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Author Topic: Star Wars: Broken Empire  (Read 59914 times)

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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #105 on: December 26, 2012, 08:28:48 PM »
“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.”
« Last Edit: December 26, 2012, 09:22:07 PM by masterarminas »
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #106 on: December 27, 2012, 04:13:59 PM »
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.
« Last Edit: December 27, 2012, 04:51:30 PM by masterarminas »
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Red Pins

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #107 on: December 27, 2012, 06:29:27 PM »
HAH!
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Warclaw

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #108 on: December 27, 2012, 06:56:04 PM »
The Rebels have Coruscant for the moment...but can they hold it?  Do they even want to try?

my feeling is no to both questions.

the circumstances allowed them to deliver a crushing blow to the Imperial remnant factions, decapitating two of them in one go, and eliminating both Isard and Zsing,  but now that the threat to the outlying regions has diminished, the remaining Imperial remnant force can easily re-concentrate and crush what the Rebels have.

What I believe they should do is make this an in and out raid.  Grab what they can, salvage any ships available, and take whatever they can use from the surface.  Given the transport available to the rebels, vs the size of Coruscant's industrial might, whatever they take will be a token amount in the grand scheme of things, but it could be a significant boost to the rebel force, especially if chosen wisely.

And this doesn't count the public relations/morale boost this victory will give them.  As long as they don't throw it away trying to hold a planet they don't really need.
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #109 on: December 29, 2012, 07:04:47 PM »
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.”
« Last Edit: December 29, 2012, 07:19:15 PM by masterarminas »
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muttley

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #110 on: December 30, 2012, 12:37:41 PM »
Nice
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"It matters little how we die, so long as we die better men than we imagined we could be -- and no worse than we feared." Drago Museveni, CY 8451

masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #111 on: December 31, 2012, 02:46:20 PM »
“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.
« Last Edit: December 31, 2012, 06:38:45 PM by masterarminas »
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #112 on: January 01, 2013, 03:19:13 PM »
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.
« Last Edit: January 01, 2013, 03:21:51 PM by masterarminas »
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #113 on: January 01, 2013, 06:01:38 PM »
Conversation in the observation deck came to an abrupt halt as the two Shock Troopers stationed at the entrance were suddenly lifted into the air and flung into bulkheads a dozen meters away. 

SNAP-HISS.  The assembled Moffs and Generals and Admirals and their aides and consorts alike parted in a terrified reaction to that crimson blade that ignited in the doorway.  And from where he and General Veers were engaged in conversation, Thom Patrice just shook his head at the young woman standing in the entrance-way.

As so many of those present did, the newest arrival wore an Imperial uniform—but this uniform was blood red from the high collar to the polished boots, over which a crimson, sable, and gold hooded cloak was worn.  One gloved hand rose, took hold of the edge of the hood, and lowered it, revealing an attractive, if harsh, face with long dark hair and harsh eyes.

“I am Inquisitor Lanu Pasiq, and am here in service of the Empire.”

“As are we all, Inquisitor,” Thom said as he stepped forward, his face stern with suppressed anger.  “What is the meaning of this?  You are here as an observer—deactivate that weapon at once, and in honor of Director Isard’s memory, I shall not have you arrested.”

A gasp went through the crowd.  No one in the Empire spoke in that manner to one of the Emperor’s chosen Inquisitor’s—trained in the arts of the Sith by the none other than Vader himself.

“Is that what she told you?” Pasiq laughed.  “She told me that it was your advice which led her into confrontation with Zsinj—that it was you who failed her.  And the price of failure, Moff Patrice is quite high.”

“You are here to arrest me then?”

“My dear Moff, I am here to take your head and return it to my Empress,” she cooed.

“If you have been paying any attention to the news from Coruscant, Director Isard is dead, Inquisitor.  And there are many—in this very room even—who would take exception with her assumption of Palpatine’s throne.”

“Yes, of course, you wish to believe that, Moff Patrice; that she is dead.  That will make her return all the more sweet when her enemies reveal themselves.”

And whispers of conversations raced around the room.  But Thom laughed.  “If Isard is dead or if she is alive—she no longer holds any power, girl.  She has lost Coruscant and she has lost the Fleets that would have obeyed her—she has nothing.  If she lives, which knowing your kind, might well be just another lie told to sow discontent.”

