Ackbar—in possession of Coruscant.

Except for the two flagships still locked in a death duel. As the Rebels—the New Republic—regrouped, finally a massive explosion rocked Lusankya and the ship staggered. Faced with the reality of her own possible demise, she ordered the vessel to run for hyper-space—but Zsinj, his plans ruined, his Fleet destroyed, he pursued her, firing into his foe’s hull the entire time even as rearmed Rebel fighter-bombers closed for their own attack runs. Lusankya perished long before she was ready for the jump to light speed, just minutes before the Rebel fighter strike—led by Rogue Squadron—unleashed the torpedo and missile hail that destroyed Iron Fist and with it Grand Moff Zsinj.

Coruscant had fallen. And it was the Rebels who now controlled the orbitals over the Imperial Capital.

[Eternal_Freedom]

Well that escalated quickly

That was pretty epic!

[Vianca]

Yeah, expected something a little slower, I must say.
Something of a three piece-r or so.
One thing I find strange, what about Lusankya´s lift cradle?
Would have expected that it would have strest the time she would hang on.

O well, nobody to make direct trouble for a certain district, atleast without a shot-up SSD.
Could have helped in getting Coruscant back for a while.
So, will a certain person appear in a little while to show her anger?

It´s know she had at the minium, 1 clone, so there might be more.
That should be quite a suprise.

[masterarminas]

Chapter Ten

Fett entered the office of General Camlaan and he snapped to attention. “Trooper DK-34732-C27, reporting as ordered!” he barked. Besides the General seated behind his desk—wearing a very stern frown—Sergeant Devalis was present, along with a second human that Fett recognized as Mal Galen, the Director of the Central Cyralis Intelligence Directorate.

Camlaan glowered at the bounty hunter who was clad in full armor—minus his helmet. And weapons. “Care to explain why you shot and killed eight men and burned down a cantina in the midst of the capital, DK-34732-C27?”

“Sir. I believed that Sergeant Devalis was in grave danger, Sir.”

“And so you just barged in, past two guards stationed outside the office, managed to take everyone inside by surprise and shoot five more guards and Chaine before anyone else managed to get off a single shot in return? THEN, you burnt down the establishment with an incendiary grenade—never mind that you should not have had either the blaster or grenade in your possession off base! And why were you spying on your Sergeant in the first place?”

“Sir. It was my impression that Sergeant Devalis was abducted by those men based upon his reaction to them in the cantina. I endeavored to determine whether or not he had been abducted, at which time I heard the Sergeant being assaulted and acted accordingly to come to the aid of a comrade. Sir.”

“Did you hear what the dispute was about, DK-34732-C27?”

“Sir. No, sir.”

“Really? How strange. And the recording module you recovered was wiped clean of data.”

“Chaine must have set a dead-man’s switch upon it that wiped it when I pulled the unit, Sir.”

“How . . . prescient of him,” Camlaan growled and then he sighed. “Stand at ease, Deke. For the record, since I am certain you DID hear the conversation, we were trying to trace Chaine’s associates. Sergeant Devalis was under orders to approach the man for an off-the-record loan, and then was deliberately late in his payments.”

Boba Fett made his eyes go wide, and Camlaan smiled. Galen turned around from the window and he nodded. “We have known for some time that Chaine was engaged as a minor loan-shark, primarily to the military. But recently it came to our attention that he was attempting to black-mail those spacers and troopers for sensitive information—troop movements, ships in dry-dock, locations of munitions depots, . . . the route of Moff Patrice and details of his security. A trooper came to me and confessed that he had used Chaine’s services and was now being pressed for this information,” the Director shrugged. “We had hoped to trace back who this information was destined for. Which your actions derailed, Trooper DK-34732-C27,” he finished sourly.

Fett let out his breath, as though he were relieved, and he turned his head to Devalis. “So you weren’t actually in danger, Sergeant? I am relieved, and I will accept any punishment deemed appropriate for ruining this sting, Sir,” he continued as he turned his head back to Camlaan.

