Re: Imperial Renaissance

Sergeant Nicolay Duryea led a squad of Bakuran troopers into the ore loading dock of the BakOr complex, blaster rifles raised. The troopers lagged behind the rest of their company, having been tasked with mopping up a knot of miners who had chosen to make a final stand in one the mine’s many outbuildings. The task proved to be a difficult one as the corporation–obeying the government’s decree that vital structures and complexes be fortified so as to serve as a final redoubt when the Ssi-Ruuk  chose to return–constructed and hardened a number of their buildings so as to be all but impervious to blaster fire. In the end, Sergeant Duryea had to order up a Plex missile launcher with plasma jet warheads to blow holes in the building, then burn out the defenders with fuel/air explosives.

As the troopers fanned out to search the loading dock, the sergeant’s attention was drawn to the massive Bakura Repulsor Corporation prime mover. He had been fascinated by the hulking machines ever since he was a youth, and that interest had evolved into the hobby of scale model trains. Duryea had even built a model of the prime mover type he was looking at, and liked to consider himself an armchair expert on the design. Climbing up onto the prime mover, the Bakuran sergeant peered through the control cab windows, staring at what now seemed a confusing mass of controls and readouts.

The chirp of his comlink distracted Duryea’s attention. “Yes Sir, we’re searching the loading dock for insurgents as we speak . . . Yes Sir, I’ll bring my squad up at once!”

Waving his rifle for attention, Duryea called out to his troopers. “Fourth Squad, form up! We’re moving out!”

Corporal Hercouby gave the train and the machinery of the loading dock a wary look. “How many men are leaving as a guard, Sarge?”

“None. We’re needed elsewhere. All of us.”

“But Sarge–”

“No ‘buts’, Corporal. We’re needed elsewhere. Besides,” Duryea said, giving the prime mover a final look, “I can tell you for a fact that this train isn’t going anywhere. Now, let’s move out.”


Havers and Penen–comprising the scout team known as Miner 1–held their positions and breaths for some thirty seconds after the soldiers’ footfalls had faded away. Cautiously peering over the edge of gondola where they had secreted themselves, the two scanned the area for threats before clambering out of their hiding place and leaping to the ground. Their respite was only momentary, the two taking cover beneath the ore gondolas as they detected the approach of unknown persons. Tension turned to relief as Piero led a small band into the loading dock area.

“Piero! Thank the Balance it’s you!” Penen exclaimed. “We’ve got to figure out a way to escape. The Imps and their stooges are crawling all over this place. I figure if we don’t move now, none of us will be getting out of here alive.”

“Don’t worry,” Piero stated firmly. “We getting out of here, all right.”

“How?”

The miner pointed toward the train with his chin. “That’s our express to freedom.”

Havers and Penen stared at their comrade with their mouths agape. “You’re frinkin’ crazy, Piero!” Havers sputtered. “The minute the Imps see this train pulling out of here, they’ll be on it like flies on nerf poodoo.”

Undeterred, Piero pulled himself up onto the train’s rear prime mover. “If we attract the Imps’ attention, then all the better. That’ll allow more of us  to escape and fight another day.”

Most of the others that accompanied Piero began to clamber aboard the train as well, pushing past Havers and Penen. Piero turned a steely eye toward the duo. “You can bug out when the Imps start following us. That ought to open up enough for you to get clear.”

Havers bristled at Piero’s words. “What, you think we’re not going to go along? You think we’re yellow?”

The miner opened his mouth to reply, paused. “Sorry, mate. Guess that didn’t come out right.”

“Okay then.”

“So you’re ridin’ with us?”

“Of course.”

As the two scrambled aboard to find places in one of the gondolas, that left Bowl and Caj standing on the loading dock floor. The old technician began to squirm violently as the implication of what the miners were planning began to sink in.

“Piero!” Bowl shouted. “What should we do with him.”

The miner’s response was chilling. “Excess baggage. Get rid of it.”

Bowl dragged the old man away, acutely aware that the eyes of the other miners were on him. All the while, he was remembering a conversation he had with Karranden one night, as the plucky band of guerillas made their way to the BakOr complex. The reporter voiced the disquieting rumors and suspicions  about Thayer–the deeds he did before fleeing to Bakura; was Bowl now about to do the same?

Caj fell to his knees, tears steaming down his wrinkled cheeks. “Please,” the old man wept, “My wife and family. My grandchildren . . .”

“Sorry,” Bowl replied softly. His thumb shifted the setting on the blaster pistol.

The stun beam that hit Caj in the shoulder sent the old man sprawling, his body twitching as he lay unconscious on the dock floor. Bowl turned to face the miners, gratified by the looks of relief he saw on their faces.


Clumps of soil and stone spattered around Rinehart. The Imperial looked up, then dashed forward from the crater he was sheltering in. Rinehart’s hand flew to the sheath that held his vibroblade; the knife thrummed as he hit the activation stud. Bursting through the smoke, he saw that the grenade had neutralized most of the insurgents. Most; even now, one staggered to his feet and dazedly attempted to aim a pistol at Rinehart.

