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Thoughts and prayers, MA.

God Bless And Good Luck Prayers be with you Seyla

My muse for this left me, Rainbow 6.  Hopefully it will one day return.

MA

Hail and Cheers Masterarminas We have found your muse Clan Warriors spent considerable time and jumps looking but Here she is.

Chapter Seven, Cont.

Thom Patrice stood emotionlessly on the bridge of Ascension as he watched ship after ship exit hyperspace in the distance.  He turned at the sounds of boot heels on the deck plating and nodded at Abril Jonas.  “Zsinj sent rather more ships than I would have thought,” he said softly.

And Abril nodded.  “Sensors confirm a Tector, two Imperators, four Victorys, a Gladiator, and two of the new Procursator-class Star Destroyers . . . plus escorts.”

“Ten Star Destroyers . . . he is sending me a message, Commodore.”

The Imperial officer snorted.  “He is sending everyone a message, Moff Patrice by dispatching one hundred ships for this meeting.  That he is a power with whom to be reckoned.  Not merely directed you, but at the Ruling Council on Coruscant as well.”

“True, Commodore.  I wonder, however, how much he thinned his own defenses in order to send this many of his ships so far away.”

“Does it matter?  Cyralis cannot take advantage of that . . . and he has us outnumbered more than six to one.”

Thom chuckled. “At least he is not attempting to englobe us—and if I am not mistaken, he did not bring any Interdictors with him.”

“You are correct, my Moff.  We can run for hyperspace if we must . . . and I have issued orders for every ship to keep their hyperdrives on standby with coordinates entered for the emergency rendezvous point.”

The old general turned around and smiled at the younger naval officer.  “Commodore Jonas, you really must work on letting your anxiety show . . . it does not suite a flag officer.”

“I will do better, Moff Patrice,” Abril said solemnly, and Thom chuckled again as a junior communications officer approached the two with a message board.  Abril took the board and skimmed the message before he dismissed the crewman.  “Vice Admiral Weisse, representing Grand Moff Zsinj, has graciously deigned to come aboard your flagship, my Moff.  He will be arriving via shuttle in fifteen minutes.”

“Excellent.  Let us prepare to receive the good Admiral.  Send the signal.”

“At once, my Moff.”

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

Kell Morvin smiled as he read the list of ships and (more importantly) the commanding officers of those ships which had rendezvoused with Patrice.  He highlighted a dozen names and deleted the rest before handing back the message pad to his communications officer.  “Establish a ship-to-ship encrypted conference link to the following vessels via the hypercomm, Karl.  I do believe that I will use my flagship’s conference room for this meeting—have the signal transferred there.  Quickly now . . . we haven’t much time.”

“At once, Admiral.”

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

Vice-Admiral Jon Weisse marched into the flag briefing room aboard Ascension.  A rather portly officer, he carried a swagger stick in one hand and an expression of displeasure and frustration upon his face.  That expression did not change as Thom and Abril stood in greeting.

“I am the personal representative of Grand Moff Zsinj . . . and yet, I am not greeted upon the flight deck by the men whom I have travelled so very far to speak with?  You dishonor yourselves and the Imperial Fleet, gentlemen!”

“Well,” Thom answered with a crooked smile, “being as I am not a member of the Imperial Fleet and Commodore Jonas was acting upon my instructions, I fail to see how that might be the case.  Welcome aboard Ascension, Vice-Admiral Weisse.”

Weisse snorted and he stepped down the short flight of stairs to stand behind his chair.  “I know men like you Patrice—drummed out of the service in disgrace.  It was the only luck which the Rebels had at Endor that brought you out of retirement—bear in mind, you have no friends left in the Empire.  And your actions have caused many, including Grand Moff Zsinj to question your motives.”

“My actions have been to secure Cyralis in the name of the Empire—and they have been endorsed at the highest levels by the Ruling Council.”

Weisse shrugged and he took a seat.  “An illegal ruling council, that rules in name only.  Grand Moff Zsinj, however, was personally appointed to his command of Over-Sector Quelli by Palpatine himself!”

“Yes,” Thom agreed.  “He was . . . but in case it has escaped your attention, Cyralis lies within Over-Sector Outer . . . not Quelli.”

The visiting dignitary inhaled sharply and then he laid his swagger stick upon the surface of the polished table.  “Details, Moff Patrice—those are mere details.  Grand Moff Zsinj has the legitimacy of being appointed by the Emperor.  And he is seeking to unite the entire Outer Rim as part of his command.  You have been chosen, honored, rather, to provide the Quelli Sector Fleet with the following ships, troops, and supplies.”