“No. There will be no punishment, Deke. You acted to protect a member of your squad—I understand your actions and what drove you to take them. No charges or summary punishment will be issued against you. As long as you do not make a habit of shooting six civilians, destroying a business establishment, and leaving two more civilians behind to burn in the conflagration that you set. Sergeant Devalis has been authorized to inform his squad of the details—it was clearly a mistake NOT to include all of you in this from the beginning,” he finished in a sour tone, clearly directed at the Intelligence Director.

“Information must be kept close to the vest, General. But yes,” Galen said as he waved one hand in acknowledgement of Camlaan’s point. “As close as your Shock Troopers are, I should have made allowances to inform them ahead of time to prevent this type of . . . precipitous action. That mistake will not occur again.”

Camlaan nodded. “In any case, Sergeant, your role in this operation is finished. You and Trooper DK-34732-C27 are dismissed.”

Both Fett and Devalis snapped back to attention and saluted crisply; a salute which Camlaan returned. The two men turned and exited the General’s office and marched down the corridors of the Palace Garrison complex. Fett came a halt as he realized that his Sergeant had stopped and was looking in an empty room. “Follow me,” Gare said quietly and the bounty hunter stepped inside. Gare shut the door, and then closed the blast hatch over the sliding entryway.

“First, thank you, Deke. Had I actually been in danger, you would have saved my life. Second . . . I was not quite unconscious when you gave your true identity to Chaine . . . Boba Fett.”

Fett sighed. But Gare hadn’t moved and he waited until the Sergeant nodded. “There is only one reason you are here—and I cannot allow you to get any closer to the Moff. Now before you try to kill me,” and Gare smiled, “I have prepared a full report on file that will be delivered in the event of my death to General Camlaan, or in 25 hours from now, whichever comes first. So if you kill me, your mission is still blown.”

“And you think I am going to just walk into one of your detention cells without a fight, Gare?” Fett asked quietly.

“No,” the clone said with a sigh. “That is why I giving you a 24-hour pass. I don’t care where you go, what you do, or who you kill—as long as you are not on Cyralis and targeting my Moff at the end of that time, Deke. It’s a damn shame, because you are a fine trooper—just like all the clones that came from your father’s template.”

Fett just stared at the Trooper before him, as Gare laid one hand on his shoulder. “I hate losing you, but I won’t allow you to kill my Moff—or my men. And I know that you don’t want to have to do the later, Deke. Just know this—regardless of what we might be in the Galaxy at-large, how feared we are, how expendable we are, here, in Cyralis, we have been given the chance to be more than expendable weapons. We are being given the opportunity—all of us, not just a lucky few—of becoming real live human beings, Deke. And that happened only because of General the Moff Patrice. Ask yourself is this bounty really worth collecting? Is it? Because if you think it is, I will fight you,” Gare smiled wanly. “You will kill me, of course, but I will fight you. And so will every clone on this planet. You dream of Mandalore, I have been told. This world, our leader . . . Deke, to us, this is our Mandalore.”

And Gare stepped back. Fett just stood there in total shock for several moments and then he nodded. Gare unsealed the door, and without another word Fett left him behind.

“Good travels, Fett,” Gare whispered as he stepped into the corridor and watched the trooper make his way through the sparse crowd. “Good travels and a long life.”

[masterarminas]

“This facility is most impressive, Moff Patrice,” Queen Kylantha said with a slight bow towards the old man; she turned her gaze back to the expansive windows of the Observation Deck of the Ord Tanis Shipyards. “Those are Star Destroyers, are they not?”

“Indeed they are, my Queen,” Moff Panaka replied before Patrice could utter a word. “I do not recognize the class, however, Moff Patrice. And I know my ships well.”

“That is a new class of Star Destroyer, Moff Panaka,” Thom said with a smile. “New ships for new times, after all. We have designated them as the Stalwart-class,” he gestured towards a holographic display. “If the Queen wishes to see what they will appear as when complete . . .,” his voice trailed off, and the Queen of Naboo nodded regally.

“She would indeed,” Kylantha answered. The projection revealed a slowly rotating design of CEC’s fast Star Destroyer and Panaka whistled. “That is a lot of forward firepower, Patrice—Corellian?”

“An in-house design by CEC-Cyralis. We project that she will be as fast and maneuverable in real-space as a Carrack-class light cruiser, yet possess nearly as much firepower as an Imperator-class Star Destroyer, on a smaller frame.”

