Star Wars: Broken Empire

[Elessar]

All these updates are spoiling us, your readers!

Keep up the crack.

[Eternal_Freedom]

Han and Leia appear to have gotten married much earlier in this timeline unless I am mistaken.

This is certainly going to be interesting. I did like the last part of his speech you borrowed fromt he Declaration of Independence

[atg]

Loving these updates, keep up the excellent work!

[Themightytom]

I wonder if Patrice can follow the breadcrumbs to the katana fleet.

[Eternal_Freedom]

I wonder if Patrice can follow the breadcrumbs to the katana fleet.

That would be quite a haul for him and with the Ord Tanis yards he has the resources to get them operational.

[atg]

Doesn't bel Iblis have a contact who knew where the fleet was (selling Iblis ships from there). Perhaps they can just buy the fleet.

[Tandrax218]

What is the katana fleet?????

[Diverball]

What is the katana fleet?????

It's from Timothy Zahn's "Heir to the Empire" trilogy. The Katana Fleet was a fleet of 200 Dreadnaught Heavy Cruisers (severely misnamed, since compared to a Star Destroyer, they are little more than Heavy Frigates), built some time before the Clone Wars, and extensively outfitted with slave-rigging circuits. The fleet was somehow infected with a hive virus, which drove the crews insane. The captain of the Katana order a jump to a random location, shortly before his death, and because all the other ships in the fleet had their navigation systems slaved to the flagship, the whole fleet went with it, and was lost in deep space.

[hongi]

I've never read the EU. How far away are the Vong invasions from this point?

[Andras]

20 years or so?

NJO is 25-40ABY, with the Vong arc running from 25-30ABY

[masterarminas]

“Your bounty has not been collected, Piar,” snarled former Moff Jendar as the two men walked through the quiet corridors of ORO-Corp’s executive retreat on Kelada. “And now this Sith-damned bel Iblis has returned from the dead—incorporating MY worlds into this abomination of his!”

“There have been setbacks, Moff Jendar. Or have you not noticed that the Ruling Council no longer exist? According to my latest reports, there is an agent in place that will be removing Patrice very shortly,” Piar replied.

“Really? He survived your last attempt!”

“That was a feint to allow our hunter to get into position. Patrice is as good as dead,” the CEO said as they reached the board room and entered—and both men came to an abrupt halt.

Jendar gagged, his face turning a pale pasty white at the sight, and Piar simply stared at the pile of heads—HEADS—stacked in the middle of the conference table in an irregular pyramid.

“Oh, look, the main attraction has arrived,” said one of the black-clad heavily-armed intruders as he juggled three heads.

Piar swayed at the macabre sight, even as another of the soldiers shook his head. “Put the heads down, Vsilisk,” he said.

“Sure, LT,” the first soldier answered, as he caught two, and the third hit the floor and rolled over to stop against the Piar’s polished boots—the lifeless open eyes of his brother, Admiral Hassel, stared up at the CEO.

Jendar fell to his knees and retched—the aroma of the filth that he vomited up only added to the nausea that Piar felt.

“Good of you to join to us, Master Piar—and Moff Jendar. We come bearing a message for you, Master Piar.”

“A-a message,” Piar stuttered as he hit his panic button in his pocket.

“Our jamming devices will keep your guards from responding—and if you have managed to obtain the means to defeat them, well, the rest of the battalion will make short work of them,” the leader of the soldiers said. “Why don’t you have a seat, Master Piar,” he said as he patted the back of one of the chairs. And then he nodded to his men.

Rough hands grabbed both Piar and Jendar and forced them down into the seats, and the leader sat on the edge of the table next to the CEO.

“You’ve been a bad boy, Piar. We don’t like it when some butt-hurt civilian decides to put a price on the head of the man we follow. Don’t like it at all. Now,” he continued with a smile, “I’m sure that you—as ORO-Corp’s Chief Executive Officer—knew nothing about this bounty that has been laid on Moff Patrice. Quite certain that you would well know the price that such a bounty would bring home upon all of those involved. So we are here to give you another chance, Piar.”

“A-a chance?”

“Yes. Second chances are so fleeting in this life, don’t you think? It is simple—you withdraw the bounty and you leave Moff Patrice, the Imperial Union, and Cyralis alone. Cut your loses—you can do a cost benefit analysis on what will happen if you persist, eh?”

“You killed them,” he whispered, seeing the heads of his closest friends and allies—Klar, Grennal, Joleyn—stacked among the others.

“Pay attention, Master Piar,” that soft voice said. And Piar looked back up at the smiling soldier. “Better. Withdraw your bounty and cut your losses. This is the only warning you are ever going to receive. Don’t make me have to come back here a second time. Understand?”

Piar—his throat painfully dry—just nodded.

