Eve of a New Order

[Illuminatus Primus]

Eve of a New Order

(All due credit to Lucasfilm Limited, George Lucas, and employees thereof, without whom this would never have been. Special regards to the work of Dr. Curtis Saxton, Ph.D.)

Introduction: In orbit around Fondor, Platform XVC-8909


The tiny glassy orb hung against the dark, empty backdrop of the cosmos. A tiny thread linked it to a quadanium alloy flower embossed with orange paint marking the seals of the Fondori shipyards beside the more impressive shimmering yellow-gold ring of fire enclosing the triple-triangles which formed the emblem belonging to that ancient monolith: Kuat Drive Yards.

The observation buoy was clear in all directions: a perfect transparisteel capsule, only a small tether's attachment was an imperfection. It led to a one of hundreds of thousands of platforms which hovered throughout the planets and moons clinging to the source of the ubiquitous pale glow. The man sat in a repulsor chair capable of rotating in all of the three spatial dimensions.

Lieutenant Commander Dannik Chee gazed intently across the vacuum to the future of the galaxy. Well, almost a vacuum.

The First Fleet of the Republican Navy emerged from its berths and slips throughout the expanses of the Fondor System. Around the planet Fondor herself, the diminutive and airless Merc, the molten Sadom, the frozen Freya, and the gas giants Jomus and Dumus, the armada stretched across all planes of vision from the small observation pod cabled to the standard platform.

The scrolling data display fed him information. His eyelids widened visibly. The First Fleet had begun production approximately seven months earlier. Gathering designs from Alderaan StarFleet Engineering, Kuat Drive Yards, Rothana Heavy Engineering, Rendili StarDrive, and Chandrilla Shipyards, one of the most impressive warfleets in the galaxy's history had been assembled.

The First Fleet was the first launched of the eight main fleets under development. The Second Fleet would launch from Kuat within the month; the Third from Gyndine a few weeks after that. The Fourth and Fifth would be ready in two months, at Gyndine and Alderaan, respectively. The Sixth and Seventh at Rothana and Rendili in five months, and in seven months, the Eighth Fleet would be ready here at Fondor.

Chee felt privledged to be part of this great new force, this dawn of order in the galaxy. He felt proud of his uniform and government again. Most of his fellow officers spent their off-duty time in the brothels, holoparlors, or bars. Some of the decadencies and corruptions of war were timeless.

Chee was not the average officer. At the age of twelve, he had been one of the members of the then-waning Republic Youth Volunteers, serving several-month internships as volunteered help aboard one of the Republican Guard's Dreadnought-class ships, Chee had possessed an instinctive love and adoration for his Republic--the Republic of old--the Republic of legend. Chee didn't think there was anything more glorious he could do on the Fleet's christening but go to see it off.

He had not only anticipated this sight, but eagerly welcomed it. A graduate of the newly consolidated Republican Naval Academy at Empress Teta, and formerly a top student of the Alderaaanian Naval Academy with education in Political Science, Economics, and Modern Military History, he had advanced not only in fields of thought currently experiencing an optimistic, progressive renaissance in major institutions, but also as an officer in the Alderaanian Defence Force, and now in the Republican Navy. While in university he had poured over Supreme Chancellor Palpatine's essays and theories, and followed galactic politics and macroeconomics with an educated and keen eye.

As a rising cadet and officer, he'd continued to observe the changes of the galaxy, and became an outspoken proponent of Palpatine's politics and policies in the traditionally ideologically-neutral military atmosphere. But the climate of everything was changing, and changing quickly. Chee had watched the changed closely, and Palpatine had now, at last, taken the first decisive step toward undoing the decline and recent history of his Republic.



The Clone Wars had inexorably moved the galaxy away from the stasis, stability, and strength of over twenty-five millennia.

The old order had seen the waning of Republican power; the loss of the Senate's right to maintain a standing military, and then it was not difficult to lose the right to raise one at all. The Galactic Army and Galactic Navy were dispersed amongst the regions and sectors of the galaxy. The rimworlds and fringeworlds could not afford or supply the substantial and grand fleets of old, and their forces and defences fell to the wayside--save for the miniscule martial welfare fettered out from the Senate's shrinking coffers--reducing whole regions of the fringe to little more than meager policing by cheap, second-rate picket ships or frigates based on civilian craft or belonging to those models simply poorly designed and undesired by those who could afford better.