Thom raised one eyebrow as Weisse slid a tablet across the table.  He perused the contents and then handed it to Abril, who likewise read it.  “It is such an honor indeed to be requested to donate fully one in five of the capital ships and trained soldiers assigned to Cyralis and Lamaredd to the cause of Zsinj.  Regretfully, I must decline to be so honored, Vice-Admiral.”

“Decline?  Patrice, you do not want to make an enemy of Grand Moff Zsinj.  Nor should you wish to make one of me . . . it is well within my purview to remove you from office and appoint a more tractable officer in your place.”

“The Imperial Ruling Council might well take exception at that—so would my forces, Vice-Admiral Weisse.”

“Coruscant is far away, as are your forces.  Nothing can prevent your destruction if I choose to order it, Patrice.”

“And so it comes to threats, Sir.  I shall not be threatened, not by you or by your master.  I serve the Empire.  Not some corpulent Warlord who has taken it upon himself to expand the realms over which he was entrusted with command,” Thom said as he stood.  “Who ignores the lawful orders of the Director Isard and the Ruling Council, who has extended to the Rebel Alliance an offer of truce should they ignore his territory and concentrate instead upon the legitimate government of the Empire.  No, sir.  I shall not bend my knee to Zsinj or any other usurper of power.”

“Then you will die,” Weisse snapped as he stood and picked up his swagger stick.  He turned to leave, but the sight of four Shock Troopers with their rifles raised and trained upon him stopped him cold.

“Not today, Vice-Admiral Weisse.  Commodore Jonas . . . send the signal.”

“Transmitting now, Moff Patrice.”

“Signal?  What signal?”

Thom smiled and he pointed out the bay windows as dozens, scores, hundreds of starships suddenly emerged from hyper-space.  Weisse’s swollen face went white with shock.

“You must have stripped your sector bare!  Are you insane?”

“Vice-Admiral Weisse, I fear that your information on the forces available to High Admiral Morvin and myself is somewhat . . . dated.  As you can see from the nearly three dozen Star Destroyers arrayed surrounding your command, not to mention their escorts.  This is not even one-quarter of the ships which answer at my command,” Thom bluffed with a chuckle.  “Ships entrusted to me by Director Isard to secure Over Sector Outer for the Empire.  You threaten not one Moff, Vice-Admiral Weisse.  Zsinj threatens not just one Moff and one Sector—he threatens the Empire.  Bear in mind that our forces—Director Isard’s forces—still far outnumber your own before you issue any more threats against us.”

Weisse’s jaw worked, but not sounds emerged.  And Thom shook his head.  “Go.  Tell your master that he will receive nothing from Cyralis, from Lamaredd, from Pelgrin and Bitrose and Gaulus and a score more Sectors that owe our allegiance to Coruscant.  Nothing except our turbolaser bolts and concussion missiles should he come looking for a fight.”

The visiting officer jumped as a squadron of TIE Avengers streaked past the windows, followed by a second, and then a third, and then two dozen more.  “Oh yes,” said Thom quietly.  “Zaarin was not the only one with the specifications for that design.  Tell Zsinj to play in his own sandbox, lest he face not just Cyralis but the combined might of the Empire.”

Thom nodded at the Shock Troopers who took the Vice-Admiral by his arms and led him away from the flag briefing room, and back to his shuttle.

Abril grinned as he listened to the whispers of an earbug communicator.  “Admiral Morvin confirms that Zsinj’s ships are powering down their weapons, Moff Patrice.  And he reports that his recruitment efforts have been . . . fruitful.”

“Well done, Kell, well done,” Thom whispered.  He sat back down and flicked a communications key.  “Thank you Biram, and you as well Moff Krandor.  I owe both of you immensely for bringing your vessels here.”

“Yes, yes you do,” Biram’s voice came over the speaker.  “But we will discuss just how much later.  I do believe we have managed to take the wind of Weisse’s sails, though.  Zsinj may still seek to avenge this slight against him, you know.”

“Aye, that he might, Moff Voelkers.  But if he holds off for another two or three years, that is enough of a victory for me today.  And while he has nearly two hundred Star Destroyers at his command, he has need of them far closer to home than our region of space.  Soon enough, his ambitions will run right against those of the Rebels, and when that happens, Zsinj will not have time to spare us any more thought.”