The Imperial bowled into the insurgent, knocking him down and pinning his wrist to the ground. The insurgent clawed at Rinehart’s face with his free hand, trying to tear the Corellian’s eyes out. Rinehart rammed the vibroblade into the miner’s gut, driving the knife all the way in to the hilt. The insurgent let out a startled gasp, then made a choking, rasping sound as Rinehart twisted the blade savagely. His breath escaping in a final dying rattle, the miner shuddered, then went limp.

Panting heavily, Rinehart snatched the blaster pistol from the dead miner’s hand. The Imperial wasn’t about to take any chances. He put a bolt into the body of the insurgent he had just killed, then fired shots into the bodies of the insurgents lying nearby.

After retrieving his knife, Rinehart rolled onto his back on the rocky, bloodstained ground and checked the power level of the blaster pistol. Half. And to make matters worse, the pistol itself was nothing more than some lightweight sporting model adapted to paramilitary use. Almost useless in battle.

Sounds from the murk beyond caused Rinehart to roll back onto to his stomach and bring the pistol up to firing position. Someone was approaching . . .



The officers and soldiers of the reserve company that Rinehart ordered to remain behind to provide security considered themselves fortunate. While their comrades assaulted the mining complex, they got to hang back and, with a little luck, be required to do nothing more than stand guard over the mine once the battle was over.

In small groups, the Bakuran soldiers began to move forward, in order to better observe the battle. Joining them were the artillerymen, relaxing now that their fire support missions were over for the moment. Small knots of the troopers began to cluster around Morgan Yvies and the command speeder, hoping to listen in on the battle as the one-time BSA director communicated with the grim and cold-blooded Imperial Security Bureau captain.

“Captain VonToma, come in,” Yvies spoke in his comlink. “Captain VonToma, please respond.”

The Bakuran glared at the soldier who was manning the commo relay. The tech could shrug his shoulders helplessly. “I’m sorry, Sir. we’re not picking up the signal from the transponder from Captain VonToma’s command tank. There’s some distortion and electronic interference from the battle, but not enough to disrupt communications. I think his tank has been . . . knocked out.”

Yvies was hard pressed to stifle a grin. VonToma, dead? Admiral Dodonna would have to be appraised of that fact, and what a satisfying communiqué that would be: Admiral Dodonna, this is Morgan Yvies, advisor to Captain VonToma. It is with deep regret that I inform you of the death of our fearless leader.

And of course, the Admiral would have to name a new commander for the counterinsurgency force. Someone with an acute knowledge of the Bakura; someone like Morgan Yvies, for example.

Exclamations of surprise and confusion suddenly erupted from the Bakuran reserve position. Yvies’ gaze followed where many of the soldiers were pointing to: The BakOr mine train, having bashed down the door of the loading dock, lumbering along the roadbed and picking up speed. Heading right for them.

“Stop that train!” Yvies shrieked.

After a moment’s hesitation, the Bakuran troopers sprang into action. Infantrymen unslinged their rifles and opened fire on the train, targeting its massive lead prime mover. The artillerymen, dashing back to their pieces, had less time to react. Lined up in a row for the bombardment of the mine, only the M102 on the left flank was in position to fire at the onrushing train. The crew opened up with high explosive rounds; there was no time to switch to armor piercing shells.

Trailing smoke and flame, the lead prime mover struck the M102, easily battering it aside. The remaining artillery pieces, looking like giant, mechanical land crabs, scuttled desperately out of the way. Snipers aboard the train peppered the Bakuran soldiers with blasterfire. The lone hoverscout with the assault force rushed up in pursuit, blazing away with its cannon. The vehicle’s concussion missile launcher box opened, primed to unleash destruction. Before it could do so, a lucky blaster shot hit the launcher, detonating the munitions within. The missiles went up with a roar, metal fragments tearing through the hoverscout and crippling it.

Fusion engines howling, the ore train raced away from BakOr C leaving behind mayhem and destruction . . .


Albin let out a whoop of triumph. “Didja see that? Hourig! What a shot!”

The old woman grinned widely and waved her blaster over her head victoriously. The others joined in the cheers, but the celebration was short-lived. Explosions suddenly erupted around the train, raising dark gray fountains of earth and a hailstorm of rock and metal.

Shells truck the roadbed in front of the train, carving craters in the ferrocrete. The train crossed the depressions easily enough, though the sudden lurches threw the miners back and forth. Other rounds struck the ore cars, but the gondolas–stoutly constructed of doonium alloy–weathered the blasts with little to no effect. Abruptly, the bombardment ceased.

Bowl stuck his head out the control cab window, let the wind whip through his hair, grinned widely. “Ain’t no frinkin’ stoppin us now!”

Piero didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the prime mover’s readouts. Bowl’s grin faded. “What’s wrong?” he asked uneasily.

“The lead prime mover. Her reactor’s damaged, and overheating. If we don’t cool it off or shut it down . . .”

“Boom.”


“Captain VonToma!”

Rinehart lowered his pistol as he recognized his tank crewmen, a squad of Bakuran infantry in tow. The Imperial scrambled out of his place of concealment and hurried to join the soldiers.

“Captain VonToma,” one of the tankers asked, eyeing the blood splattered figure, “are you wounded? We–”

“I’m fine,” Rinehart interrupted. “It’s imperative that I get to the nearest section leader repulsortank.”