As a great philosopher once said, "peace and freedom is maintained by law and order; law and order are maintained by force and fear." A power vacuum so great could not go unfilled; an entirely disarmed galaxy would be at the whims of any petty despot who held so much as a handful of systems, or even a particularly impetuous band of criminals. Rather, the richest localities and organizations raised previously unheard-of armies and navies. Merchants provided their own armed guard, which had little qualms about abusing small, weak, and unwieldy customers. The aristocrats and monarchists, the industrialists and entrepreneurs, found money and will to maintain great defenses and even greater weapons. In the end, the military of the galaxy shrunk little; it only became more concentrated under those with most money, and answering to the voice of fewer beings.

Individual sectors and individual corporations concerned themselves with local regions only. Bush wars and small rivalries fanned into flame, now unabated by the stern eye of a galactic military. Corporate hostile takeovers became quite literally so: the "acquisition" of Rothana Heavy Engineering by Kuat Drive Yards involved the landings of several millions of Kuati soliders and hired mercenaries under the shadows of heavy Kuati guns. Still, corporations and firms found the galactic market uncharacteristically defiant compared with their local regions, or under the thrall of more proximate rivals. And so it became that organizations of corporations in the same business began to cooperate in more intimate manners. Price fixing became overshadowed by the crimes of invasion or attack on boycotting worlds or independent competitors.

And so these entities, joining with the unlikely brethren of the dispossessed and abused fringeworld patriots, broke from the aging and doddering Republic of legend. So began the Clone Wars.

Named for the first and most publicized combatants of the war in the form of the genetic marines from the biological factories on the alien world of Kamino and nationalised by edict of His Excellency, the Supreme Chancellor, the Wars had waged for over a year and a half, with not a single major strategic gain or victory on the Republic's part. The old industrialist and aristocrat worlds which had remained loyal to the Republic were similarly unassailable to the Confederates; they were possessed of professional local militaries that unfortunately were also incompetent to bring war to the enemy due to their limited ranges and absent logistical support. The Republic only defended; pausing only to surgically strike with the small forces of the Grand Army at individual grave threats.

Similarly, the Confederates only could strike at vulnerable or relevant regions of the Republic with those parochial or corporate forces already proximate to those localities, supplied through what support forces and supply train could be scrounged together from the business assets and shipping infrastructure available to the civilian interests in Confederate territory.

Now, for a year and a half, the supply networks, financial exchanges, manufactures, caravans of resources, lanes of infrastructure, and web of industry and economics had been rerouting around new fronts, borders, and lines of allegiance; aligning with the balkanized galaxy. The political debate in the Senate and committees and various think tanks over the creation of vast new arms under the ultimate command of the Supreme Chancellor finally resolved.

It had been one thing to ask the countless members of the Republic to permit the Supreme Chancellor emergency powers when the only thing visible on the incredibly short-range sensors of political considerations everywhere had been nationalising a ready-to-deploy-anywhere force of elite shock troops who, in the strategic naïveté of the average politician, would obviously swiftly and effortlessly decapitate the budding head of the Separatist movement, and end the crisis, returning everything to normalcy, and the Supreme Chancellor from the power of the dictator.

However, the actions at Geonosis and in the following few months neutralised no spoke of the Confederate wheel, and realized only an escalation of the conflict, and a consolidation of the Confederate position. Cries went out from the chambers of the Senate decrying the incompetence of the Jedi in failing to extinguish the flames of rebellion when they had the chance. Reluctantly, they threw their support to Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, who took the measured steps they favoured. Ordering a thousand more of the trans-galactic range Acclamator-class transports from Rothana, and ordering parochial and paramilitary forces' vessels such as the Dreadnought-class frigates and Consul-class corvettes assimilated into the small fleet of the Grand Army, he bulwarked the Republic's offensive capabilities while not threatening the local powerful or offending the citizenry with radical leaps.

Bogged down in such conflicts as the Battle of Jabiim, the politician and citizen alike had become quite impatient with Jedi blunders and the lack of progress. The subsequent Confederate offensive into the Core Worlds five months later provided the remaining political impetus to prompt the Senate into passing emergency amendments to begin planning and developing a new Republican Navy and Army; with a true officer corps with enlisted crews for the starships and enlisted soldiers for the battalions rather than Jedi commandos and generals with legions of faceless cloned warriors.