Panaka frowned. “By that scale she is a good bit smaller than an Imperator; what did you have to sacrifice? And those guns have to be lighter than the heavy turbolasers of the Imperators.”

“She’s designed for local defensive operations—not offensive campaigns. She carries just twenty-four TIE Avengers and four shuttles in her hanger bay and her troop complement is limited to one company of Shock Troopers. The remainder of her internal volume is given over to shielding, armored bulkheads, and weapon systems. And yes, her guns are lighter, but she is to be outfitted with twice as many as Imperator-I, plus an overlapping battery of anti-starfighter armaments that makes a Lancer- or Tartan-class weep in shame. And taking a page from the old Victory-class, she carries six heavy anti-ship proton torpedo launchers arrayed to either side of the prow, along with two dozen star-fighter scale concussion missle tubes interspaced with her trench guns. Overall, she carries eleven quad turbolaser turrets on the center line, six heavy ion cannon set in the trenches, another twenty-four twin turbolasers in the trenches, six heavy twin tubolasers set in the trenches, the six capital torpedo tubes I menioned earlier, twenty-four light missle tubes, forty-eight quad anti-fighter laser turrets, and and four tractor beams.”

“I can see where that might be useful—but why not just build Imperators?” Senator Pooja Naberrie asked, as the Queen nodded her head indicating that she had the question in mind.

“Several reasons, Your Majesty, Senator. First of all, KDY would rather upset if I simply started producing their design out here without purchasing them from their own shipyards,” Patrice said with a chuckle, and Panaka barked out a laugh as well. Kuat was renowned for the ferocity at which they defended their intellectual property—and was one of the few interstellar conglomerates which could pose a threat to any individual sector. “Second, Master Karyda,” and the CEC executive bowed again, his best customer smile fixed on his face, “assures me that in the time it would take to complete and fit out two Imperator-class vessels, he can deliver five of our new Stalwarts. Third, each of these ships will require a crew—including flight crews and troops—of just twelve thousand officers and men, compared to the forty-seven thousand plus aboard an Imperator.” Thom paused and he shook his head. “Cyralis has a great many people among the planets of this Sector, Your Majesty, but trained officers and crews for warships are not an inexhaustible resource. We must reduce the manpower requirements for our ships to meet our obligations in the future—after all, we do not have replacement crewmen coming from the Core any longer. And in the wake of the Battle at Coruscant, I doubt that any will be sent in the near future—to any of our Sectors. And the fourth reason is that while Cyralis is a wealthy Sector—Lamaredd as well—the chaos of this Civil War has caused economic disruptions with corresponding drop in revenue, which means we must carefully allocate our resources to what best serves our needs. I can build and maintain four Stalwarts for the cost associated with a single Imperator. And that is well worth a slight reduction in individual capabilities.”

While the New Republic had momentarily seized the capital, they quickly discovered that they were unable to hold the system. Grand Moff Kaine—titular leader of Oversector Outer—and those who followed him had swooped in and driven them off; and then the infighting began at a truly hectic pace. Reinforcements summoned by Isard and the Council before their defeat arrived and once again Imperial fought Imperial in space over the Capital world. Two dozen Moffs and Admirals had laid claim to the throne—and each had engaged in a vicious no-holds barred death match for control of the capital. Kaine could have held the planet, but he was too smart to even try in the face of his opposition—he had withdrawn his Fleets in good order and with minimal casualties and instead struck out at the holdings Zsinj had left behind. From his central headquarters in what had become known as the Pentastar Alliance, he had taken nearly a third of the systems once loyal to Grand Moff Zsinj—and by far the lion’s share of his surviving ships and troops.

Several powerful Warlords—Teradoc, Harrsk, and Delvardus among them—had answered Kaine's call and formed a new Council based on Yaga Minor. Encompassing worlds as far distant as Bilbringi, Ord Trasi, Serenno, and Carida, the self-styled ‘Imperial Remnant’ claimed to be the legitimate successor of Palpatine’s New Order . . . but unlike most such successors, it appeared (for the moment) content with securing its borders and not launching new campaigns of expansion.