She lifted her chin and snarled—literally snarled—at Thom.  “I find your lack of faith most disturbing,” she said as one hand shot out in a claw-like gesture.

Thom gasped as unseen forces clamped down on his throat and lifted him into the air, and the guests pressed even further back against the walls and great expanses of windows.

“Release him, Inquisitor,” the command was issued quietly, but everyone in the room felt the presence behind that voice.  They parted again, and a Fleet officer walked forward; like the woman his hair was black, but where her face was contorted in anger and hate, his was serene. 

Pasiq blinked upon seeing him and Thom fell to the deck, gasping as he draw in a breath of fresh air.  “Tan Stele . . . I see that you have abandoned your duty.  The Inquisitorius was much displeased with your sudden vanishing act—but perhaps we can convince them to forgive you if you return with me.”

“Those jackals?  Lanu, they serve only themselves—just as Isard and Zsinj did.  They care for nothing but their own personal power and advancement.  They are the reason that the Galaxy is being torn apart, because they refuse to sacrifice anything for the greater good of the people of this Galaxy—they want control over all life, even if they have to kill half the Galaxy to obtain it.”

“Stand aside Emperor’s Hand,” she said with a smile. “You are no match for me—and you know it.  Stand aside, and I will leave you be as I depart with this traitor’s head.”

“The title was Emperor’s Reach, Inquisitor—and you underestimate me and those I lead today at your peril.  As for Moff Patrice?  I serve him willingly, child.  I have given him my fealty because he is a better person than Palpatine, Isard, Zsinj, Kaine, or your Inquisitorius could ever dream of being.  You will have to come through me to have him.”

She laughed again and grinned maliciously.  “So be it.  Vader knew you—he knew that desired no training in our ways.”

“The Emperor was not concerned with my desires, and train me by his own hand he did, child.  While he sought to teach me of the Dark Side, he could not force me to walk that path; I remain myself, Inquisitor.  I warn you again, test me at your own peril.”

Pasiq lowered her light-saber blade slightly and then she assumed a posture that heralded an attack.  Stele shook his head and he sighed.  He nodded.  “Take her,” he said.

Panels on the interior walls dropped; behind them were arrayed lines of Shock Troopers with weapons raised.  The Inquisitor spun and her light-saber whirled to deflect the blaster bolts—but there were no blaster bolts.  A hail-storm of saberdarts flew through the air as the archaic projectile weapons whined and spat rapid-fire aimed shots, burning through the contents of their magazines.  Her blade slashed a dozen—a score, even more—from the air, but it could not hit all of them.  Her eyes wide with shock and anger, she flung her arm and a wave of telekinetic force erupted out, knocking the troopers back and down—but dozens of darts had already penetrated her flesh, delivering their toxic payloads.

She gasped and she swayed and suddenly felt lightheaded.

SNAP-HISS.  And a second lightsaber blade—of a red so dark it was nearly black—appeared in Stele’s gloved hand.  “I warned you not to underestimate me, Inquisitor.  I am not a Sith.  I am not a Jedi.  And I do not fight fair duels,” Maarek Stele said softly as he walked forward.

Her vision graying, she flung out her hand once again and her lightsaber streaked away, the crimson blade remaining active as it dove unerringly for Stele’s heart—but with a wave of his hand, the former Emperor’s Reach diverted its course—and Maximilian Veers screamed as the lightsaber buried itself in his chest.

Stele looked at his hand and then at the cooling corpse of the once crippled and now dead Imperial General.  “Oops,” he said.  “Bit out of practice, sorry about that.”  And then he walked forward.  The lightsaber flashed once, and the headless body of Inquisitor Pasiq fell to the deck, her head rolling towards the crowd, her open eyes staring as the light slowly faded away.