That much was true; cut off from any form of communication, Rinehart realized that control of the battle would quickly slip from his grasp and devolve into utter chaos. As the small band stumbled along a ridgeline that marked the summit of the mining complex, he could see that exact scenario taking place: The troopers that were to execute a pincer movement to encircle the mine had failed to do so, leaving a gap in which groups of insurgents were escaping. The company which was to hammer the enemy against the blocking force was bogged down. The reserve was nowhere to be seen, and the artillery could be heard firing at who knew what.

Slipping and sliding down a slope, Rinehart finally reached one of the section leader tanks and clambered aboard. “Switch over to this frequency,” he ordered the comm tech even as he punched in his command code on the control console. “Yvies? This is VonToma. Can you read me? Over.”

When Yvies finally responded, the Imperial officer didn’t like what he heard. His Bakuran advisor sounded hysterical, as if he had lost complete control of everything, including his bladder and bowels.

“VonToma! What happened to you? There–”

“Shut up, Yvies!” Switch me over to the artillery commander!”

“Battery commander,” a voice answered after a few seconds.

“Battery commander, check your fire. I repeat, check your fire. Stand by for updated fire support mission.”

Scrambling from the tank, Rinehart snatched a pair of electrobinoculars from an infantry NCO and clawed his way back to the top of the ridge. Sighting in on the gap between two of his infantry companies, he relayed the grid coordinates to the artillery, ordering blocking fire to cut off the escape route.

“As ordered,” the battery commander acknowledged. “Will commence firing once a firing solution computed.”

Rinehart gritted his teeth. Not quick enough. Still, there was one other asset. Switching frequencies on the headset he was using, Rinehart signaled the orbiting Z-10.

“Novotny! VonToma here. Bring your ship down on a heading along these coordinates. I want you to strafe any bastard down there that’s running.”

“As ordered, Sir.”

With a roar of its ion drives, the Z-10 swooped down in a low-level pass. The ship’s twin chin laser cannon chattered; the miners who were foolish enough to think they could outrun energy beams were cut down. Surviving insurgents dove for cover, trying to press themselves into even the most minute fold in the ground.

As the shop banked and came around for a second pass, it ran into a burst of well aimed blaster fire. The blasts–aimed as if someone below was directing the riflemen where exactly to fire–struck the cockpit and fuselage of the Z-10 solidly. The ship, originally designed for scouting and courier service rather than combat, was forced to break off its run and climb, trying to find safety in altitude.

The insurgents had little time to savor the repulse of the Z-10. A succession of booms, followed by the screech of projectiles tearing through the air, heralded the start of the artillery barrage.

Rinehart ordered on of the Bakuran soldiers to pop a red smoke grenade. That would serve as a rally point for all available soldiers. And once he had enough troops at hand, Rinehart could wrap up the battle at the mine once and for all.

By squads, or even twos and threes, infantrymen began to cluster around the ISB officer. A pair of tanks appeared as well, but Rinehart dispatched them to reinforce the flanking companies. Troops for the reserve were coming forward as well, carried aboard the repulsortrucks.

Waving the ridiculous little sporting blaster as a signal to move forward, Rinehart led the troopers on the attack. The force had not gotten very far when they felt an odd rumbling beneath their feet, then thick black smoke began to pour out the mine’s various ventilation shafts.

Rinehart could only think, What the frell’s happened now?

The Next Day...

The New Day

I was nervous.
   
I felt the cold breeze of the recycled air push against me and my fellow compatriots, huddled together on a row of dark seats in a desolate-giving hull. Sitting to my right is Lieutenant Commander Viktar Zsahiv, one of the silent ones in my former squadron. He’s given me nothing short of a simple glance and a nod, just like how we fly together, with no words between us. He’s the only one who’s never given me any sort of trouble in the squadron, only just asking me on how I was doing or what happened in missions. I flew as his wingman for a few times, and I saw how great he flew.
   
But, he’s leaving me as well. All of the people here in this shuttle bay are. Viktar is leaving for a TIE Interceptor squadron that is assigned to the Ravisher as well, but the chances I will see him again are very slim. But that’s just a fact of life.
   
Lieutenant Adi Abilik was across from me, sitting with a section of a Stormtrooper platoon that was accompanying us to the Ravisher. He was one of those bipolar pilots, but he was deeply patriotic, to the point of lunacy in my mind. That’s’ why we called him ‘Zealot’, and he hated us for it and loved us for it. Like he enjoyed the attention of getting noticed by the rest of the squadron. Quite frankly, he isn’t that great of a pilot. Too suicidal, like a true TIE Interceptor pilot.

I couldn’t care for the rest of the soldiers and pilots that were with us. I was in my own little world, in my seat, content to sitting and leaning against the cold surface of the chair. Adi made a joke at my expense, calling me ‘cold’ and ‘harsh’ or something, I really wasn’t paying attention. The soldiers laughed, the pilots laughed, and only myself and Commander Zsahiv kept silent.
   
The pilot’s voice rang out through the troop bay, a light tone that sounded frivolous and kiddish to me.
   