The New Republic might have had to withdraw from Coruscant, but the squabbling of Imperial officers was allowing them to expand geometrically in other areas. Indeed, the expansion of worlds professing fealty to Mon Mothma had all but severed the Corellian Run—and contact with the Imperial Rim from surviving Imperial Sectors in the Core and Colonies.

Panaka frowned, “They are imbeciles, Patrice. All of them. And because of their ambition the Empire will fall,” the Moff’s voice was bitter, and Patrice understood full well how the man felt. Panaka was not well loved by his people—many of whom considered his service with the Empire a betrayal of his former Queen—Amidala. And the Rebels—the New Republic—had not forgiven him for siding with Palpatine; if they won control of Naboo and the Chommell Sector, he would have to flee to remain alive.

“They are, Panaka,” Thom said soothingly. “And because they have thrown away the Empire, the time is coming when we, the Moffs of the Rim, must unite together to hold at bay the chaos engulfing this Galaxy. Together, we can preserve our way of life—and our beloved worlds. Separately, we will be consumed by the alien-loving Rebels and made to pay for Palpatine’s sins.”

The dark-skinned Moff jerked his head up and his eyes flashed, but Thom pressed on. “Don’t lie to yourself, Moff Panaka—you know well that Palpatine and his methods created more Rebellion than they ever quashed. That isn’t to say that the Empire wasn’t a force for good—it was. And it can be again. But do not rewrite history to paint the Emperor as anything other than he was—an arrogant, ambitious, power-seeking, megalomaniac that sought to control everything and everyone using the harshest methods possible.”

“Quite right, Moff Patrice,” the Queen said as she laid her hand on Panaka’s arm. “It is imperative that we address reality as it is; and not how we might desire it to be.”

Thom bowed low. “Her Majesty is as wise as she is serene and lovely. Master Karyda has arranged a tour of the Yard; I regret that I will be occupied in preparing for the summit which begins tomorrow, so I must take my absence and return to Cyralis. Senator Naberrie, I believe that you are returning as well to prepare the Queen’s lodging?”

“I am, Moff Patrice. Was that an invitation to share a shuttle?”

“I would be honored, my dear—if the Queen permits it?”

“Of course,” Kylantha answered. “Come, Panaka—let us ferret out the secrets of Corellia from this handsome young man.”

Ran Karyda blushed and smiled his best saleman’s grin. “This way, Your Majesty, Moff Panaka. Ord Tanis is one of the oldest shipyards in the Outer Rim Reg-. . .,” his voice trailing off as the sliding doors closed behind the Queen and her party.

Thom held out one arm, and the Senator took it. “Such courtesy and chivalry—I thought that was long dead.”

“Many things once thought dead still live on the Outer Rim, my dear,” Thom answered as they began to walk towards the shuttle bays—surrounded by Thom’s trooper escort at a discrete distance ahead and behind. “Have you an answer for me?” he whispered.

“I do. Mon Mothma says if you arrange for Veers to no longer command the assault on Ryloth, she will leave Cyralis—and Lamaredd—alone. But she is concerned that your grasp exceeds your ability with this summit. That you might wind up posing a threat to the survival of the New Republic, Thom.”

“In other words, she doesn’t mind if two small and insignificant Sectors remain neutral—but thirty? That are nominally part of the Empire? The Bothans and Rodians are pushing her aren’t they? Their home worlds lie not far away, and their leadership is scared to death of what I might do.”

“There is an . . . element . . . among Mon Mothma’s advisors who believe that any compromise which leaves part of the Empire—whether in name only or otherwise—to be a mistake. And while they applaud your change in the laws of Cyralis, they are vehemently opposed to retaining any of the Imperial trappings that you have wrapped yourself in.”

“Make no mistake, Pooja. I believe in the Empire—the Old Republic was corrupt and your New Republic will do nothing more than repeat the sins of its fathers. We must have central control to a greater extent than a bloated Senate that agrees on nothing. Individual systems should be allowed a greater freedom in determining their own course, but at levels above that? The times require a leader, not a debating society.”

“Let us set this aside for now,” the young former Senator from Naboo replied. “Do you believe that you can unite thirty-six Sectors under your rule?”