“Good! And you have done us a favor—Moff Jendar, it is such a pleasure to see you again. Did you know that there is a warrant out for your arrest? Desertion in the face of the enemy? In a time of crisis? Oh, we should be grateful that you decided to seek your fortune on Coruscant—how’s that working out for you?”

The soldiers laughed and their leader shook his head. Piar sniffed the air and looked askance at Jendar—who had just urinated upon himself.

The leader sighed. “I hate the smell of fear-piss, Jendar. Luckily, we don’t need your entire body—just the head. Vsilisk?”

The soldier who had been juggling the heads grinned and he drew his knife. Jendar screamed and bolted for the door, but another trooper tripped him. “Not so fast, Moff Jendar—you don’t know how LONG I have wanted to do this,” Vsilisk said.

Piar closed his eyes and looked away as Jendar’s screams escalated and were cut off—he winced at that thought—abruptly. There was a dull wet thud, and the stench of coppery blood in the air. And then the soldier—this Vsilisk—was standing in front of him hold Jendar’s head by the hair, as the blood dripped down from the severed neck.

Their leader rapped his gloved fist on the table and Piar turned back around to face him. “Don’t make me come back.”

And then he stood. “The Moff will want to see Admiral Hassel as well—bag him along with Jendar. Leave the rest; Master Piar will handle the clean-up.”

With that, the soldiers left, and Master Piar began to cry.

[MondoMage]

Well, that was gruesome. Effective, one would think, but gruesome.

[masterarminas]

“Thom, are you certain this is what you want?” Kell asked softly. The newly appointed Grand Admiral of the Fleet wore standard Imperial Greys—he and Thom and bel Iblis had decided that a separate uniform was unnecessary for the highest rank in the new Union military structure. Only the insignia had changed. Kell had balked at the promotion, however, even thought it represented all that he had ever desired—complete and total authority over all of the Consolidated Armed Forces of the Rim, answering only to the Lord Steward and the newly convened Union Senate.

“You know why we went down this course, Thom. To keep Cyralis safe. That has been done. I am content at being Moff of the Cyralis Sector—I don’t need the vanity of being Lord Steward.”

“You did accept the nomination for Deputy Steward, however—which makes you not only a Moff, but gives you the tie-breaking vote in the Senate. And bel Iblis’s successor if anything happens to him.”

“A vote that will only be counted if there is a tie, Kell. And yes, it is imperative that we have an official and recognized line of succession—that’s what got us into this entire mess when the Emperor died to begin with. Not even the New Republic has clarified who would take over if Mon Mothma died; they would have to elect a new Chief of State—I believe that is the title she finally settled upon. But since I really don’t want the job, I’m glad that I could talk you into taking up Garm’s offer to hammer the CAF into one unified force.”

Kell sighed. “Damn if I wouldn’t feel better if you were in charge—but I know why you did this. At least the Lord Steward isn’t as much of an idealist as I feared.”

Thom laughed. “He’s Corellian! A Corellian idealist? Come on, Kell. That would be akin to a . . . Bothan philanthropist. Or a kinder, gentler Lord of the Sith. Just you hammer the CAF into shape and fast—this war is far from over, I fear.”

“Aye. Kaine—and just about every Warlord out there—has declared us Rebels and Traitors, and announced that would reduce the Union to charred cinders. And the Rebels?” he shook his head.

“New Republic, Kell,” Thom chided. “The New Republic is waiting to see if we fall apart so that they can swoop in and remove the last trappings of Imperial rule from our worlds. Oh, Mon Mothma did the only thing she could when she made that announcement recognizing our independence and congratulating her comrade-in-arms bel Iblis on his tireless efforts at ‘freeing’ the Twi’lek, but never forget she wants us to fail. We are a threat to her dream of restoring the Republic across the entire Galaxy.”

“I understand that Borsk Fey’lya was furious—he feels that the Lord Steward has betrayed him. And he doesn’t like that we might potentially wind up sitting on the border of Bothan space.”

Thom smiled. “He’s a dangerous player, Kell—he knows the game well. Tell your analysts not to underestimate him—or his spies.”

Kell nodded and he looked around at the space-port that had been his home for so many years. “I cannot believe that you suggested that the new government capital be established so far from here. Cyralis is far better protected—with fewer attack routes inbound—than Naboo.”

“Cyralis is a bit player on the stage—Naboo, like Garm bel Iblis—brings us respect and legitimacy on the Galactic level, Kell. And yes, there is but a single hyperlane charted to Cyralis—but that cuts both ways. Naboo will serve us well as the capital—and the native Gungans will show the Galaxy that we are SERIOUS about equal rights for all.”

“More than Ryloth already has?”

