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Prologue[/B]

As the blast doors leading into the briefing room slid open, the assembled officers of the Empire rose to their feet.  Powerful men, one and all, the officers gathered for this meeting ruled the Cyralis Cluster in all but name, answering only to the Fleet Admiral whose boots echoed across the polished floor.  And of course, the Emperor and his appointed Moff.  But the Emperor was distant, far from this backwater on the rim of the galaxy, and Moff Jendar . . . well, to say that Moff Jendar had the imagination and initiative of a Gamorrean would have been an insult to Gamorreans across the universe.  But Moff Jendar was not present today.  And if his intelligence was in question, none present dared to deny his cunning and vicious defense of what he viewed as little more than his personal fief.

Fleet Admiral Kell Morvin circled the table with measured steps, but he did not take his seat at the head.  Instead he walked up a short flight of stairs to stand before the armored windows set into the bulkhead, his arms crossed behind his back as he gazed out over the collected ships assigned to his command.  Finally, he turned around and faced his officers.

“Be seated, gentlemen,” he commanded, as he descended the steps and stood behind his vacant chair—and the empty chair reserved for Moff Jendar.

“Seventeen days ago, the Rebellion achieved a victory over Imperial forces in the Moddell Sector, above the moon Endor in the Endor System.   They destroyed the second Death Star being built in orbit, gentlemen—and Imperial casualties were quite . . . heavy.  Lord Vader and Admiral Piett were lost aboard the flagship Executor, along with the majority the ships assigned to Lord Vader’s Death Squadron.”

Absolute silence filled the briefing room, as scores of eyes grew wide.  One pasty-faced officer, clad in the white uniform of the Imperial Security Bureau, visibly shook himself.  “Lord Vader, the Dark Lord of the Sith, is dead?” he gasped.

Kell slowly nodded.  “To make matters worse, the Emperor himself had chosen to oversee the final stages of the construction on the Fleet’s newest space station.  He was aboard the Death Star when the main reactor was destroyed by Rebel star-fighters on a suicide run.”

Chaos erupted as several officers shouted out denials and others simply looked at Kell in wonder . . . and fear.  Kell waited until the noise abated and the last man standing sat once more.

“It has been confirmed.  Emperor Palpatine has been dead now for seventeen days, gentlemen.  The Empire is in a state of shook, while the Rebel Alliance has gained a . . . a most significant boost.  Worlds across the Empire, primarily worlds with an alien sentient species, have declared themselves for the Alliance.  Imperial forces are reeling and attempting to consolidate their strength in the Core.  They will fail.”

“Treason!” howled Colonel Marius Rael, the senior ISB officer assigned to the Cyralis Sector.  “You speak treason, Admiral Morvin—the New Order is eternal!”

“Calm yourself, Colonel,” Kell said softly.  “The New Order is built around one man—the Emperor.  He has no successor.  He has no heir.  And with his death, so too will perish the Empire as we know it.”

Rael stood.  “Admiral Morvin, you are under arrest for treason, for dereliction of duty, for your lack of faith in the New—AAAHHHHHHHH!” he screamed as a fusillade of blaster bolts caught him squarely between the shoulder blades.

Kell nodded at the two Stormtroopers posted to either side of the blast doors.  “Well done, gentlemen.  Does anyone else here plan to have me arrested today?”

Only the activation of dozens of fan motors within the rooms venting system broke the silence; the smoke still rising from the charred and smoldering uniform was quickly drawn away.

“The Empire, as we know it, gentlemen, is done.  Moff Jendar left this system earlier today in the fastest ship this Fleet had at its disposal.  Like many Moffs, his concern is with Coruscant; he seeks to carve his own seat at the table.  But he missed the point completely; Coruscant is lost to us.”

More jaws dropped, and Captain Tylan G’deransk started to speak.  Then he glanced at the corpse and nothing more than an inarticulate gasp passed his lips.

Kell smiled.  “What is your question, Captain G’deransk?”

The commander of the Imperial Star Destroyer Rapacity shook his head.  “The Rebels don’t have the strength to seize Coruscant, Admiral Morvin; they can’t possibly take the capital.  They literally cannot, Sir.”