“I am Maarek Stele, and I serve Moff Thom Patrice.  Choose your futures wisely at this summit, my Moffs.  The Moff and Admiral Morvin have allowed me the opportunity to teach their pilots how to make a TIE dance.  And they are fast learners.  I sincerely hope that you do not choose a course of action that will result in me and my pilots coming for you on one dark night.”
« Last Edit: January 02, 2013, 11:06:07 AM by masterarminas »
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #114 on: January 02, 2013, 08:50:44 PM »
“This is insane, Patrice!” Moff Barell of the Hook Nebula barked as he shook his head.  “Were we to join in this insanity, we will all be destroyed!  Do you truly believe that Mon Mothma, or Grand Moff Kaine, or the Hutts will just allow us to break ties with the Empire!  We will be attacked from all sides!”

“What Empire, Barell?” asked Admiral Lynisan of Ryndellian.  “The events of these past eighteen months have shown us that Palpatine’s Empire is finished.  The Emperor had no heir, he had no successor—and the Rebels are just sweeping up entire Sectors as we fight each other.  I cannot say that I agree with everything Patrice has proposed—his Declaration of Universal Rights for all Sentient Beings for one.  But can you stand there and say that it is honestly worse than having the Rebels take over?  Can you?”

The Moffs gathered in the chamber of Patrice’s palace in Cyralis began to argue and bicker again, but Patrice just sat silent and he watched them.  Already the fracture lines were showing—twenty leaders present had shown their willingness to discuss Unification. Hyk Indra of Dalchon, Charlys of Karthakk, Loran of Kiblini, Paulus of Cadavine, Admiral Lynisan of Ryndellian, Eisley of Alui, Torne of Astal, Kintaro of Bajic, and Hartee of Juris being the ones he had expected—and they had fallen into place.  Voelkers of Pelgrin and Krandor of Bitrose had also stood up for his proposal—Biram because he had decided the time had arrived to fish instead of cutting bait, and Krandor because he feared the Rebels.  These eleven Patrice had planned upon.

But Undine of Vendusii?  Gannon of Daimar?  General Jasan of Lol?  Vimaar of Dail?  Ammar of Portmoak?  Admiral Pym of Cor’ric?  Patrice had been astounded when these six leaders in the Mid and Outer Rim declared themselves for this Union.  And in a surprising move, Alexander Julstan of Arkanis had pledged his support and worlds—in exchange for ending the rebel advance upon his worlds.  Furthermore, finding himself surrounded on all sides by Moff and Admirals that were arguing for Patrice’s Union, even Anar of Savareen had let go of his caution and hesitation.  And in a move that had shocked every high official present, the late General Veer’s Deputy—Anton Shal—had said that he lost faith in Coruscant, and that Gaulus would follow Patrice, a leader who had proven himself.

Moff Ravik, his Tolonda Sector now surrounded on three sides by neighbors that were supporting the old General, and on the fourth by the unknown regions of Wild Space, he had stormed out of the summit in full fury.  Aggravated no doubt by the decision of the leaders present not to accept (or believe) his claims that Palpatine had appointed him as Grand Moff—as their ruler.  Thom had quietly nodded to Mal Galen and the Intelligence Director had followed Ravik out from the conference.  It had to be done; Ravik was insane and he could not be permitted to retain control of a Fleet in the heart of the soon-to-form Empire of the Rim.  Thom didn’t like it, but his likes and dislikes had long since failed to keep him from doing his duty.

Another twenty-one Moffs and Generals and Admirals stood in opposition—not as vehemently as Ravik, perhaps, but they had made clear that they would not be joining.  And that did not bode well for those twenty-one when the New Republic turned its eyes to this corner of the Galaxy.

Only Moff Panaka of Chommell had yet to speak.  For the five days that this summit had consumed, Panaka had not said a single word.  He held his tongue—and Thom could not read him.  Or the Queen seated beside him. 

“We have only to remain loyal to the New Order and maintain control over own charges!” Moff Quain of Sanbra shouted.  “Rule has always come from the Core—it will do so again!  And when this Succession Crisis has been sorted out, we will fall in line behind the man who assumes the Imperial Throne.  Anything else is treason, gentlemen!  Bloody treason!”