“Of course not. There are too many players, all of whom have their own ambitions. I do think that Bitrose, Pelgrin, Dalchon, and Gaulus—after Veers meets with his tragic fate—will come onboard. Arkanis is a hot-bed of Rebel activity that has all but declared itself for the New Republic and Moff Anar in Savareen is too blatantly a specist to allow my reforms; which is a pity because he will be deposed within the year if he does not, probably by a Rebel special operations team. Moff Ravik in Tolonda is insane.”

Patrice shook his head. “The man is gone around one bend to many, and many of his officers know it—I might well be forced to intervene there and remove Ravik regardless of his decision; leaving him alone might be worse than a short war.”

Pooja shuddered. “I agree; Ravik scares me—I’ve heard rumors he worships a Death Cult.”

“That is the least of his insanities, my dear. Karthakk, Kibilini, and Cadavine are open to the idea of joining a larger union; if only to keep their Moffs in power. But there is a strong rebel presence in Karthakk, and that might bring us into conflict with Mon Mothma if Moff Charlys joins."

"Ryndellian is very interested in an alliance, if not an outright union. Admiral Lynisan has assumed control after his Moff abandoned the capital last year. He and Kell have been having candid and fruitful talks; that would give us a toe-hold on the Middle Rim and brings us to . . . Alui and Chommell. If Alui doesn't join, we will not have a corridor to Chommell and Naboo; at the moment, however, I think the odds are fifty-fifty that Moff Eisley will choose to stand with us. He's a veteran of the Clone Wars and despairs at the current levels of chaos and insurrection. Panaka? His decision will depend on you and the Queen, I think, Pooja."

She nodded as they reached the blast doors to the shuttle hanger, the Shock Troopers standing as an honor guard to either side. “Leave Panaka to me and the Queen, Thom. Her Majesty is . . . intrigued by the idea, and she is rather more questioning of the New Republic than I. I will do what is best for Naboo, however.”

“That I do not question.”

"Of the rest? Astal, Bajic, and Juris might join; their leaders are sitting on the fence and want to see how the summit plays out. Lol, Dail, Portmoak, Cor'ric, Sarin, The Hook Nebula, Sanbra, Toblain, Tamarin, Svivreni, Khuiumin, Parmel, Quence, Parmic, Sjuimis, The Torch Nebula, Thuris, Skine, Merel, and Samix . . . their leaders are big fish in a small pond, or they have a large Rebel presence, or they have ambitions that do not allow them to see themselves as subordinates or even equals. Worst case scenario for Mon Mothma is that fourteen other Sectors join with Cyralis-Lamaredd. For the rest to agree would take a Jedi using mind-control.”

“Less than half,” Pooja mused. “That agrees fairly well with my own evaluation—and it will make Mon Mothma slightly happier than if they all joined. But what of Ryloth? It will be squarely within your territory?”

“Senator Naberrie, tell Mon Mothma not to worry herself about Ryloth. The Twi’lek leadership and I have discussed this matter and they have endorsed my suggestion—that is all she needs to know at this time.”

“She will not be pleased if the Twi’lek homeworld remains part of the Empire—even this small rump of an Empire, Thom.”

“Politics is the art of the possible, my dear. Remind Mon Mothma of that,” Thom stopped at the base the shuttle ramp. “And I presume that you mean to grill me for the remainder of the flight back to Cyralis?”

“Unless you have a better suggestion of how to spend the time,” Pooja said with a laugh and a wink as she walked up the ramp with a sashay of her hips.

[Vianca]

Mmm, are the Gungans still around?
They did have a intresting tech tree.

Heh, Jedi???
Sorry, can´t deliver.
Is a general Force User A-Oke?
There are still enough of those around.

Say masterarminas, were can I find Crysalis and Ord Tanis on the map?
Which grid if I may ask?
I´m trying to picture the theritory that is talked about.

[masterarminas]

Empire of the Rim is a picture of what this polity will look lke IF those Sectors Patrice THINKS will join do so. It is my photobucket page.

Also shows were Cyralis and Ord Tanis are located.