Chee however was no fool; he was a scholar and student of Palpatine's political treatises and theories; his subtle moves, approvals, acquisitions, assignments, and requests. Palpatine had known from the inception of conflict that only total rearmament would bring the Republic into a whole, and moreover, restore it from its days of decline. Moreover, the Emergency Powers Act established the Supreme Chancellor as a dictator for the duration of the crisis; he waited until Senator and citizen alike wanted him to act, and then chose to pass legislation through the Senate, even though he did not have to. Their Supreme Chancellor was indeed a clever politician, and an even more brilliant leader.



Now, finally, the dream of the Republic--nay!--the Galaxy's future was being realized. Here, at Fondor, the First Fleet rendezvoused for the first time, each and every vessel belonging to it having been completed, commissioned, and flown from its berth. The vast armada united and assembled at Fondor; officially Fondor had the largest facilities of the participating yards in the construction of the First Fleet, and also had constructed the largest share, thus it was only natural a choice. And in no small part due to Kuat Drive Yard's lobby to the Supreme Chancellor, as well. The tens of thousands of platforms, millions of tenders, dozens of huge yards and bays--all emblazed with Kuat's corporate logo would look very pleasant on the propaganda holos that would be transmitted on Holonet News by months end.

Dannik Chee had already stopped reading the sensor readings, and began again to gaze. The hard angles of thick durasteel impressed with the Republic cog on their bone-white or silver-grey planes glissened in the deep yellow-orange and throbbing glow eminating from Fondora, the distant spotlight around which this celestial carousel of orbs had danced for scores of thousands of millienia. The surge of white knives and needles, silver wedges, and grey spikes moved in unison. The V-19 Torrent clone starfighters flanked arrowhead Acclamator transports like great red-white raptors, floating in an corona of black and silver glitter. That glitter, of course, belonged to the countless models of new Sienar Republic Systems Twin Ion Engine starfighters.

At the heart of the corona painted from a patina of greys, a pair of the new Kuat Drive Yards Gladiator-class Star Dreadnoughts flew in unison; the prime vessel, the GRS Gladiator, Admiral Giel's flagship, and his second-in-command's flagship, the GRS Pride of the Republic.

Around them, scores of Kuati and Alderaanian Star Battleships, many more flanking Rothanan and Alderaanian Star Battlecruisers, Star Fleet Carriers from Kuat and Rothana, countless Star Cruisers from Alderaan, Kuat, Rothana, and the numerous Rendili yards, Star Destroyers from Kuat and Rendili in the thousands and thousands, Star Frigates, Star Escort Carriers, and Star Transports including the Rothanan Acclamator-class vessels, enveloped with miniscule lesser craft, all flying as an enormous mass thousands of kilometers across.

Yes. Here, at Fondor, the future began.



"Admiral Giel, the fleet is assembled."

The olive-grey uniformed officer did not turn, but kept his gaze fixed out into space through the bridge viewport of the Gladiator.

"Thank you Commander. Inform the captains to proceed to the exit point and engage hyperdrive."

[Crazedwraith]

An interesting start but i hope this doesn't mean your matrix fic is defunct.

[Illuminatus Primus]

It isn't. This little idea had been whispering to me on my shoulder for a long time, and I had to relieve it.

The next chapter is still in-progress, but everything's slowed with A LOT more personal life stuff lately.

[Techno_Union]

I like it. I want some more of it. So far it has caught my attention.

[Admiral Felire]

It was very good. I hope you continue. It really catches my interest and makes me wonder what is going to happen next.

[Peregrin Toker]

Incredibly detailed, yet you have a clue what is going on... this is a sign of some talent. (stories devoted lavishly to the details often drown the plot in exposition or just confuse the hell out of the reader, but this is apparently an exception)

[Illuminatus Primus]

Restart...wee.....

Chapter One: Embers in the Brush

GRS Gladiator
Hyperspace


Admiral of the Fleet Minvosk Giel watched the swirling entropy of the deepest blue contort through the transparisteel viewport of his observation lounge. The distorted light from the perspective of a tachyon reminded him distinctly of the seas of Bestine. He recalled flying over one of the prodigious natural whirlpools in his youth as a student aboard his small airspeeder. And now, aboard his Dreadnought, he sailed through the natural whirlpools of hyperphysics. Times had changed for more than just the politics of the galaxy.