“Attention, all Imperial Navy and Marine personnel. We are beginning docking procedures, and estimated departure time is in thirty to forty-five seconds.” The voice then cut out quickly, like a knife slicing the communication hard-line. Everyone shut their mouths and kept to themselves now, except for Adi and a man next to him wearing Sergeant chevrons on his work uniform.
   
No one spoke for the tense moments passing by, and when I felt the landing clamps latch onto the hard durasteel plating that all Imperial docking bays came standard with I felt a breeze of air leave my mouth, a huge sense of relief going through me and the rest of the crew. Landing the huge troop transports in the landing bays was hard enough, but these big ships were known to have the most crashes in normal and combat situation landing missions. I’ve seen two crashes already, and everyone knows that these transports are made by the lowest bidder.
   
I stood up, tall, my back straight and my demeanor calm. I was now worried, as the doors opened up, about a list of things. What if my commanding officer is a major pain in the ass? What if the rest of the squadron is like that as well? All these fears, something that I never feel inside the cockpit, are beginning to eat at me now as I walk down the troop bay landing ramp of the Sentinel class landing vehicle, prepared to meet Hell.
   
And all I saw was a hanger bay, and that gave me a clue that the commander didn’t want to deal with me.
   
That put me back in a good mood.
   
I can feel the coldness of the hanger bay reach me, getting under my skin and causing me to wince. I hate that all Star Destroyers seem to have an anti-heat generator that causes everyone in here to do the same thing I do and tug at their sides as we walk off of the landing vehicle, our heads tucking in and us pilots huddling together.
   
“Fraking damn cost efficient heaters!”  Adi curses as we come up to a hallway after we close fifty meters of hard plated hanger bay floor. It came up to a junction, where four hallways dispersed onto different areas of the ship. However, all Star Destroyers had their departments located in the same area as all Star Destroyers do, and so all of us split up at the junction: Adi went to Hanger Bay Requisition and Supply, the other two went to Elevator, possibly to another part of the ship, but Commander Zsahiv was heading towards the Medical Bay, and this was the last time I would possibly see him.
   
“Commander Zsahiv?”
   
The old pilot turned his head around to face me, a blank look of wonder and curiosity stretched across his face.
   
I placed out my hand in front of me, my fingers joined together with my thumb hooked up. The wizened pilot regarded me with a look of…well, I don’t know. It was an odd feeling I received from him. The look of understanding, how one pilot gives another pilot a look, was absent. Like a dead look, those who I see when we notice that the pilot’s days are numbered. It was sadness, but…I think I saw relief in his eyes. Not at me, I was just there, but still.
   
It was haunting. Like seeing one of those scary holo-movies that look too real for anyone to really care that it’s a movie. But he shook his head, placed a faux smile upon his old face, and clasped my hand in his own, His hand was firm, like a vice, but it was weak as well. A very odd combination, with old skin but strong muscles.
   
But, then that faux smile turned into something more as he spoke. His voice was deep, ear-catching, and when he spoke I was entranced.
   
“Goodbye, my friend.”
   
And then he left, gone. Just like that, without even a proper look-back. He just continued on his journey, like a real man. I was envious, he was most likely going to intimidate his next commanding officer, and I was left to find my own. I shrugged my shoulders, feeling the sore joints roll back, my muscles attempting to loosen. I knew I should of done some shoulder shrugs before I went to sleep, but my stupidity apparently got in the way.
   
So, now, I’m standing in the middle of a hallway with a general idea on how to get to my new assignment, but with a quick glance to my chrono, I realized I have about a good day before I meet my new commanding officer. As I hurried to the nearest elevator to get to my quarters, my mind quickly thought that that was probably the reason why I didn’t see Captain…Tunn?
   
No, Dunn, that’s it.
   
That’s probably why I didn’t see him there.
   
I hurried onto the elevator, cramped with people needing to head to different places onboard the ship. I looked down and saw that where I needed to go was already selected. I was relieved, to be sure, for a fat and pudgy officer was in the way of accessing the elevator’s controls.
   
Lucky me.
   
After a few tense moments on the cramped elevator, the door opened to another deck, and almost half of the men and few women that were on the elevator departed. Good. I hate crowded spaces, especially with people I don’t know. The ‘Fat One’ left with them too, which was a plus as well.
   
So, now only about four of us instead of fifteen. A few seconds of space ended with the elevator arriving at my floor, and I quickly left the lift. The door closed behind me, and I realized that I was in the crew quarters of the ship. It seemed quiet, but there was life here, and I saw it with men and a few females, most likely medicaes and administration officers, running and walking in the hallways. I was, maybe, the only one really taking my time to get to my quarters.
   
I arrive at my quarters, and I am not surprised to see it almost the same, the exact same that I had on the Nightbringer, save the posters of Imperial hero Baron Soonir Fel of my personal collection, but those would be up soon. I placed my bag down on the ground next to my bunk, and upon looking at the data-slot in my pocket, I was happy. I actually got a bunk all to myself, new billeting quarters that were rolled over. I had my pick of the beds, and I chose my favorite against the far wall, away from the refresher and the door.
   
I moved my bag towards the bunk itself, and took out the first object I wanted to place: a holo of my father and myself at the graduation ceremony on Carida, with a young version of me standing with my ‘superior officer’ with smiles on our faces. Next to us was my instructor, and the rest of my class, but what I liked about that picture was that it was the only one where I was shaking my father’s hand. I don’t have those moments keyed into memory anymore.
   