“You imbecile!” responded Admiral Pym.  “If this fighting on Coruscant continues, there won’t be an Imperial Throne!  If all of us, here, now, in this chamber band together we will control more of the Galaxy than the Hutts!  Who, if I might remind my fellow officers, enjoyed the status of Autonomy even under the rule of Palpatine!  Why?  Why did the Emperor allow them this?  Because he knew it would have cost him too many ships, too many troops, too many years to conquer.  If we unite here on the Rim, then no matter who eventually wins control of Coruscant, WE will have our autonomy.  And we can preserve for ourselves the best parts of the Empire and hang the rest!”  That last he meant quite literally, for he had taken a page from Kell Morvin’s playbook and executed every last member of the ISB and CompForce within Cor’ric Sector before he departed for this summit.

And in reaction to the insult, Quain began to yell—and he wasn’t alone.  A dozen Moffs where shouting to be heard and Patrice shook his head . . . and then he drew in his breath as Moff Panaka finally stood—one hand raised in a quieting motion.

Slowly, the chamber drew quiet and still.  He lowered his hand and the silence reigned over the room.  “Palpatine came from Naboo—in Chommell.  He was a son of Naboo.  All of you here know me—you know that I gave him my full support.  I gave the Empire my support.  But I am reminded by my Queen that there was another voice, a voice which stood against many of the Emperor’s future policies.  A voice that was buried far too soon,” and Panaka bowed his head.  “The Empire has fallen, my friends.  Palpatine is dead.  We must now look to the future and there are three paths forward.”

“One is where we continue as we are.  Squabbling and bickering amongst ourselves, until we find that our Fleets are gone, our Armies have deserted, and firing squad of alien scum stands facing us with a pock-marked wall at our backs.  Make no mistake—Mon Mothma will come for you—she hates the Empire.  And her strongest supports hate the Empire, and as Palpatine showed us, hate can make you strong!”

“He showed us as well that hate can corrupt.  His policies created this War.  His control over every system and every Sector had to be absolute—and that is what gave Mon Mothma and her rebels a victory in propaganda.  Many of the Rebels have no idea for what they are fighting for—except to throw down the Empire.  What will replace it?  Look at her own words—there will be return to a Chancellor of the Old Republic; the victors will rule over the deposed.  And we will be deposed.”

“The second choice is that we stand behind a single leader.  That we united to preserve the Empire as it is—to preserve the system without change and continue the policies that have brought us low.  That is the future that Isard and Zsinj represented—what Kaine and those Warlords that follow him represent.  A future of unending war between this New Republic that the Rebels are forming and the Empire, with the Galaxy torn between us.  For twenty years now, they have fought—an entire generation has fought against the Emperor.  And if we walk down this path we will be fighting for generations yet to come.  I remember well the time when Naboo was occupied by tyrants—I fought for a free Naboo in service to my Queen.  I will not see Naboo occupied again, her people suffer under the attrition of war that cannot be won and a peace that cannot be maintained.”

“The third option is here today.  I have thought on this matter intensely—I have searched my soul, my fellow Moffs.  And, as others have said, I believe that Patrice goes too far in his reforms of the Empire—but we must try something.  If not these reforms—which will leave us in command of our homes—then we accept either war everlasting or surrender.  I cannot surrender.  I will not see Naboo’s children go to war for generation after generation—for nothing.  All things in life change, my Moffs.  Only the dead are preserved.  And we plan on living our lives, we must change as well.  Chommel will join with this new government that Thom Patrice has proposed.  And I will add my Fleets and my Armies to him to preserve our worlds.  So that we may have peace in our lifetimes.”

And Panaka sat back down in the silence of the chamber, a tear leaking from one eye. 

Thom stood.  “The time has come to make your decision.  Mine is made.  The question is:  who has the courage to chart a new course?  If you cannot, then I bid you farewell—and good luck.  Those who choose to remain . . . there are matters that must be decided upon in the formation of our new realm.”

“This summit is now adjourned.  Those who have chosen to join our new Empire of the Rim, we will reconvene in one hours time.  To the rest, I bid you safe travels.”
« Last Edit: January 02, 2013, 09:09:22 PM by masterarminas »
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #115 on: January 02, 2013, 11:00:37 PM »
One hour later, Thom stood.  And only twenty-one other delegations had remained.  He smiled.  More than he had thought. 

“Now we come to the crux, gentlemen.  What form shall our new government take?”

Panaka laughed.  “You mean you haven’t given this any thought, Thom?”  The other Moffs joined in the chuckles. 