A deep bass tone from the door.

"Come in, Ensign."

Ensign Moor was a squat, greasy figure, with a grandiose and twirling mustache that signified his intent to be taken seriously and respectfully. His domineering and arrogant affect often worked to counter his conscious intentions. He had the characteristic sharp tongue and poor manners of a son of Coruscant, though he never bared it before his commander.

"Admiral, our fleet is arrayed to exit hyperspace at the roundezvous point in the Sacorrian System. All ships are accounted for. The Beacon requests if you wish to open holocommunications with either the Sacorrian government, the Sacorrian Planetary Defense Force, or, for that matter, Corellia herself?"

"I decline all of the above, aside from the local Defense Force commander. Open a channel and inform him that the forces of the Republican Navy are inbound."

"Yes, sir."

With that, the squat ensign disappeared back through the portal through which he had emerged.


The Confederacy had launched a new offensive against the Core. While her last offensive, Operation DURGE'S LANCE, had been relatively weak and diffuse, and the Guard and Defence Forces had been able to repel it--barely--and the Confederacy had learned from its mistakes. The Kessel yards had been deploying new marks of Trade Federation starships with longer-range hyperdrives. While the sheer trans-galactic ranges of the Acclamator-class, her derivatives, and now, Giel's armada required more than simply tweaking and modification, the newer generation of craft would be able to traverse galactic regions with ease. The distance from Nemodia to Kuat and Corellia was not great. Director Armand Isard of the newly coalesced Republican Intelligence had personally developed and presented the assessment of the growing intelligence data from Confederate space. The news was grim.

The High Command on Republican Centre - as Coruscant had recently been officially renamed for morale and political purposes - anticipated that the invasion path would lie where DURGE'S LANCE had been stopped-up; at the Corellian Sector, and specifically, Duros. This was all complicated by the endlessly bombastic Senator Garm bel Iblis.

Giel turned back toward the viewport. The spatial chaos reflected his grasp of the future.

High orbit, Sacorria, Corellian Sector


The small emerald gem stood in contrast to the harsh white beacon that was the sun in this system.

And several thousand kilometers above it, a collection of vessels hung in the cosmos.

The Sacorrian Planetary Defence Force, a small and motley scattering of Kaloth-class "battlecruisers", which were actually refitted armored tankers bought from the mothballed stocks of the Corporate Alliance; the diminutive Consul-class gunships--or as the proud Peace Officers had deemed the refitted and modified Republican diplomatic couriers, "light assault cruisers"; a single Dreadnaught-class frigate, and a pair of very old, very slender, kilometer-long destroyers built by Corellian Engineering Corporation: Scythe-class Star Destroyers. A smattering of Marauder corvettes and skeletal and economical Nebulon-A escort frigates also joined the mix. The real defenses in this sector, the awesome paramilitary juggernaught known as CorSec, had been withdrawn to the Corellian System and her immediate dependencies. The other minor members of the Sector, such as Duros and Sacorria, had been abandoned to the gales of war.

The silence was broken by the appearance of thousands and thousands of starships like a swarm of kruki before autumnal harvest in ancient times on the selfsame emerald. Within a span of seconds, the First Fleet of the Republican Navy had assembled into formation directly out of hyperspace. Most of the Honor of Sacorria's bridge crew stood, mouths openly and unabashedly agape. The commodore was more professional and nonplussed as always.

"Prepare my transport to board Admiral Giel's flagship."

Within moments, the bay of the Honor of Sacorria produced a prestine and gleaming YT-2400 courier, the commodore's transport.


Admiral's Quarters, GRS Gladiator
High orbit, Sacorria, Corellian Sector


Commodore Lira Cyrax was taken aback by the precision and professional quality of the crew and officer corps aboard the GRS Gladiator. There had been rumors about the consolidation, construction, and establishment of the budding Republican Navy, but it was still impressive. To the commodore with her force of young Sacorrians which failed admissions to the ranks of the Republican Guard or CorSec and increasing sums of mercenaries, the degree of military precision was almost hard to believe.