“Coruscant has not fallen to the Rebels, gentlemen, but it is lost all the same.  Hundreds, thousands of ranking men with the ambition and the desire to step into Palpatine’s shoes are rushing upon Coruscant as we speak.  Do not doubt that same desire exists in the heart of many of your own fellow officers—they too are on the move, and rather than defend the Empire, their actions will ensure that it shall Fall.”

Kell stood and he began to pace.  “The High Admirals and the Grand Admirals and the Generals will all see themselves as the only legitimate heir of Palpatine—and they will wage a civil war vastly more destructive to the Empire than the Rebellions . . . ineffectual efforts.  By the time they are done, Coruscant’s defenses will be a shadow of their former selves, and the Rebels will seize the capital.”

He stopped and bent towards his officers, placing both hands on the table.  “They have forgotten our purpose, gentlemen.  They will throw away our reason for being in their quest for the Imperial Throne.  We will see fractures, and a shattered remnant of our Empire with quarrelling Warlords vying against one another while the Alliance gains greater strength by the day.”

“Humanity itself is placed in danger by these fools.  Do you believe that given their treatment at the hand of the Empire; that the Bothans and the Wookies and the Sullustans and all of the other races out there will forgive humans for being the only species given power and authority?  Or perhaps, they will forget the past slights and the issue of being forced into slavery and servitude by those who wore our uniforms?”

“No, gentlemen, they will want vengeance.  They will seek to do to us what Palpatine and his minions did to them.  And if the Alliance succeeds at reforming the Republic as they claim to desire, they will form a new government suffering from all of the sins of the Old Republic, but one that shall be overtly hostile to our own species.”

“We cannot stop that; our forces in Cyralis are too small; our presence here on the rim of the galaxy too inconsequential for the Emperor to have been concerned with building us up to strength.”  Kell stood and he smiled.  “But that distance also carries with it advantages in this situation, gentlemen.”

“Cyralis is predominately human; there are no native sentient species among the thirty-two inhabited systems of this Cluster.  Oh, there are minorities in plenty, but none native to these worlds, colonized by various human governments in the days of the Old Republic.  And we will defend these worlds—our worlds—that, gentlemen, is now our duty.”

General Conal Ise frowned.  “Admiral, we are quite understrength—yes, you have six Imperator-class Star Destroyers and their escorts, your flagship makes seven; I have a Corp at my disposal as well.  But that is a mere pittance of what a proper Sector Group has at their disposal; a pittance dispersed amongst thirty-two worlds.  I doubt that we will receive additional reinforcements from the interior, Sir; how then do you plan on holding this Sector against an attack that you yourself admit must eventually come?”

Kell nodded.  “Your points are well taken, General Ise.  We must build up our strength, and for that it means that Ord Tanis must see its factories and ship-yards brought back online.”

“Ord Tanis?” Ise asked.  “Those factories were shut down more than a century ago, at the order of the Chancellor of the Old Republic.  They are out-dated and obsolete, Sir.”

“How much has the design of a blaster changed in the past century, General?  Or repulsors?  Or hyper-drives?  No, gentlemen, we shall bring the foundries of Ord Tanis back on-line and add the design schematics of our modern equipment to their data-banks.  The industrial complexes were designed for droid workers—droids stored on Ord Tanis by the millions.  Gentlemen, once those factories and ship-yards are activated our only limits in building a proper defense force are the pace of resource extraction ships mining the belts of this Cluster and our ability to provide manpower.  Need I not remind you that Cyralis contains over fifteen billion humans?”

“The Imperial Security Bureau will howl for your head, Admiral,” another voice interrupted.  “They could prove . . . difficult.”

The Fleet Admiral studied the black uniformed Ubiqtorate agent sitting there calmly.  The rivalry between the ISB and the Ubiqtorate was legendary, and Kell grinned.  “I am ordering that the ISB is to immediately disband—those resisting the order will be eliminated quickly and cleanly.  Certain members of the ISB will be arrested and tried for their crimes—their, ah . . . enthusiasm in enforcing even the smallest of Palpatine’s regulations makes them hated by every Imperial citizen in this Sector.”  The galaxy at large, Kell thought to himself.  “I understand that it will be difficult Director Galen, but can the Ubiqtorate make do without them?”