Thom grinned. The Twi’leks on Ryloth had accepted the offer made by bel Iblis—authored by Thom—whole-heartedly. No Union forces remained on Ryloth, although one of Kell’s squadrons protected the orbitals, and they were quickly rebuilding their homeworld. The slave traders had been taken into custody and public trials rapidly convened, broadcasting their crimes and sentences to the entire Galaxy. They hadn’t joined the Union—but then the unthinkable (from Mon Mothma’s viewpoint) had occurred; they hadn’t joined the New Republic either. Instead, the government on Ryloth had declared their independence as a Free System—and Garm had immediately recognized them and pledged Union aid to defend them.

And while the Galaxy at large was not aware that it had been THOM who funneled aid and arms to the Twi’lek rebels on Ryloth, the new government there knew it well.

“They will have a stroke when our latest announcement goes out, Kell. You aren’t upset about losing some of your men to the reformed Union Rangers, are you?”

“No,” the Grand Admiral said with a grin. “I’ve always said that the Fleet shouldn’t be charged with enforcing the law—just keeping the peace and winning wars. I’m damn grateful you and bel Iblis are pushing to convert the Sector Rangers into a true national law enforcement program.”

That had been one of the areas were Garm and Thom had seen perfectly eye-to-eye. The underfunded, understrength Sector Rangers had existed since the days of the Old Republic—and even Palpatine had mostly left them alone. But they had never had the budgets to make a difference, as the Republic had relied on the Jedi Knights and the Empire upon the Fleet.

Sweeping changes were now in the works, and the existing structure of the Rangers was receiving an influx of funding and new ships and recruits—their mission to enforce the laws of the Union. To put an end to the slave trade. To curtail smuggling. And the criminal elements which had free reign for so long in the Empire and Old Republic before it were soon to become endangered species.

No, the syndicates and the Hutts were not at all pleased with either Thom or Garm bel Iblis over this.

“All we need is time, Kell,” Thom whispered as he clasped the hand of his friend. “Just a little time with peace on these worlds, and we will transform the Galaxy.”

“Ask of me what you will and it shall be granted; all save time, for time is the one thing that no man can grant,” Kell quoted an ancient General of the Old Republic.

Thom sighed. “True. Your ship—your Fleet—is waiting, Grand Admiral Morvin.”

“Take care, Thom,” Kell said with a firm nod. And then, without another word, he turned and marched to his shuttle.

[masterarminas]

Epilogue

The crimson-robed human entered chamber at the spire of the Imperial Citadel. Panes of armored windows on all sides of the Grand Chamber gave a view of the cities and skies of Byss; the hidden world charged as the repository of all that the Emperor had accomplished. He knew why he was here—the dreams. The dreams that had infected his sleep, the glorious dreams that promised there was a new morning to come. He walked over to the perfect circle in the center of the chamber and he knelt as armored visors shut out the light from outside and he opened himself to the Force.

“Master,” he called unto the spirits. “Answer my call, Lord and Emperor. Hear me, O Darth Sidious the Supreme!” he shouted into the darkness.

And the darkness answered. The force adept smiled and he bowed his head low. “All is prepared for your return, my Lord. We await your spirit,” and he stood. The lights slowly raised and he walked calmly towards the doors. All will be in readiness—the ships, the troops, the clones, my master.

************************************************

The Star Destroyer Chimaera cruised slowly on patrol in the systems bordering the Unknown Regions. Her commanding officer frowned as he looked upon the sensors that read nothing. He was in the correct coordinates, after all. But whoever had sent that signal—that so intriguing signal—was not here. Gilad Pellaeon sighed. Perhaps it had been too much to hope for that something would come of this fool’s errand.

“Sir,” a sensor tech reported. “Imperial shuttle emerging from cloak ahead of us.”

Pellaeon jerked. A shuttle? With a cloak? “Identify and confirm transponder,” he ordered.

“Transponder confirmed; Delta-class shuttle—she’s transmitting the proper codes.”

“Open a channel,” he ordered. “Unknown shuttle, this is Captain Pellaeon of the Star Destroyer Chimaera. Identify yourself immediately.”

On a monitor screen, the static cleared and a video image appeared, and Pellaeon almost swayed. “Chimaera, I am Grand Admiral Thrawn—and we have much to discuss.”

TO BE CONTINUED

[Raesene]

Now those are mean cliffhangers - but provide the starting point to the events we all were waiting for

I hope you will continue seamlessly, or will you take a break from Star Wars stories (and return to Star Trek... )?

[masterarminas]

Now those are mean cliffhangers - but provide the starting point to the events we all were waiting for

I hope you will continue seamlessly, or will you take a break from Star Wars stories (and return to Star Trek... )?

I am concentrating on my Battlestar story (The Hunted) right now.

MA