MA

[Vianca]

Then I suggest they try to get Savareen, that way they got a Hyperway connecting their theritory.
Even if it´s just the part that the Corillian Run goes true, they need that connection between it and the Hyperway towards the Hydian Way, it´s critical for their economy and military might.
Arkanis is intresting not Because of Tatooine, but for Geonosis, If they can get that sector as well, they would have a second major production world.

ps: Put that pic in thump nail on the first page, if not in full size.
Helps anybody that is starting this story.

[Vianca]

Heh, if you look closely to your map, you see a funny sector, one named LOL, wonder if they export jokes or so.
Anyway, believe these two pic´s will help you.
Pic-1 and Pic-2.

Say, what´s left of this Company?
Might have been the real reason the Director ordered Veer to go to Ryloth.
Some of the stuff might come in handy.

As for cheap freighters.....

After the end of the Clone Wars, many Republic Venators were abandoned and left to drift in space.
Several of these vessels fell into the hands of the Mandalorians, the Zann Consortium, and various pirate groups.
By this time, the vessel was considered obsolete, but Venators were available for purchase from several merchants who gained the ships after the Empire sold many of them as scrap metal.
This led to even more fringe groups obtaining Venators, as well as several Imperial Moffs, who used them in their private defense fleets and for their various militias.

[masterarminas]

Thom smiled as his guests gawked at the assembled Star Destroyers stationed in orbit above Cyralis. He had deliberately chosen this station so that they could see with their own eyes the Fleet he had assembled here. Well, the heavy ships that he and Biram Voelkers and Lars Krandor had assembled. Most Sectors—especially this distant on the Rim—had six or perhaps seven Star Destroyers. Only those Moffs with major Fleet bases routinely saw such a collection as Patrice had assembled here in orbit—despite the objections of Kell Morvin. Sixteen “true” Star Destroyers and a further eleven of the smaller Victory-class had been pulled away from their normal assignments for just this occasion. That was almost half of the entire active complement of the Cyralis, Pelgrin, and Bitrose Fleets, and Kell had warned that the remainder would be stretched thin during this summit.

But the crown jewel, the part which had caused jaws to drop in astonishment was the command ship at the center of that formation. Thom smiled. The 7.2 kilometer long Illustrious, a Bellator-class Super Star Destroyer, had arrived in Cyralis just eleven days ago. Her commanding officer—Fleet Captain Gordon Ryn—had been assigned to the Fleet at Corellia, but the ship had survived the battle that raged over the shipyards orbiting Tralus. She had survived that battle because Admiral Jin Hassem had told the crew he had special orders from the Ruling Council for a special operation two weeks before Zsinj launched his coordinated strikes.

Illustrious travelled under communications black-out to the Sevastol Sector in the Mid-Rim, and there she carried out a dozen raids in just eight days upon the worlds of that war-torn expanse. A back-water region with almost no significant industry, Sevastol had been contended by the Empire and the Rebels before the Battle of Endor—but after the death of Palpatine, nearly all of the forces fighting there (on both sides) had been withdrawn. There had been far more valuable systems to be concerned with . . . and peace settled on the worlds and peoples of Sevastol for nearly a year. Until Hassem and Illustrious arrived.

His raids tore through the light ships—Imperial and Rebel alike—left to defend the worlds and his Stormtroopers had gathered almost ten thousand prisoners; Hassem insisted that the prisoners were ‘Rebel agents’. Of course, Ryn and the majority of Hassem’s officers questioned their status as such, as almost every one of those taken were young women—human and Twi’lek predominately. That was when Hassem plotted course to an uninhabited system in the Outer Rim. Upon arriving, he informed the crew that he had been anointed by the Council as the caretaker of the Empire until the Emperor returned—and he had been given a vision by Palpatine himself. The prisoners were to become his wives—all ten thousand of them—and the crew of Illustrious would make this world their home, from which the Emperor would be Reborn from among Hassem’s children. In time, their home-in-exile (a barely habitable world of tainted air and marshlands) would rise as the new capital for the Emperor and the core of a new Empire.

Ryn shot the mad-man in the back even as the Admiral announced that he planned to land the ship on the surface and disassemble it to build their new society and homes.