Galen laughed.  “Easily.  The ISB incites more rebellion than they quash.  For this reason alone, Admiral Morvin, you would gain my support.  Are you taking the title of Moff, then?  Grand Moff?  Dare I say  . . . Emperor?”

Kell shook his head.  “I . . . would not be the best man for such a task.  I know my limitations, gentlemen, and I desire no such political power.  But my agents are already contacting a man who I believe will serve admirably in such a role.”

“A puppet?”

“Director Galen, I take no insult at that—but my oath is to the Empire.  My choice will be no puppet, and I will serve him as well and as loyally as I served Palpatine.  If he accepts my offer, he will be our leader.”

“An untested leader, foisted onto the Cluster by us,” Captain Pyrel Taan muttered.

“Hardly untested, Captain Taan,” Kell answered.  “And the Cluster will accept him long before they would follow the rest of us—for he is a native son.  It is because of Fleet politics that he no longer wears the uniform . . . politics and the fears that Palpatine had over the concern this officer disagreed with his New Order.”

A dozen pairs of eyes locked on Kell like lasers, and the Fleet Admiral laughed.

“You are recalling . . . HIM?” Ise blurted.

“Do you have a problem with, General?” Kell asked.

Conal Ise slowly shook his head, and then he began to smile as well.  “Actually, I don’t.”

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

The Lambda-class shuttle shook as it crossed through the atmospheric interface; despite the cooling systems, the temperature within the troop bay began to rise.  Four rows with ten seats each filled the interior of the bay; the outer two with backs against the right and left bulkheads, facing their opposites set back-to-back in the center of the bay.  All but two of the seats were filled with an Imperial trooper, clad in the mottled camo pattern common to scout troopers.  There the resemblance ended, however.  For these troopers were not lightly armed scouts.  Most carried a full-sized blaster rifle, albeit with a folding stock and biped.  At least eight (two in each row) carried a light repeating auto-blaster.  All of them wore a blaster pistol in a holster on their chest, and carried at least one knife (one intrepid trooper wore no fewer than six!).  Each had at least two grenades dangling from their armor, and several carried thick satchels filled with explosives for demolitions.

“Hey, Sarge,” a voice rang out over the short-range comm links built into the helmets.

“Vsilisk,” another trooper growled, “unless it is a medical emergency, shut that trap!”

“My heart is broken, Sarge,” Vsilisk answered, “I didn’t get to sit next to you and I am so scared, Sarge . . . hold me, please.”

Chuckles and coughs peppered the comms.

“Vsilisk, you just can’t let it go, huh?  Okay, tough guy, you’re on point, once we hit the surface.”

The shuttle shook again.

“Hey, Sarge?”

“Damn it, Vsilisk.  What?”

“I don’t get it, Sarge; why the devil do they need an entire special missions platoon to make contact with this guy?  I mean, we got orders not to shoot him, but a whole platoon?  What’s up with that?”

“Vsilisk, I swear I will put you on the worst detail I can find when we . . .”

“At ease, Sergeant,” a new voice came on the comm.

“Yes, sir,” the sergeant replied.

“Vsilisk,” the lieutenant continued, “this is not an ordinary civilian we going to retrieve.  He is a trained special operator who lives away from everyone and everything because he knows that one day some Admiral or General or the Emperor himself, will send a team of assassin’s to take him out just because they do not like leaving loose ends.  They are sending us because this civilian would probably cut his way out through a platoon of regular army and Stormtroopers ain’t got a real good grasp on the take him alive option."

Snickers rose over the comm, along with an anonymous voice, "Heck, they can't shoot straight either!"

"Listen up, people!" the officer continued.  "This is NOT an exercise, and we are liable to come under fire, there are likely to be booby traps, and we are NOT authorized to waste the target.  So, I want everyone on their toes and watching for anything!  If you see something suspicious, DON’T touch it!  Unless you want to grow a new arm in a bacta tank!”