I placed that next to my bedpost.
   
I then took my Fel poster and pulled out the two metal clasps, pulling them apart by shoulder length, then I attached the first one, a right-handed ‘L’ shaped hook, into the wall with the magnetic back. I pulled down the other one by two or three feet, pushing it into the wall. Pressing a green button on the lower clasp, an image popped in between the two clasps, a banner of Soonir Fel with his helmet underneath his arm and his eyes gazing somewhere off the picture.
   
Heh, he always did look like a hero.
   
I sat down on my bed, and relaxed against the wall, closing my eyes and thinking about…that dream. That frakking sailboat. Worse yet, I’m taking delight in being out there on the open water with just myself and that damn boat. What kind of perverse dream, or soft nightmare, is that? Something to make me think hard enough to get a headache?
   
I shook my head, getting the image out of my head, and adjusted my chrono to sound off in twelve hours and thirty minutes, maximum volume. Then, with heavy prudence, I let my head slam on the bed, and I closed my eyes.
   
And I tried to get some sleep.

   
   
After my dreamless sleep, I took my time to eat breakfast in the mess hall, change into my black pilot’s uniform, and then about fifteen minutes before I’m due, I’m standing outside the office to Captain Traven…Dunn. I finally remembered off the top of my head, so that’s probably a good sign to come. I’m wearing my standard uniform with my rank insignia placed rightly so on my chest, and my cover under my armpit as I stand at the position of attention. Some pilots who walk by me snicker, and make comments that I’d rather not say again, but drill and ceremony are one of the few things that I treasure in the military: Uniformity leads to cohesion, as Vandal once said.
   
Finally, a voice comes from the door.
   
“Enter.”
   
I snapped back to attention, and then I took two steps before I flanked, and then I was in Captain Traven Dunn’s office.
   
The room was a standard Imperial grey coloured office, almost droll in appearance, but I chalked that up to efficiency rather in elaboration. In one movement, still attempting to keep at attention, I took a quick look at his desk. It was nearly bare, with only the holo-computer and some datapads with discs on it. Besides the computer was a thermomug, which by the smell was tea or some sort of variant of the leaf.
   
With a quick glance of my eyes, I saw on the far side of the room was a small table, with a semi-large thermo-pot on its top; my guess was that it was probably for guest to serve, probably with tea or mineral water or something. He didn’t seem like the officer who would consume caffa like Squadron Leader Halsey did, but he didn’t seem like the alcohol drinker like Captain Zaafrian either, so my bet solely rested on tea or water.
   
But those thoughts were at the far corner of my head as I stood attention in front of Captain Dunn’s desk. From where I was standing, my eyes staring forward, I could see possibly one of the only personal ‘embellishments’ in the office. It was framed holo of the squadron he commanded, but the thing that struck me odd was the presence of a female in there.
   
Wow, a female pilot. You don’t see those everyday.
   
I snapped my arm up to my head, folding the fingers into a salute.
   
“Flight Lieutenant Bellarius Aganox reporting for duty, sir.”
   
Captain Dunn returned the salute.
   
“At ease, Lieutenant. Please, sit.”
   
I noticed the chair in front of the desk, and I immediately dropped my parade ground stance and relaxed slightly. I know how much officers don’t care for that sort of crap nowadays. I pulled the rolling chair over a bit so I was positioned in front of Captain Dunn, and I straightened my back, and folded my hands in my lap. A relaxed position, but a straight one.
   
“Due to the reinforced introduction of the new chain of command by both Admiral Dodonna and Admiral Willem von Aath, they has insisted that our forces combined personnel to make cohesion more effective. And, because of that, the Replacement Depot sent you to me. Do you want to know why I selected you, Lieutenant Aganox?”
   
I figured it would be because I’m an ace pilot. But, then again, I don’t want to be presumptuous.
   
“Not really, sir.”
   
“I had the choice between you and another generic, Coruscant-trained pilot. You, however, have Carida training, and you have discipline, or at least the apparent illusion of it judging by your commanding officer’s recommendations. I know the drill precision they instill in you, Lieutenant Aganox, and I understand the core values they also instill. Honor, courage…”
   
“Commitment.” I finished the mantra. It was second-nature to me. But it seemed to get the response I expected from Captain Dunn, a little tiny smirk. Hell, I also missed it.
   
“Yes, that’s exactly it.” He spoke, his tone so far nice and flowing. I was paying attention, but it wasn’t hard.
   
Then he got serious, and he leaned forward on the desk, locking his eyes with me. I was confused at first, until he started speaking.
   
“But if you attempt to fire upon civilians, or you do not respect the chain of command, I will have you out of this squadron and out of the Empire on a court-marshal. I cannot, and will not, tolerate any sort of incident from you. Do you understand, Lieutenant Aganox?”
   
I was literally stunned. I actually didn’t believe he would trust the reports that Halsey and Vectoris submitted on me. But, nevertheless, I quickly regained my composure and sat at attention.
   