She was escorted by an honor guard, having been received by one of Giel's subordinates, a commodore in charge of a destroyer squadron. The eerie clonetroopers were also a new sight. Everyone had heard of them, and indeed, seen them in action courtesy of Holonet News. Yet they were still unnerving in their perfect lockstep and antiseptic bone-white armor. The slender Kaminoans were obsessive-compulsive in their work, even forcing a nigh-identical voice pattern and physical dimensions despite environmental pressures into every single genetic soldier. Rumors were abound that Kamino was one of now dozens, perhaps hundreds of worlds full of giant factories with hatcheries and flash-learning apparati; armories and training zones. Whole worlds subsumed into the creation of totally artificial soldiers.

They carried no decoration, no pompous displays of experience or valor. Her honor guard could very well be veterans of Geonosis, Thule, and Jabiim, just as well as they could be freshly hatched products of an anonymous world's warm vats. Only a tiny stud under their armor from which a datapad with correct clearance could download would anyone find any information about the history of this individual. Perhaps that was the whole purpose. A military fights more efficiently as a single organism, undivided into problematic individual units. And a state too, perhaps a state should be run in the same fashion. Was that not what they were gathered here to fight a war over? Fighting against the tide of separatism and regionalism and sectionalism?

The quarters of the newly commissioned Admiral of the Fleet were quite opulent. Large tapestries no doubt belonging to Giel's noble family on Chandrilla depicted scences of battle and war from long ago. The oldest one, easily fifteen millenia old, depicted the victory of the Alignment between the human republics and various powerful trade and industrial states over the wildly violent and warmongering states in the fringe and Expansion Region. It was the end of the Unification Wars which created the Republic. Another depicted the Great Hyperspace War between the Sith aliens with their allies and the Republic. Another depicted the Dark Time: the Sith War of Exar Kun and Ulic Qel-Droma followed by the Mandalorian Wars and the Second and Third Sith Wars. The last showed the victory against the traitorous military junta which threatened the survival of the great Republic and risked domination beneath the Sith.

Each was framed with the finest natural ebony crystal from the distant gas giants in orbit around the remote Sira in Wild Space. The walls were of the finest polished and intricately etched wood from the golden forests of Kashyyyk. Finally they came to the darker wooden door.

The lead clone turned to her. "Commodore, the Admiral's study."

"Thank you...Marine."

Cyrax frowned inwardly. She still did not understand the meaning of the dots and stripes coded in particular colors. She was grateful that she did, however, remember that with the formation of the Republican Army, the clonetroopers were no longer the Grand Army of the Republic, but the Republican Marines.

The clonetroopers filed into the back of the hallway, remaining in the shadows. Their stark-white and utilitarian combat uniform contrasted with the opulent quarters eerily. She straightened her posture and uniform, and turned the wooden doorknob, then walked into the room.

She found it more practical than his main corridor; only a single portrait, that of the late Senator Tarkin; a rather notable proponent of a Republican military before his death attempting to realize that dream during the Stark Hyperspace War. The table was simple grey ceramic. There was a holoprojector in the center of it, and small dataports at each of the many chairs around the circular table.

And across from her, at the table's head, standing erect was Admiral Giel. They exchanged salutes.

"At ease, Commodore. Welcome aboard the Gladiator."

"Thank you, Admiral. I must say that your appearance is both surprising and very impressive. Little word emerged regarding any of the Eight Fleets of the Navy."

"Intentional, Commodore. We want the Confederacy to know as little about our composition, scale, movements, and tactics as possible until they meet us in battle."

"Indeed, but why have you brought the entire First Fleet, on her maiden voyage, I assume, to Sacorria. While we our defenses are admittedly modest, we are hardly stategically vital to the Republic as the whole we are fighting to preserve. I am curious what your mission here is, Admiral. Might you humor me with an explanation, or is the answer a matter of security?"

"Officers such as ourselves may speak freely. We need a staging area. I do not particularly wish to...negotiate with the Senator just yet, and Sacorria is just large enough to function as a temporary headquarters, and just small enough to avoid undue attention....in addition I must request that you do not inform the Corellian Sectorial Security Force of our presence."

Ah ha, thought Cyax. So he was charged with bringing Corellia back into the fold and protecting them from the increasing threats in the region. The Senator bel Iblis could be rather...stubborn and difficult. She would not haggle or attempt to reason with, much less deliver orders or decrees to the Senator. He had withdrawn the Corellian Sector's vote from the Senate indefinitely during the charged debate over the Military Creation Act prior to the Battle at Geonosis. He had also closed the borders, but that decree had gone somewhat less observed. More correctly he closed off Corellia herself and her clients and colonies; Duros and Sacorria were left free to the outside, but deprived of CorSec's protection and the power of vote in the Senate. The Senator had even assumed the Supreme Command of CorSec, and she suspected that General bel Iblis would be even more difficult to deal with than Senator bel Iblis had been.