Thom stood again and he moved to stand beside the windows where he watched as those distant ships began to enter hyperspace and streak away, far away from Cyralis.  But not all departed and Thom Patrice smiled.  “How many, Abril?”

“An Imperator, both Procursators, two Victorys, and around twenty-four lesser ships have requested permission to join the Cyralis Fleet, my Moff,” the Commodore answered with a broad smile.

“Oh, thank you Kell Morvin,” Thom chuckled softly.  “Tell them permission granted,” the Moff of Cyralis answered as the ships from Pelgrin and Bitrose began to depart in turn.  “Permission granted.”

Chapter Eight

Ran Karyda stood as two men was ushered into the spacious office of Corellian Engineering Corporation’s (Ord Tanis Division) newest Orbital Shipyards.  “Moff Patrice . . . it is an honor to finally meet you in person,” he said as he offered the older balding man his hand and shook it warmly.  “And this must be High Admiral Morvin.  It is a pleasure, Sir.”

The office had been fully restored to its former glory of the days during the Old Republic when this shipyard and foundry had produced scores of ships to fight against the Sith Empire.  Ran shook his head ruefully; he would have rather his engineers spent their time working on the construction yards and manufacturing equipment, while he supervised from one of the two Haven-class Mobile Repair Vessels which were working on systems around the clock.  But the commanders of those ships had wanted Ran out of their hair, and they had made certain that the command center had been among the first compartments to be restored to service.  And it was, Ran had to admit, breath-taking.  His office had 270-degree panoramic bay windows that allowed him to see the hustle and bustle of the tens of thousands of workers swarming over the old yards.  And while Marta had not been impressed with the living quarters, she had quickly found a rather expensive home on Cyralis itself and was becoming a major social figure on the Sector capital.  She had been surprised as how these . . . provincials . . . had reacted to the presence of a high-society woman such as herself from the Core.  Although she would never admit to Ran, she was enjoying herself out here.  So, too, was Ran himself.  It had been a long time since he had thrown himself so fully into a project, and the future profits from CEC-Cyralis all but assured him a seat on the Board in the future.

“Master Karyda,” Thom said with a wide grin.  “Your men wasted no time at all getting this place back up and running—when will you be ready to start new production?”

Ran laughed.  “We are still months away from that, Moff Patrice.  Right now, we making certain all the equipment is functional, making repairs, ensuring that the bays are clear of all obstructions and debris, and restocking empty parts lockers.  That being said, we are almost ten days ahead of schedule at the moment, and I have already given the commander of Invictus a heads-up that we can begin her restoration within a week.”

Kell smiled and he nodded.  “It will be good to get that Venator operational and on active duty service, Master Karyda.  Four months is the estimated time to get her turned-out?”

“Yes, High Admiral.  We estimate twelve weeks from the day we begin restorations to completion.  And I understand from Madame Ofar that the starfighter facilities planetside are now in full production,” he shook his head in amazement.  “She is talking about producing almost eight hundred of your new Avengers and Scimitars each month, plus another hundred or so Starwing Gunboats.  And that’s only in the one factory complex she has managed to get running again!  You’ve got another three down making small arms, and body armor, and AT-ATs, and artillery pieces, and repulsor-tanks, and the Sith only know what else.  Moff Patrice, when this system gets fully on-line, you are going to be making money hand-over-fist.”

“Well, that isn’t exactly my top priority, Master Karyda,” Thom answered with a chuckle.

“Where are my manners?” Ran asked.  “Please sit,” he said pointing to a circle of chairs around a small table.  “Drinks, gentlemen?”

“Thank you, no, Master Karyda,” answered Kell.  “We—the two of us—wanted to present you  with a few questions.”

“Ah, yes,” replied Ran.  “And you said you wanted one of our senior engineers present.”  He leaned down and pressed a stub built into the table.  “Marthe, could you send in the Master Shipwright?”

The hatch slid open and an older man—not quite as old as Thom, but not as young as Kell or Ran—entered the room.  “Gentlemen, this is Master Shipwright Joram Jayne—we call him JJ for obvious reasons,” Ran finished with a chuckle.   â€œJJ, may I introduce Moff Thom Patrice and High Admiral Kell Morvin.”

Greetings were exchanged all around and the four men sat down once more.

“Your show, Kell.  I am here so that Master Karyda knows this is authorized at the highest levels,” Thom said as he sat back.

The Admiral cleared his throat and he leaned forward.  “Master Jayne, are you the same Joram Jayne who worked on CEC Project SD-23174b?”