“Yes, sir.” I swallowed on the last word, the way he spoke seem to cut through me easily. I was now merely staring at him, nothing aggressive in my eyes I hoped, but then nothing that would make me weak. Just, merely surprised.
   
“Good.” He said, his demeanor seemingly relaxing now as he turned around and grabbed a datapad on his desk, sliding it my way.
   
“This is your squadron assignment. You will be assigned as Paladin 9, and Lieutenant Commander Zak Uer will be your wingmate. Have you received bunking orders?”
   
I nodded, adding a ‘Yes, sir’ to that statement.
   “Good.”
   
I stood up, and I was turning to leave.
   
“Oh, and Lieutenant?”
   
I turned my head around and gazed at my new commanding officer, who was now at his holo-computer.
   
“Yes, sir?”
   
“The pilot you are replacing was a good pilot, a great ace. I’m expecting you to perform at the same level the former Paladin 9 did.”
   
I only nodded, responding with a curt ‘Yes, sir’, and then I walked out of Captain Dunn’s office with a quick pace in my feet. I did not want to be in that office, and for once in my life a superior officer actually scared me.
   
That can’t be normal.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

With the battle underway commenced by VonToma's goons, Lt. Commander Kix Davin had some hard choices to make about what equipment they could take with them. He stared down at the various weapons and piles of equipment laid out on the ground, astonished by what they had managed to carry as well as in consideration of what they couldn't take into battle.

"We could always cache some stuff," Lt. Sandoz whispered in his helmet.

"Too risky. Take what we can. We need to meet up with Cadman ahead while he still doesn't mind being the temp CO."

Sandoz picked up a RT-97C Heavy Blaster Rifle. He had been most insistent on taking one of these. "Well, I am taking this heavy rifle and my E-11 blaster if I'm going into that facility."

"Fine by me. Just don't get stuck in any confined spaces."

It was a fair point: with a backpack, heavy rifle, rifle attachments, and sections of E-Web cannon, there wasn't a lot of room left to load much else. Kix didn't want to say it aloud, but they were trying to do a squads' work. Something had to give.

Kix glanced from his observation point to where Nash and the rest of his men were. "Load me up, Lieutanant. Time to move out and meet Nash."

Minutes later, Davin observed in the distance Nash and his men. One of them spotted him. Kix broke radio silence. "Tell that bald fool to hang on with that detonator! I got a plan!" The two camoflaged storm commandos finally met up with the rest of the squad inside a crater.

"Took you long enough!" Nash spat through this helmet. "I was about to take matters into my own hands."

"Shut it, Nash, and listen!" Kix shot back. He projected a holochart from his palm holoviewer. "From our survey, the nearest suitable laying-up point is just a few meters from the facility in this entrance <I>here</I>. We tab down there now and deploy two of you to give us a good view of both the facility and any defenses set up. It's less than a klick away."

"I'm up for it," Sandoz chimed in. "Who's with me?"

"I'll go. After all, I am the saboteur," Njord spoke up.

"Settled then– get Nash's thermal detonator close to the entrance and do what damage we can, while Nash and the rest of us lay down fire. Njord blows the main doors, and I go in with Cadman. If we get pinned down, then we have to tie the rebels down with a split attack– plan B."

Taskill chewed his lower lip. "That sounds almost impossible."

"I never said we had good odds."

"You would if you had one of these," Sandoz said, and offered him the RT-97C heavy blaster. "E-11's are all very well, but we don't want to get too intimate with the enemy, do we? It's got a good spread so you don't even have to be an expert marksman to use it." He made a gesture with his hands. "Bang! <I>Serious</i> bang."

Taskill took the weapon and examined it carefully, then shouldered it. "Never used one of these. I'll get the hang of it fast."

"That's the spirit!"

Kix slapped a few power packs in Sandoz's hand to shut him up. "We might need to take a prisoner or two for interrogation, but if worse comes to worse we can ghost them all. I'd rather have at least one prisoner to keep the Admiral off our backs."

Njord grinned under his helmet. "So is there a plan C?"

Nash interjected. "Shut up, Njord."

"Both of you shut it!" Kix fired into his helmet's comlink. He spun around to face Cadman. "Your thermal detonator. Give it to Njord. It's time."

They followed the line of the woods, a route that took them a couple of meters out of their way, but offered the shortest distance over terrain. Eventually, they reached the edge of the woodland and came into a hundred-meter stretch of waist-high grass. Sandoz went forward as a point man. Sprinting and dropping was now beyond them, but there appeared to be nothing around to spot their camoflaged armor anyway, so they walked at a crouch. Taskill's back was screaming for a rest. It didn't matter how fit you were when you pushed yourself this hard: it hurt.

Finally, they stopped at a hiding place near the building complex. Kix held up one hand. "Showtime, Njord and Sandoz. Give them a good surprise."

Both troopers nodded with their helmets and vanished into the tall grass, their camoflage aiding them.

"What next?" Nash whispered into his helmet's comlink.

"We now ask for help. Again." Kix cleared his throat and comlinked the <I>Ravisher</i>. Instead, the response he got was from General Kabal.

"Lt. Commander Davin, this is General Kabal, Report!”

He contained his surprise for a second, then spoke up. "General Kabal, we had to delay our side of the attack to enter the complex. VonToma's goons started the fight early before we got inside. I'm requesting air support now, Sir."