“Man,” another trooper whispered.  “What did this guy do?  Did he shack up with Palpatine’s sister or something?”

“Hey, I heard that he called Vader an idiot,” answered another trooper.

“Idiot,” said a fourth as he hit the previous soldier on the back of helmet.  “It wasn’t Vader, it was Tarkin.”

“How do you know, Corp?” asked the trooper that the corporal had struck.

“Because it was Vader, he’d be dead by now, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” said Vsilisk.  “But why is this guy so important?”

“Vsilisk,” the Lieutenant answered over the radio, “they didn’t tell me that.  I don’t get paid to get told things like that.  I get paid to get the jobs they give me done.  You get paid to do what I say.  Two minutes, people.  Get your game faces on," the Lieutenant said as he and another solider stood.

The second trooper, the Platoon Sergeant, turned to face the suddenly alert compartment full of armed men.

“STAND UP!” he yelled.  “WEAPONS AND EQUIPMENT CHECK!”

One by one, each of the troopers checked his neighbors weapons, grenades, and other gear, tapping the guy in front of them until the four squad leaders gave the platoon sergeant a thumbs up, just as the repulsors began to whine and the ramp started to lower.

The platoon sergeant held up his arm and he waited until he felt the hydraulic shock absorbers in the legs engage; he thrust his arm forward and the troopers filed from the shuttle, spreading out to cover the perimeter.  He waited until the Lieutenant passed him by and then he followed down the ramp, the shuttle lifting back off behind him.

As it streaked away in the sky, the veteran trooper scanned the thick foliage beside the creek that had served as their insertion point.  Tall narrow evergreens crowded together in the cold rainforest, rocky outcroppings breaking through the fertile, rich soil.  Slick moss covered the soil and rocks both, a treacherous hazard even to troopers in armor.

“Skirmish line oriented north-north-west.  Maintain radio silence,” the Lieutenant ordered and slowly the troopers began to move out take each step slowly and cautiously.

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

Trey Vsilisk moved quietly and calmly through the woods.  The evening mist was rolling into the valley below, making his vision-enhancers built into the helmet less effective than otherwise.  Despite his wisecracks, he was a veteran of the Empire—well trained and with a score of conflicts to his name.  Each step that he took was carefully chosen, nearly silent, and he kept to the shadows as a matter of course.  The dense forest was quickly thinning out, though, and he slowed his pace, coming to a complete halt as he spotted a small clearing ahead; a stone cottage built against a rearing granite bluff.

He waited and he watched, noting the ribbon of light grey smoke that rose from the chimney; the orange flicking glow that light the window panes.  But he heard nothing except the creatures of the night slowly waking to begin their daily hunts.  Still, the hairs on the back of his neck began to stand up . . . and he licked his dry lips.

“Delta Six, Delta One-Seven.  I’ve got a small building here, just the right size for our target—but something isn’t right,” the point-man whispered.

“One-Seven, Six.  We’re converging.  Don’t spook him.”

The helmet comm terminated abruptly, and he chuckled.  Spook him?  Hell, the target had him spooked.  The night birds and insects went quiet, and Trey bounced up, spinning around—but he was tackled to the ground by a mass of grasses and moss, his blaster rifle knocked to one side, and then Vsilisk could feel the razor’s edge of a knife pressed against his throat.

“So they finally sent you after me, did they?” the old man whispered.  “Assassins sent to kill me in my sleep!”

“PRAETORIAN!” Vsilisk screamed.  “By Palpatine’s limp dick, PRAETORIAN!”

The old man’s eyes grew wide.  “Who sent you, boy?”

“Morvin, Fleet Admiral Morvin—we aren’t here to kill you!”

The old man chuckled and he leaned back on his haunches, pulling the knife away from Vsilisk’s throat.  “Kell?  Okay, boy; that name and the codeword means you live . . . for now.  Where’s your CO?”

There was the sound of a voice clearing behind the old man, and he half turned to see a half-dozen more troopers coming out of the woods, their blaster rifles leveled as they kept a wary distance.  “Right here, General Patrice.  Lieutenant Anton L’sard reporting, Sir.”

“Do you always report with a blaster trained on the officer, Lieutenant?”