Thom smiled.  “Actually, I have.  Where Palpatine went wrong was in concentrating so much power within himself.  The Republic erred is having too much power concentrated in the Senate—where consensus was required for any action.  We must walk the line between the two with the Imperial Union of the Rim.”

Several Moffs nodded as the considered the title.  One by one, signified their agreement.  “While there are several issues on which we must agree will govern us all—that all sentient life is to receive equal rights and liberties under the law, being most central—I do not wish to return to having all power concentrated in the hands of a single man.  Neither should you.”

Thom began to pace.  Each of our Sectors will possess a limited amount of autonomy—provided that we comply with the principles I laid out earlier at the summit.  Instead of a Senate with one representative per world, each of our Sectors will have two Senators chosen by the means each Sector chooses.  They will serve terms of ten years apiece, once we pass the ten year mark, that it.  The original Senators will draw lots to determine who serves a shorter term in office.  For myself, I have already decided that the people of Cyralis—to include the former worlds of Lamaredd—will have a vote on that Senator.  Some of you might instead choose to appoint your Senator or even take the post yourself.”

More laughter.

“These forty-six Senators will form the governing body of the Imperial Union.”

“Forty-six?” asked Biram Voelkers.  “We number twenty-one—Cyralis makes for twenty-two.  With two Senators per Sector that makes forty-four.  Have you misapplied your arithmetic, Thom?”

“Moff Ravik presents a clear and present danger to the safety of the Imperial Union of the Rim,” Thom said quietly . . . and silence hovered over the room.  “I suggest that upon the organization of our government that we move against him in strength and remove him from office, replacing him with a person of our choice and incorporating Tolonda into the Imperial Union as a member Sector.”

General Jasan snorted.  “The man is a raving lunatic—and if he removed from my border, I will certainly sleep better.  I agree.”

The others voiced their approval and Thom nodded.  “Very good.  We can iron out most the remaining details while we appoint—or elect—our Senators and adjust the laws in our Sectors to meet the minimum requirements of what I presented earlier at the summit.  Except for two that must be resolved now.”

“First, the Army and Fleet of the Imperial Union must be consolidated.  Now,” Thom continued even as several of delegates present protested, “I am not speaking of stripping away your Sector’s abilities to defend themselves.  But we must each provide forces to a Consolidated Armed Forces of the Union.  Forming that organization will be our first task—and the CAF will have as its first mission the elimination of Moff Ravik.”

Now, the smiles were gone, but Panaka stood.  “We cannot have it both ways—either we each retain our forces, or we have a national force that serves ALL of us.  If each of you agree to give up fifty ships—at least five of them being Star Destroyers—I pledge that Chommell will reduce our forces to one hundred and warships contributing the remainder to the CAF.  Provided that Gaulus and Cyralis do the same.”

“Cyralis has no objection to that, Moff Panaka.”

“Nor does Gaulus,” said Admiral Anton Shal.

“Good,” continued Panaka.  “We three have the largest forces in this region—that balances each sector and will provide our Combined Fleet with at a minimum force of 2,200 ships,” Panaka smiled, “including somewhere around 150 Star Destroyers.  We will still each retain enough soldiers and ships to defend our Sectors, while the Consolidated Fleet can deploy from strategic hubs to meet any incursions.  Or undergo offensive operations as it may be required to perform.”

Slowly, the remaining leaders voiced their—somewhat reluctant approval and Panaka sat.

“That brings us to the second point—who will lead our government?”

“Come now, Patrice,” said Moff Gannon.  “Don’t tell us that you are not going to stand for that post—I am just wondering what your title will be?”

Thom shook his head.  “I am content to rule over Cyralis—that is all that I desire.  I propose that we show the Galaxy that we are not the same as Palpatine.  I propose we establish a new government that will provide a Steward for our people—a Steward that has honor, courage, principles of character, and will lend to this Imperial Union that one trait which has for so long eluded the Empire.”

“Legitimacy, gentlemen.  We must prove that we are the legitimate government in a fashion that causes Mon Mothma to gnash her teeth in frustration; one that does not cause our former Imperial brethren to fear.  We will establish the rule of law for the better of our people—not just for a chosen few.  And to do that, I have asked the a person here today who I believe will best represent us on the Galactic stage.”