The shipwright chuckled.  “Aye, that was my baby from beginning to end.”

“Good.  I read your technical journal on this proposed design . . . I realize that CEC is famous for producing fast and maneuverable ships, but can you really get the acceleration and maneuverability of a Carrack-class in a Star Destroyer?  Admittedly, a small Star Destroyer, but she’s definitely worthy of that title.”

“Aye, the Strident-class will be able to keep pace with a Carrack, Admiral.  She half-way between a Victory and an Imperator in size, lacks ground troops, only carries two squadrons of fighters, but she has plenty of guns and she is—or would have been—one of the most maneuverable capital ships available to the Imperial Fleet.”

Ran frowned.  “I’ve never heard of the Strident Project?”

The shipwright chuckled.  “You weren’t involved Master Karyda in the warship side of CEC.  It is all theoretical anyway, as the Empire decided it wasn’t the direction they wanted to go.  Instead they went with upgrading the Imperators to the Block II class . . . and wasting their money on so-called ‘super’ Star Destroyers.  All built by KDY, of course, for ten times what ours would have cost.”

Kell grinned.  “I always considered CEC’s capital ships to be the finest in the Imperial Fleet—and I was heart-broken when they decided against Project SD-23174b.  Which is why we—the two of us—were wondering, can CEC Cyralis produce this ships?  Here, at the Ord Tanis Fleet Yards?”

Ran’s jaw dropped, even as JJ slowly nodded.  “We retain the design in our files, Admiral.  We could produce them, but the Empire has rejected them.”

“Well, we are distant sector and these ships are only meant for use here . . . for defensive purposes, of course.  And they will take less time to build and outfit than a full-scale Imperator, no?”

“On that you are quite right—if I even had the design schematics for an Imperator.  KDY keeps that data close at hand.”

“How quickly could you manufacture them?”

Now JJ frowned and he slowly nodded.  “Thirty-six months from keel-laying to launch; another four-to-six to work up for service.  There are a dozen slips large enough to accommodate a Stri- . . .”

“We will come up with a better name than that, Master Jayne,” Kell interrupted.

“As you wish, you are the customer.  We could work on a dozen at a time . . . so we are looking at twelve every three and years.  If we stagger the initial production . . . one new ship every three months.  But these vessels are not cheap.  Not by far.”

“I did not presume that they would be, Master Jayne,” growled Thom as he sat forward with a groan.  “Kell, are we going to need these?”

“I believe that we are my Moff.  We need some heavy ships to replace the inevitable losses we are going to suffer in this War—and we cannot depend on replacements coming in from the Core.”

Thom nodded.  “Very good.  Master Karyda, will CEC build our Fleet for us?”

Ran licked his lips.  He stared at the other three men—but there was no Board out here for him to ask permission of.  No, he was in charge.  At last he nodded.  “Provided that you come up with the funds—in advance, in hard currency—we will build your ships.  Any kind of ships you want.”

The Moff laughed.  “Master Karyda, I do enjoy doing business with you . . . and I hope to continue doing business for years to come.  Now, shall we start haggling over how much you plan to skin me for those ships?”

Chapter Eight (cont.)

“They apparently have learned to march well . . . but can they fight?  Will they fight?” Thom asked the Quarren standing beside him on the reviewing stand as rank of after of Bothan and Mon Calamari and Quarren and Sullustans and countless other species saluted the dignitaries as they passed in formation.

A thin hiss emerged from the mass of tentacles that made up face of Lyras Sho-kael, the first commander of the Cyralis Legion.  Until the overthrow of Moff Osar, Lyras had been a slave laboring within the underwater mines of ORO-Corp here on Lamaredd . . . but under the new regime he had rapidly rose to the point where he had been given command over the ten thousand volunteers who comprised this, the first formation of the Cyralis Sector built exclusively from non-humans.  Thom grinned as he recognized the laughter of the Quarren people.

“Try and take away their guns, Moff Patrice, and you will learn how well they can fight.  Their distant cousins have shown the Empire their courage and valor in years of Rebellion, and here now, this Legion has taken up their arms to serve you.  Only because of your actions in making them free under the law—of ending the persecution of Palpatine.”  Lyras turned his eyes back to the sentients marching below him and his mouth tentacles quivered.  “They will remain loyal as long as you finish what you have begun—they will fight for you to resist seeing their families put back in chains . . . although there are some who ask why they should serve any remnant of the Empire, and not the New Republic instead?”