“More times than I would care to admit, Sir.”

Patrice laughed and he stood up, discarding the ghillie cloak onto the ground, and brushing the loose soil and grass from his bald head, as he sheathed the knife.  “I like you, I think.  So what does Morvin want?”

“Sir, I was just told . . .” the officer began, but Patrice waved him off.

“Never mind; it was a stupid question.”  He held out his hand to Vsilisk and helped the trooper to his feet.  “Well, Lieutenant, are we walking out or do you have transport coming?”

“The bird is on the way, Sir.”

“Hey, Vsilisk!” another soldier called out.  “I just won fifty credits from the pool!  Thanks for getting your ass kicked.”

“I did not get my ass kicked!”

Patrice shook his head.  “No, but you damn near got your throat slit, son.  ‘Course I was hidden awfully well; you almost stepped on me before you came to a stop.”

“Yeah, you never heard of using a blaster on stun?” Vsilisk asked.

“Swore I’d never again pick up a blaster to shoot people again, my boy,” Patrice answered solemnly.

“You what?” Vsilisk spat.  “You nearly cut me from ear to ear!”

“I must have hit your man harder than I thought, Lieutenant L’sard; he doesn’t seem to know the difference between a blaster and a knife.”

The rest of the troopers chuckled, but Vsilisk pressed on gamely.  “That makes no sense; you swear not to pick up one weapon so you won’t shoot people, but you’ve no problem with cutting their throats!”

Patrice nodded in agreement.  “It is a bit much for a man to totally go cold turkey, son.  I am working on it.  Just be glad you shouted out that password.”

“Working on it!” Vsilisk gasped, and then two troopers were there, walking him away as he kept saying, “he would have cut me, he would have cut my throat, he would!”

The faint whine of distant repulsorlifts began became audible in the distance.  “Well, Lieutenant; shall we see what Kell Morvin wants?”

“Would you like to change first, General?”

“Kell has smelled sweat a time or two in his life, son.  Let’s get a move on.”

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

“So you want me to be the civil authority in the Cluster, do you, Kell?” the General asked as he swirled a dark amber liquid in a heavy crystal glass.  “And you think that the ISB will just roll over and allow that?  Please tell me you are not that stupid.”

Kell Morvin chuckled.  “Thom, you know me better than that.  Purging the ISB was the first thing I did after Moff Jendar abandoned his post—with the full and enthusiastic support of people of this Sector, I might add.  The vast majority of them made the choice to resist, which means that you will not have convene quite so many trials.”

“And the COMPNOR CompForce Units?  Conal has a Corp of troopers, true, and you have your Stormtroopers aboard the ships of the Fleet, but Rael had two regiments of those fanatics under his unilateral command.  And his troops were concentrated here on Cyralis proper.  The Army is garrisoning thirty-two seperate systems.”

“We gassed them while they were sleeping in their barracks—the 442nd Special Missions Battalion eliminated their watch-standers and we literally caught the rest sleeping.”

Thom Patrice smiled.  “A most poetic ending for those bastards, Kell.  Well done.”

The old general stood up and he gazed out the windows of Kell’s private quarters on the flagship Scorpion, the blue and green marbled sphere of Cyralis slowly turning below, half lit by the system’s star.  “I see two immediate problems with your plans, Kell.  The more pressing concern is that while we claim to be maintaining the Empire, we are—in effect—forming our own state.  The majority of your crews and Conal’s troopers are not from the Cluster; many of them will want to return home.  That is an ambition that being labeled as a traitor to the Empire may make rather impractical.  Some of them might well decide to stay here, but not all.  If we do this, you are going to have a lot of unhappy men with guns.”

Thom paused and he smiled.  “I have grown accustomed to the idea of being shot one day for no reason other than a Moff or a General or an Admiral or an Imperial Advisor decides to tie up loose ends, Kell.  Are you prepared to be shot by a disgruntled enlisted man that can’t ever go home again?”

Now the Fleet Admiral frowned.  “They joined the service knowing that they could be killed or assigned anywhere in the Galaxy, Thom.  They took an oath . . .”