Thom nodded to Kell Morvin who walked over to a nearby door. 

“Gentlemen, I nominate for the post of Lord Steward of the Imperial Union of the Rim,” Thom said as Kell opened the door and a man strode inside, “Garm bel Iblis.  Former Senator of Corellia—hero of the Clone Wars—founding father of the Rebel Alliance.”

And utter silence—shocked silence—filled the room as Senator bel Iblis walked in.
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #116 on: January 03, 2013, 12:20:19 AM »
Five days earlier . . .

“This is a trap, I know it is a trap,” muttered the woman with long black hair as she paced back and forth.  The other two women in the room just sighed.

“Is she always like this, Irenez?” asked Pooja Naberrie from where she sat.

“More often than not, Senator.  Sena, will you please SIT?  You are making my legs tired just looking at you.”

Sena Leikvold Midanyl stopped and glared at the woman who was technically her superior.  “I am certain that Senator Naberrie has not betrayed us—but I know nothing of this man beyond rumor and we should never have come here!” she snapped, her violet eyes flashing.

“Enough, Sena,” a voice came from the room to the second suite.  “They can hear you in the other wing of this palace, I am quite certain.”  Garm bel Iblis walked into the room and he smiled at the former Senator of Naboo.  “Pooja, come, give an old man a hug.”

She rose and walked over to the tall Corellian—his long hair braided in an intricate weave, the few strands of black among the silver only adding to his magnetism.  His cheeks were clean-shaven, but the mustache and goatee—both silvery-white as well—lent him the air of a desperado, a scoundrel. 

“Garm, dear.  It has been too long,” she whispered as she hugged him tight.

“You think this one is worth it?” he asked.  “I hate giving up the deceit of my death for a false cause—and while the Thom Patrice I knew was a good man,” the deep voice of the Senator paused and then he sighed.  “Let us just say Palpatine had a habit of corrupting all around him.”

“He did, Garm.  But I think that you will find that your ideas and those of Patrice have much congruity.  As much as  I respect Mon Mothma—and act for her upon occasion—her treatment of you has been . . . reckless.  Hear what he has to say, Garm—he promised safe conduct for all three of you.  And he is a man of his word.”

“Why else do you think I am here—to listen.  Agreeing will take quite a bit more effort.”

“Then shall we begin,” said Thom as the door to the Palace corridor slid open.  The two women with bel Iblis tensed and Thom smiled; he turned around.  “Wait outside—there is nothing I need fear in this room,” he instructed his Shock Trooper detail.

“Sir,” the clone answered, stepping back into the hallway.

Thom turned back around and he smiled.  “Aren’t you dead?”

The Corellian barked a snort of laughter.  “Rumors of my demise are greatly exaggerated.  Thom Patrice, as I live and breathe.  You got old.  And, although it was hard indeed for you to accomplish, your ugliness has only increased as your hair line has receded.”

“Time stands still for no man, you low-down, sabaac-cheating, Wookie-loving, nerf-herder,” Thom smiled.  “I do like the mustache and goatee—they make you appear less like a court jester.”

“Sit, Thom,” the former Senator said as he sat down.  “My aides—Irenez and Sena.  I believe that you already know Senator Naberrie.”

“Charmed, madames,” Thom said with a bow as he took a seat.

“Pooja seems to think that you and I need to talk.  But we are on opposite sides of this; I want the Empire destroyed—you want it saved.  Tell me why I should listen to you.”

“That would be because Palpatine was a homicidal sociopathic monster who didn’t have the least idea of how to actually govern beyond terror and fear.  Oh, he once did.  He played politics like you play sabaac—you know that well.  But absolute power corrupts absolutely.”

“And yet, you want to perpetuate the same system he created.”

“And you want to rebuild the system he came to power within.  Senator, I am no Palpatine.  And I do not desire absolute power.  But, the Emperor was correct in one fashion—the Republic was far too cumbersome and the Senate was hopelessly crippled.  What I want to do is take the best of both and leave behind the worst.”

“With yourself at the helm, Thom.  You are setting yourself up to become Palpatine.”

Thom smiled.  “No.  I am not going to take that post, Garm bel Iblis—you are.”