"Say again? I'm in the middle of investigating a bombing at Salis Daar."

"General, we'll be needing air support. It might get a little hectic down here. A TIE Bomber squadron would do nicely."

There was a second or two of silence. "Commander Davin, be aware I have not been able to raise Captain VonToma, but I have passed your request. We have the Black Paladins scrambling with a squadron of TIE Bombers to escort them."

"Thank you, Sir. What is the ETA?" Kix demanded.

"They should be coming to you shortly, Commander. Approximately 14 minutes and 23 seconds. Send me your coordinates."

"Understood, Sir. Coordinates uploading now. On receipt of our transmission, direct the Paladins and the TIE Bombers at <I>this</i> location. On receipt of second coordinates, <I>this</i> location. Enemy will then be cut off for the rest of VonToma's goons to frak them up good, and the rest of us to get inside without getting us fragged."

"Received, Commander. Good hunting. Kabal out."

Kix shut his eyes and felt the relief flood through his stomach. He wasn't sure how Kabal or the TIE squadrons were going to get past the gauntlet of enemy fire, but at least they had it to fall back on.

"You sure you're not making this up as you go along, Kix?" Nash asked, a tinge of sarcasm in his clipped voice.

"You got a better idea?" Kix drummed his fingers on the thigh plate of his armor. A massive explosion from a thermal detonator instantly got his attention. Both storm commandos glanced up, now a sure sign that the fun was going to begin.

"Okay," Kix said. "Everyone get ready and assume positions. We're going in! Just hope those TIE's get here soon."

The storm commandos charged toward the building complex.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

“Listen, Huntress, are you sure about this?” JD asked as Nekessla sealed the last of two message cylinders. "You should let sleeping Hutts lie."

That made the Huntress smile, amused by JD's comparison of Dodonna and Kix to Hutts. She slid the message cylinders into her belt and straightened her Imperial uniform, looking skyward at the slit of sky visible from their position in the alley. "I'm sure about this. The messages will be delivered, and we'll leave."

Garrick smirked, his voice a low growl. "Let's just mail your Admiral a thermal detonator."

Kess chuckled. "As much as I love the mental image of Dodonna painted all over his office walls, I'd much rather him know that his beloved pet has escaped her leash."

JD nodded, but his voice was soft. "He'll try to use the abortive."

Kess shook her head. "By the time this message reaches him, we'll be in hyperspace, well out of his reach."

"Can I ask what you wrote to him?"

She smiled at the only Imperial she'd ever called "friend" and squeezed his arm. "It's person." She turned ot Garrick. "Can you reach out for Sauric? Find out where he is?"

The assassin closed his eyes, falling still and silent. After several minutes, he blinked his eyes open, adjusted his uniform collar, and nodded. "Follow me."

The unlikely trio headed quickly down the alley and into another, sticking to the dirty back streets to dodge any patrols. Their footsteps were the only sounds, and Kess felt comfortable there, now that she was on her own and in control of her own situation. She had a blaster. Garrick had a lightsaber. Anyone who stood in their way wouldn't be standing for very long.

As they walked, Garrick in the lead, Kess looked over at JD, speaking softly. "Listen… you've done a very brave thing for me and my daughter."

He chuckled, his face softening. "I just did the right thing, Huntress."

She shook her head. "It would've been so much easier for you to follow the rest of the crowd, to follow orders. But you didn't."

He shrugged. "I never liked Kix anyway."

They stopped at the mouth of the alley, and Garrick scanned the street visually and mentally before they moved out, hurrying now.

Kess grabbed JD's hand, held it. "I want you to come with me. With us."

He blinked, turning his head to look at her, his soft face and deep, dark eyes surprised. "You mean… defect from the Empire?"

"Defect, desert, quit – whatever you choose to call it. JD, you're disobeying orders, snuggling out a known enemy of the Empire – hell, you're committing treason. They'll throw you in jail or execute you if they ever find out you were involved in my escape. And that wouldn't be hard for them to find out, considering Kix and Dodonna probably know how sympathetic you were to me."

JD was quiet for several moments, and Nekessla could see conflict on his face. At last, he sighed. "Where would I go?"

"With us, of course. To Zeltros. At least for a while." She smiled. "My friend Iris – she'll hook you up with a home and a job, at least until the furor over my escape dies down."

"What about my wife and my daughter? Will I see them?"

"We'll fly them to Zeltros, of course."

JD hesitated. "My wife has a job, a career – she won't want to pack up and leave."

Garrick glanced back at them. "The Imperials may very well go to your house and grab them and hold them in a jail cell until you turn yourself in."

His eyes widened. "Kess, they wouldn't do that…"

Nekessla folded her arms. "Really? They forced a pregnant woman to fight and kill for them and then jailed her for her efforts. You tell me what they won't do."

JD stared back and forth at the both of them for a long time before nodding. "Okay. Okay, Huntress. If you can keep my wife and daughter safe, then I think this is for the best."

Kess smiled, stopping just long enough to embrace him. "You have my word."