“As did you and I and every officer involved in this Coup.  Come now, Kell, let’s call this what it is.  We, of all people, cannot afford to lie to ourselves, if we wish to make this work.  Essentially, we are now in a state of Rebellion and Insurrection, and while I agree that the focus of the command structure will be on the interior, that does not mean that every Moff and Grand Moff and flag officer out there will not want and desire our industries and population.  We cannot even be assured that Grand Admiral Haldon on Corellia will not assemble two or three dozen Imperators and escort ships, and swoop in here with an entire army of Stormtroopers to put an end to our short-lived endeavor.  That reaction is unlikely, to be certain, since I agree that he will be vying for more power and a shot at the throne—but it remains a possibility that we cannot simply discount, Kell.”

“Damn it, Thom, we need those men!  We can’t just let them . . .”

“Of course we need them.  I am no ideological idiot, Kell.  But the people of this Cluster will flock to our cause—and there are enough trained soldiers and spacers among them to fill the gaps of current personnel who want to go home.  It is best that we release them now, before they have a chance to become discontent and ripe for rebellion against us.”

“Thom, we have already factored in those former personnel—they are the key for our expansion!”

“Kell, do you want a stable government out here that is able to provide peace and security for the Cluster or do you want to be another Zaarin?   Another failure in the long line of men that have opposed the Emperor’s New Order?” Thom shook his head and he took a sip of his drink before he sat back down, facing the Fleet Admiral.  “Are you a Patriot, Kell, or are you merely an Opportunist?”

“I would think that you would not have to ask, Sir.”

“No, I do not.  Release your men, Kell Morvin.  There will more than sufficient volunteers with experience from the systems in the Cluster to replace them.  And ample trainees to beef up our forces with as well—if not quite as quickly as you might have hoped.”

The Admiral sat heavily back in his chair, and then he at last nodded.  “And what, pray tell, might be your second concern, Moff Patrice?”

Thom grimaced, but he nodded.  “I hate that title, Kell, but it does at least give us some cover until the rest of the Empire falls apart.  My second concern is your plans for Ord Tanis—you do realize that system has not been officially part of the Cyralis Sector since the New Order reorganized the Outer Rim fifteen years ago?  That it is now part of Moff Adair’s Lamaredd Sector.”

Kell snorted.  “Of course, my Moff.  I can read a map you know.  However, while it is technically a part of Moff Adair’s territory, I have been informed by excellent sources that he has not provided a permanent garrison there, it being so far removed from his populated systems.  And given the problems he has with the several different indigenous species and the pinpricks that the Rebels constantly give him, he doesn’t patrol Ord Tanis that often either.  A frigate or corvette visits the system every few months.  I am prepared to offer Adair that we will assume the responsibility for patrolling Ord Tanis—in a show of solidarity, of course—so that he can devote his own resources to fighting the Rebels and putting the aliens back in their place.  Now, once we are conducting the patrols, there is no reason to inform him that we have restarted the production lines.”

Thom frowned.  “That might work; it might also raise his suspicions as well.  Life all Moffs with whom I am acquainted, Adair is very territorial in nature.  He may well refuse your offer—and turn his gaze towards us.  His deputy, on the other hand,” and Thom smiled grimly, “is a far more pragmatic—and unimaginative—individual.  A tool who genuinely believes that all of the Empire works hand in glove towards a common goal, for the good of the New Order and the common citizen.  Were something to accidently happen to Moff Adair, I have no doubt that Osar will prove far more accommodating of your offer.”

Kell took a long sip of his drink, as Thom leaned back and raised his own glass to his lips.  Draining the glass, the Admiral set down the heavy crystal goblet and nodded.  “I have people that I can trust with arranging exactly that sort of fatal accident, Moff Patrice.”

“Good.  And once Osar loses control of the situation in Lamaredd, your naval counterparts, and probably many of the army units stationed there, might just consider a well-supplied, secure, and safe Sector, run by . . . professionals such as your and I . . . more akin to their liking.”

Kell refilled his glass from a decanter.  “They just might at that, Moff Patrice.  They just might.”

And the two men raised their glasses and tapped them together in salute.