The old Corellian jerked and both of the women gasped—but Senator Naberrie remained calm.  She had already been briefed.

Thom nodded gravely.  “I want you—a founding father of the Rebel Alliance—to become the first Lord Steward of the Imperial Union of the Rim, Garm.  A Steward—not an Emperor, not a Chancellor—fighting to protect the rights of all of his people, be they human or otherwise.  I need a man who possesses the strength of character and the courage of his convictions that led him to fight Palpatine from the beginning of the Emperor’s reign.  Openly fought him.  Who sacrificed his entire life to see that Palpatine’s rule was ended and finished.  That man is you, Garm bel Iblis.”

“Thom, you cannot be serious.  I have fought Imperials my whole life.  Now, you want me to lead them.”

“I am dead serious, Garm.  Pooja has told me why you went underground—and I agree.  Mon Mothma is an idealist—you are not.  You operate grounded in reality.  And idealism makes her a threat to liberty.  Oh, she won’t start by shooting down people who disagree with her—wait, she has!”

“Her tolerance for all life only extends to those who support the Rebel Alliance.  She will not stop until every person who wants the Empire to exist is put on trial and given to the masses.  There are worlds out there where her New Republic has forbidden any former soldiers or spacers from serving in government or the military; she has disenfranchised millions in her quest to free those Palpatine held in bondage.”

Thom paused and he sighed.  “You know that she is rash, Garm.  She doesn’t listen to others because she doesn’t see others as equal to her.  In that, she is far more like Palpatine than I am.  Or you are.  I want you here to lead MY people—to grant them safety and security.  We in Cyralis have already granted equal rights under the law to all sentient beings; I intend for the Union to do the same in every Sector which joins.  We—you and I and the Empire as it could have and should have been—can provide a counter-balance against her New Republic, if she goes down the path that Palpatine trod.”

Thom sat back and the old Corellian did as well, a stunned look on his astonished face.  “I, . . .,” he began, but Thom stood.

“I don’t want an answer today, Senator bel Iblis.  I want you to think on this long and hard.  Senator Naberrie has the full run of my Palace—indeed the entire planet.  She will take you anywhere you wish to go.  Speak with anyone you want to.  Any species you want to.  Find for yourself the truth of what she and I are trying to save out here.  And then tell me if you want to see all of this thrown away because of the arrogance of that woman.”

Thom bowed his head towards the ladies.  “I hope that all four of you will join me for dinner this evening.  It may be late depending on the delegations and how long they continue to argue.  Good day,” he said as he turned and exited the room.

“A little warning would have been nice!” Serena snapped at Pooja who shook her head.

“My dear, this type of offer, a warning would not have been wise.  Besides, I want to get a picture of Garm utterly speechless.  This is liable to be my only opportunity until after he is dead,” the Naboo native replied with a flutter of her eyelids.
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masterarminas

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #117 on: January 03, 2013, 01:30:16 PM »
The distinctive crash of the fragile cup shattering as it hit the floor brought the guards into her office at a run, and their leader thumbed his radio as he saw the shocked pale face of Mon Mothma, the newly installed Chief of State of the New Republic.  “Medical staff to the Chief of State’s office, stat!” he barked.  But the leader of the Alliance to Restore the Galactic Republic did not appear to hear him—she just stared at the news holo still playing, with a flashing LIVE—BREAKING NEWS header scrolling across the bottom.

There was a man on the screen—a man that the security Lieutenant found vaguely familiar, as if he should know him.  Mon Mothma swayed, her mouth slightly open and then she sat in her chair once more, ignoring the shards of glass and ceramic at her feet—and the spilled beverage that had soaked her robes.

“. . . my fight has always been against Palpatine—against his excesses, his laws which stripped so many peoples of this Galaxy of their rights.  And I will continue to fight as the Lord Steward of the Imperial Union of the Rim against those who seek to carry on in Palpatine’s shadow—those who crave power for the sake of power, who use the law to remove the rights of others to live their lives in peace and liberty; I and those who I have now been entrusted with the honor of leading will fight to restore to this Galaxy equal rights for all living species—equal rights under the law.  We will throw down the corruption of Palpatine’s most heinous followers and we will peace to the Galaxy.”