Very interesting indeed. But she stood with nothing to gain by collaborating with the High Command and Giel; Corellia had abandoned her and her homeworld, and she did not fear their wrath since they had taken everything that they could from Sacorria already.

"Not a problem on either request, Admiral."

"I apologize for the lack of more formal channels for this, Commodore, but as I said, it is our aim to avoid being noticed. I am curious, also, Commodore: why is it that three of the Dreadnaught-class vessels and five Kaloth-class vessels we anticipated in your order of battle are not present in your defense?"

"The state of Coruscant's support for the last several centuries is responsible. We were reduced to leasing refitted tankers as warships, and worse hiring mercenaries to crew them. All of the local systems have heard of the Confed fleet amassing. The Duros paid the mercs enough to buy off the ships from their owners and still earn better pay fighting for them."

A momentarily seething of anger and vindiction against the Duros flared through the fair commodore. Once trusted and befriended neighbors thought not twice about buying out their protection for their homeworld. Of course she could hardly blame them. All that was left for individual worlds was to look out for themselves - and maybe, just maybe, they might not be able to look to Coruscant for salvation.

A bass tone from the table. Giel pressed the comlink.

"Yes? I remind you I do not wish to be interrupted in conferring with another officer."

"Yes, sir, I apologize. But Duro is currently under attack. We are receiving distress signals and communiqués from their commander."

"Thank you."

Giel frowned deeply.

"It appears that we must close our discussions prematurely, Commodore. I will escort you to your transport."

"If you do not mind, Admiral, I would prefer to leave my second-in-command with the flag and join the fleet heading for Duro. I would like to observe your vessels in combat."

"Request granted, Commodore. Inform your transport pilot that you will be boarding the Titan. Admiral Teshik will be proceeding to Duro's aid. A force will remain here to establish headquarters, but the majority of the fleet will be making way to Corellia. I hope to meet again there."

"Thank you Admiral. Good luck."


High orbit, Duro


Squadron Leader Kale Noor piloted his modified Incom/Subpro Z-95 Mark I though the wall of droid starfighters while gritting his teeth. A single example of the Haor Chall Manufacturing Variable Geometry Self-Propelled Battle Droid Mark 1, Mod 1 had dropped into his six, closing the two-and-a-half kilometer space between them rapidly – a space which quickly felt more like a hair’s breadth than two miles. His basic Z-95 model could not match the Haor Chall droids in acceleration or maneuverability. He could match – and surpass it – in brains, however.

A half-generation beyond its brethren that fought in the Battle of Naboo, this droid starfighter was independent of the master control computer and its communications suite. It was fully autonomous, but relied on the controllers to maintain deadly precision and coordination. No smarter though; like the first generation of all battle druids, from the Mk. 1, Mod 0 starfighter to the standard ground combat battle droid, it had predictable and formulaic tactical plans implemented by a remarkably primitive and cheap droid brain. Though after the disaster that was Naboo, the Trade Federation had entirely phased out control signal-dependent droids, including the Mk. 1, Mod 0, it had not phased out all of the stupid droids, whether they were basic battle droids or droid starfighters with more intelligent, durable, and all-together more dangerous models, like the Mk. 2 fighter and the “Super-type” battle droids.

This meant his pursuer was slow, poor at adaptation, unshielded, and wasted mass on inefficient walking mechanisms.

He snap-rolled his fighter on the starboard S-foil, wincing as pulsing laserfire shrieked by his craft, then cut his engines. He used his reaction control thrusters to yaw the fighter around to face his closing attacker. Once he completed his 180 degree turn, his punched all four of his engines to full throttle, killing his velocity and drastically shrinking the distance between himself and the droid. It miscalculated the closing time and undershot the jinking Headhunter as it fired its retrograde thrusters and manipulated its inertia, struggling to slow itself, but it was not enough. The droid pulled up sharply to avoid possible impact while slowing just enough for Noor to pull into a tight pursuit. He linked both of his triple-blasters and squeezed the trigger as soon as his heads-up display clicked green. The paired trio of blaster beams converged on the robotic spacecraft. The starboard trio went wide, passing over the fighter and missing completely. The second triplet hit the port pylon dead on in its forward half, punching a small hole clean through the light armor and vital endostructure beneath. The vaporized hull plating mushroomed as white plasma out of both punctures in the fighter’s hull before condensing rapidly into durasteel soot rapidly trailing behind the accelerating craft. The droid lagged slightly to one side but it had mostly trashed only the folded actuators and servos to drive the wings in their walking configuration.