Thom snorted.  “The New Republic hasn’t even sent any forces here to Lamaredd . . . not even a scout to investigate Osar’s mad reign; putting their faith in the New Republic will see their hopes dashed.  No, Lyras, they do their people best by agreeing to serve here, as part of my forces intent on defending our worlds in Cyralis and Lamaredd.  And they would be far worse off if I were replaced with someone appointed by Isard or Zsinj . . . and ORO-Corp returned to reclaim their lost property.”

“I am well aware of that, Moff Patrice,” Lyras answered.  “And so are many of those who march below.  Most of those below, in fact,” the Quarren paused and he looked Thom straight into the eyes.  “And of those on Ryloth would feel the same, I do believe.  If the rumors I have heard from Twi’lek refugees are true.”

Thom chuckled.  “Come now, Lyras.  I am a loyal officer of the Empire, acting only to preserve the peace and prosperity in my Sector.”

“Yes.  Remind me again . . . was Lamaredd within your Sector when you came here to stop Osar from killing twenty billion sentient beings?”

Thom did not answer; he did not have to answer.  Lyras shrugged.  “Isard and the Ruling Council have yet to appoint a new Moff to replace Norian . . . and it is strange how much the Gaulus Sector Fleet and Army has shrunk these past months—and conversely that Cyralis, Bitrose, and Pelgrin have grown.  Of course, with the bleeding ulcer that Ryloth has become at the heart of Gaulus, it is not surprising that so many of Norian’s former officers desired . . . safer posts.  Where they need not be concerned of having their enemies—or their own troops—roll a thermal detonator into their sleeping quarters.”  Once again, the thin hiss of Quarren laughter sounded.

The Moff of Cyralis and Lamaredd shook his head sadly.  “Unfortunately, Isard has appointed a replacement—who will be arriving quite soon with a sizeable Fleet and ground force contingent.  She has surprised me in this, for her new Moff is no mere syphocant, but a very, very dangerous man.”

The Quarren merely raised two tentacles—the equivalent of a human lifting his eyebrow—and Thom chuckled bitterly.  “Maximilian Veers—you do know of whom I speak?”

Lyras looked down at the ground and this time his hiss held no laughter at all.  “Yes.  I thought his injuries sustained in the Battle of Hoth had resulted in his dismissal from the Army?”

“No, he lost both legs, but he is still capable of command.  It was only luck that made him absent from the Battle of Endor—had he been in command of those Legions on the surface, the Empire might not be in the dire straits it is today.  But he is virtually a pariah—not many are willing to forgive him for his service under Vader’s command . . . or the fact that he survives and neither Vader nor Palpatine managed to do the same.”

“Veers . . . the rebels on Ryloth have not faced anyone of his quality—or competence.”

“No.  And that, General Sho-Kael, does not bode well for the Twi’leks.”

Both men were silent as another company passed in review beneath them.  And Thom shook his head.  “I had not expected her to do this, but Isard is full of surprises, Lyras.  I think that perhaps she is sending Veers—and the reinforcements meant for Gaulus—to keep a watchful eye on me.”

“And if that surprises you, Moff Patrice, perhaps you should be checked for signs of early senility.”

Thom laughed.  “No, it does not surprise me, that she would send someone out here to keep me under a watchful eye—only the man she chose to appoint does.  If those rumors concerning Ryloth are true,” and Thom smiled at the Quarren, “then we will need to redouble our efforts at concealing our tracks.  If, of course, they are true.  Which they are not.”

“Of course, they cannot be true, Moff Patrice.  No loyal Imperial officer—human or otherwise—would dare do such a thing.”

Thom laid his hand on the amphibian General of his newest Legion and he nodded.  “Make certain the next unit we deploy there consists only of volunteers,” he whispered.  “Ryloth is about to get a good deal more dangerous that we expected.”

Just as quietly, the Quarren answered with a blink of his two saucer shaped eyes.  “They are all volunteers—and they are willing to continue helping the Twi’leks gain their freedom.”

“Good,” Thom answered, as the last unit passed the reviewing stand, slotted itself into place, and all ten thousand of the aliens standing below assumed a position of parade rest.  “Good.  And I do believe that your Legion has exceeded my expectations, General Sho-Kael.”

“And that means, my dear Moff Patrice, that it is time for your speech,” Lyras said with another sibilant hiss of laughter.  “Remember, you too are only mortal.”

“Quiet you,” Thom whispered as he stepped forward to the microphone.