“We cannot do this by demonizing every man and woman who wore the uniform of an Imperial soldier, spacer, Fleet officer, Stormtrooper, and civil servant—to do that would be to continue the evil that the Emperor wrought upon us all.  He laughs at us from beyond the grave, for we perpetuate the cycle of violence and hate and anger and fear.  We cannot change the past, we can only look to our future.”

“And that future must include humans who once wore the Imperial uniform.  We will punish those who committed atrocities—we will NOT punish those who acted in honor and fought against the New Order in their own way.  With the establishment of the Imperial Union of the Rim, we announce that as of this moment in history, we will no longer be shackled by the past—we will move forward.  Forging this new Union between all species, between all political beliefs, so that our people—OUR PEOPLE—may live their lives in peace and security, their rights assured under our laws.”

“Twenty-two Sectors have pledged themselves to this cause, citizens of the Galaxy.  Twenty-two brave Moffs have stepped forward and said that the times must CHANGE.  And they will.”

“In proof of that, I, Lord Steward Garm bel Iblis of the Imperial Union of the Rim, have ordered that all Union forces—and the Gaulus Sector forces under Moff Anton Shal—to immediate leave the Ryloth system,” Garm paused and his face grew sad.  “Palpatine kept the people of Twi’lek in servitude.  It was a crime which has shamed us all.  Slavery will not be tolerated in the Union.  I declare this day that Ryloth is a free and independent world, owing no allegiance to my own Union or to any other Power in this Galaxy.  To the Twi’lek people, I extend to you my hand in friendship—the Union will do all that you ask to rebuild Ryloth, to repair the damage not only to your world, but to the trust and camaraderie that once existed between humans and Twi’leks.”

“And to those—be they unrepentant Imperials or criminals in service to the Syndicates or minions of the Hutts—who would once again enslave the Twi’lek people, know this:  any action against Ryloth will be considered by the Union to be an action against us.  Test us on this at your own peril.”

“Our road ahead will not be an easy one—for the hate which has grown over the last twenty years will not be easily set aside.  Not for humans, nor for Wookies, nor for Twi’leks, or Sullustans, or Bothans, or any of the other living sapient species of this Galaxy.   It will not be easy to set aside that hate and that anger, but we must.  If we do not, we become the thing we fight.  Just as the Emperor was wrong in depriving every species of their rights under the law for not being human, we would be wrong in painting every soul who served the Empire as a black-hearted monster.”

“The Union will not walk that path—we have established our own Senate.  We will enact our own Laws.  And we will defend the freedom and liberty and rights of ALL people across this Galaxy.  And to this, I and the twenty-two Moff who have signed today this Charter, this Declaration of Universal Rights, we pledge unto you our honor, our lives, and our sacred treasures.”

“I am Garm bel Iblis, who founded the Alliance to the Restore the Republic.  Who fought the Emperor from within the Senate and then with force of arms.  And today, I tell you all there is the third way.  This Union will walk that path, and we welcome all who seek to join with us, in friendship and in peace.  But for those who would seek to do us harm, be warned!  We will fight.  All of us—human and non-human alike.”

The holo-cam turned to a massive crowd of cheering people—human and alien—as fireworks erupted overhead and a flight of TIE Avengers streaked by low in the sky.

And Mon Mothma heard a Corellian curse from the door.  She turned her head to see Han and Leia Solo standing there, their faces just as drained as hers.  Han shook his head in disbelief.  “Senator bel Iblis—but he’s dead.  He’s DEAD.”

“Mon Mothma?” said Leia gently as she placed her hand on the older woman’s shoulder.  “Mon Mothma?”

And the Chief of State’s eyes slowly cleared and she shuddered.  “I believe that we might have a problem, Leia.  Assemble the staff—and ask General Cracken to attend.  I want to know why we were not aware of this before it became public knowledge.”
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MechRat

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #118 on: January 03, 2013, 05:05:46 PM »
Woohoo! Now it really gets interesting!  ;D I can't wait to read more!
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Red Pins

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Re: Star Wars: Broken Empire
« Reply #119 on: January 04, 2013, 12:39:00 AM »
...Oh, I don't know.  This would be an excellent place to stop.
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