"Damn piece of shit," swore Noor. The Z-95's avionics suite was produced by the wildly brilliant Cybot Galactica corporation, and decided that more precision and versatility was possible with largely manual zeroing of the main guns. Apparently no one at Cybot ever flew a ship, or they might realize one does not have the time in combat to select between 1.35 kilometers and 1.22 kilometers. One needed the computer to make a reliable hit, and damned if one could not utilize the complete versatility of the guns. It was hardly as if one found oneself shooting at two different targets at the same time in a snubfighter anyway.

Noor closed the distance between himself and the droid starfighter, which attempted to shake him but due to its sluggish port side, the normally doddering-by-comparison Z-95 paced the awkwardly jinking robot with ease. He re-zeroed his guns, dropped the sight over the port pylon engine, and fired. Both trios of blasterfire saturated the damaged armor, briefly turning the superconductive surface across the rear half of the port pylon white hot before evaporating away and allowing terrajoules of energy to puncture into the heart of the powerful ion engine. An orange-yellow explosion blossomed out of the port engine tearing the port wing clean off and pulverizing it into jagged fragments. The well-armored droid brain was only partially damaged, but the rear fuselage was a mess of melted parts and venting plasma. The port pylon was gone; in its place was plasma and pebble-sized molten fragments that pelted his particle shields. The partially deranged droid attempted to right its craft but it dropped into a flopping, clumsy spin and out of the battle.

Noor released his breath, and pulled his Headhunter in a wide turn back toward the center of the battle.

"Queen Rana Squadron, this is Squadron Leader Noor, regroup for a run on that Core Shi..."

Noor never finished his sentence. A close-in weapons system emplacement aboard a Trade Federation frigate fired once and instantly ten kilotons of energy transformed the Headhunter into an incandescent fireball and a shower of glittering light.

The formation of two dozen Confederate Dreadnaught-class vessels advanced on the faltering main line of Acclamator-class transports and Adulator-class frigates. The Victory-class Star Destroyer Ossus pitched down as fire poured from gouts opened in her armor. Behind the Dreadnaughts advanced old-style Trade Federation split-ring freighter-battleships and newer destroyers and frigates. Turbolaser and torpedo fire tore through the Kaloths weakening their already deficient antifighter capability and their collapsing flanks.

As refugee and escape craft began disembarking from the six huge habitation platforms orbiting the dull brown world and speeding for the Sacorrian hyperlane, a blur rushed by, and a Victory-class Star Destroyer simply appeared. And then another, and then three more, then larger Star Destroyers and Star Cruisers emerged in conjunction within a perfect V-shaped formation.

GRS Titan
High orbit, Duro

"Order our Star Destroyers to set up an englobement of that Dreadnaught thrust and to prepare to cut off their escape routes."

"And inform our Star Cruisers to target any Confederate vessels larger than frigates and to fire at will."

"Yes, Admiral."

[phongn]

Why would there be a ship named Spartacus?

[Illuminatus Primus]

It was just a name that came to mind; it doesn't make much sense under SoD; but neither does Hephastus.

[phongn]

Fair enough, it just broke SoD for a moment when I read it. The name sticks out a lot more than Hephastus, though.

[Illuminatus Primus]

Yeah, but no one squaked about HIMS Gorgon or HIMS Chimaera so I did not know if it was something to worry about.

[phongn]

I guess because those are more generic names than Spartacus, which is generally remembered as a single person. Heck, there were some people who didn't like Katana in the Thrawn Trilogy.

[Boyish-Tigerlilly]

I don't get it. Why ....are....fanfics...better...than... professional ...novels! It makes no sense! AHHHHHHHHHHH

[Techno_Union]

I don't get it. Why ....are....fanfics...better...than... professional ...novels! It makes no sense! AHHHHHHHHHHH

Because people who write fanifcs (good ones), generally know way more then the actual authors of the series.