That was when he—and the other senior officers—learned that the Council had declared them as mutineers and that the Imperial Fleet was searching for them, with orders to destroy the ship and execute the crew. Having nowhere else left to turn, Captain Ryn assumed command and he made his way cautiously to Cyralis, in the hopes that a former commanding officer named Kell Morvin might accept him in the service of Moff Patrice.

And Kell certainly did. Now the High Admiral flew his flag from the bridge of the newly arrived Illustrious. And the expressions of jealousy and awe upon the faces of his guests was a joy to the old General’s heart.

“I still think we pulled away too much from the border my Moff,” Kell whispered as he walked up to stand beside Patrice.

“I hope you aren’t expressing that sentiment among the guests,” Thom chuckled.

“No, my Moff. In fact, I have informed your guests that this is the normal garrison for Cyralis—and that we have an additional sixty Star Destroyers of all types defending Cyralis, Lamaredd, Pelgrin, and Bitrose. I am not quite certain they believe me,” he said with a sigh. “My thespian talents are solely underused in Fleet command; I may have become too rusty to have carried it off convincingly.”

“As long as they think it a credible possibility that is good enough for our purposes. Do you agree?”

“Aye, I do. And if we actually had eighty-eight Star Destroyers to garrison these four Sectors, I wouldn’t worry. Instead we have thirty-three plus those assembled here—nineteen of those absent being Victory-class.”

“And all of their escorts,” Thom answered. “As you yourself suggested, the weight of the ships here blinds most of them to what is missing. We have twenty-eight Star Destroyers in orbit—but barely fifty escorts. The rest of our lighter-weight ships are stationed to protect this Cluster, Lamaredd, Pelgrin, and Bitrose. Not to mention our heavy Fleet presence at Ord Tanis.”

“Not heavy enough,” Kell said with another sigh.

“Look on the bright side, Kell. A year ago you commanded fifteen Star Destroyers and one hundred seventy-three escorts and cruisers. Today, you command sixty-one Star Destroyers and in excess of seven hundred and fifty lesser ships.”

“Aye, with four times the area to garrison and defend.”

“Kell, you would bitch if they hung you with a golden noose, wouldn’t you?”

“I would,” he answered with a smirk. “I’m an Admiral, Thom. It’s my job to be pessimistic and cautious. To see DOOOOM hiding behind every moon and asteroid. Because maybe then, when the shit hits the fan, I’ll have deployed my forces to meet them as best we can.”

“True,” said Thom. “And a damn fine Admiral you have made, Kell Morvin. Have the last of our guests arrived?”

“There is one final shuttle on approach—it should be docking within the next ten minutes. The other forty-three delegations are present.”

“Forty-three? I thought we invited thirty-six?”

“Some apparently invited their neighbors, but there is enough food and drink on the buffet table to go around. And I am certain a few are only here to inform their masters of what happens at this summit—some of these Moffs are in the pockets of the Hutts and other Crime Syndicates.”

“Which delegation is late?”

“The personal representative of Director Isard, my Moff,” Kell paused. “One Inquisitor Lanu Pasiq.”

Thom winced. “Make your way over to General Camlaan and inform him of this—make certain he has the Special Unit standing by.”

“I already have, my Moff—and they are.”

“Well then. It appears as if the game is afoot,” Thom said with a slight smirk. “Events like this—risks like this—remind me I am alive and not laying in some cold grave on a remote world.”

“Speaking of risks, he arrived two hours ago. I have him sequestered in the Palace until you have a chance to meet him face-to-face; he is rather impressive. Reminds me of you in many ways. A younger you, if not by much.”

“Yes, I was very surprised when Pooja made that suggestion—even more so that he accepted my offer to meet. But if we can convince him to throw his weight behind what we are doing . . .,”

Kell smiled—no grin, this, but a fierce smile of bare teeth. “Aye. If he does, we can cut away the gangrene of the corpse of the rest of the Empire, and formally establish the Empire of the Rim. If he doesn’t . . .,”

“. . . then we make do. Like we always do. Give me five minutes,” Thom said as he spied the hover chair-bound Veers making his way through the crowd. “I want a word in private with Maximilian before we officially begin the summit.”

“Just like an infantryman—you jus have to see the eyes of your targets before you pull the trigger,” Kell muttered.

And Thom laughed.