They continued on, weaving in and out of streets, sticking to as many back alleys as they could. Garrick's senses were on high alert; every now and then, with no warning, he would suddenly turn around and start off in another direction, leaving Kess and JD to spin on their heels and follow. They never asked questions – Garrick could sense things Kess could not, and she thanked him for it.

It took them almost 40 Standard minutes on foot, walking in that fashion, to reach the spaceport. They stopped in the mouth of an alley down the street from the spaceport, peering out. There were about six stormtroopers outside holding down the entrance. Kess and Garrick exchanged a look, and Garrick nodded. "Getting past them will be like knocking over a toddler."

Kess giggled, but JD sighed. "You're going to kill them, aren't you?"

"The odds are high."

He sighed again. "I really hope I don't know them."

Garrick shrugged. "Maybe one of them is Kix."

Kess grinned at him. "We could pretend."

The assassin chuckled, then nodded. "Kess, JD, stay behind me no matter what or I couldn't accidentally to take off your head. You two ready?"

Kess nodded, and she grabbed JD's arm to keep him with her as she stepped out of the alley after Garrick and into the main street. Garrick had his lightsaber in his hand now, held close to his thigh. They were the only ones in the street and thus easily noticed; the stoormtroopers were on alert immediately, hands on blaster rifles, watching them approach. Garrick's strides began to quicken; Kess had to lengthen her own to keep up.

When they were within earshot, one trooper shouted at them. "Hey! You're not permitted here! Who are you?"

Kess didn't answer and neither did Garrick. They just kept walking, Garrick with his head down, eyes straight ahead.

There was no denying the murder in the assassin's eyes, and the stormtroopers were smart enough to notice it. They swung up their rifles, one of them yelling. "Stop where you are or we'll fire!"

They didn't stop, and after a moment's hesitation, the stormtroopers opened fire.

Garrick's lightsaber was moving before the blade was even fully extended, a sweeping, brilliant red arc that lit up his face in crimson light. The first wave of blaster bolts were swept aside with one movement. JD shouted in surprise and tried to duck, but Kess clamped her hand down on his arm and forced him to keep going. As blaster bolts flew, Garrick didn't even blink, sending them ricocheting off his blade and then into the throats of the stormtroopers until, one by one, they were killed by their own shots. Garrick never broke stride as he stepped over the bodies and pushed open the spaceport doors. Trailing behind now, JD was wide eyed, stammering. "You… you just…"

Kess motioned for him to keep up as they began to run. Her heart was jumping – they were so close to her friends, her family, her way home.

Garrick looked over at her, not even breathing heavily. "We're almost there, but I can sense stormtroopers with them?"

"Are they in danger?"

"No."

"Good. Leave only one stormtrooper alive and able to walk. The rest you can slaughter."

He grinned darkly. "As my Huntress commands."

They moved on together, quickly through the spacious, empty corridors letting Garrick lead again. Occasionally, he would force them into a small room or maintenance closet to avoid a passing stormtrooper patrol, but there weren't many of them to be avoided.

As they approached a corner, Garrick stopped, peering around to make sure it was as clear as he thought, then smiled softly, stepping back. "Kess, you go first."

She nodded softly, about to extend her claws when she stepped out, then stopped quickly in her tracks. Down the long hall was Faran, leaning against a doorframe, looking tense and anxious. Kess stared down the hall at her brother, suddenly overwhelmed with relief and joy. She began to grin, breaking into a run.

At the sound of her footsteps, Faran looked up quickly as if expecting trouble, but when he saw his sister, his eyes widened. "Oh, Gods…"

"Faran!" She gasped and sprinted into his arms, letting him catch her as she flung her arms around him, struggling not to cry.

Faran choked back a knot in her throat, clutching her to him, whispering with a voice full of emotion. "Oh, Kess… I thought I'd never see you again." He pulled back, looking at her, his eyes unable to keep from looking down at her belly. "It is true. Are you… are you two okay?"

Kess nodded, smiling. "We're fine. Just homesick."

"You look far along… A few months!"

"We'll talk later." She grinned, then stepped aside as Garrick stepped forward with JD.

The moment Faran laid eyes on him, he stiffened, eyes hardening. He all but reached for a blaster that wasn't there. "What the hell is this?"

But the Imperial smiled and held out his hand, ever gracious. "I am Julian Dean, at Nekessla's command. You must be her half-brother."

Faran shook his hand hesitantly, studying with him with fierce don't-screw-with-me intensity, then looked at Garrick when the assassin spoke. "It's true. He helped me spring Kess." He lowered his voice. "Are there stormtroopers in the hanger?"

"Yeah, four. I was sick of them staring at me so I told them I had to use the 'fresher and came out here."

Garrick nodded, stepping towards the door. "This will take just a minute."

As blaster fire began to sound in the hanger, JD jumped a little and looked to Kess. "Is he always like that?"

"Who, Garrick?" Faran smirked. "Yeah, pretty much."

After a moment, the blaster fire stopped, and Faran opened the door. Kess smiled, kissed his cheek, and stepped in. In the hanger was a ship Kess had never seen before, but was obviously of Zeltron design. Three stormtroopers lay in crumpled heaps of bodies and armor over the fused duracrete surface of the landing pad. Garrick stood off to one side, suspending a screaming stormtrooper in midair. But standing on the boarding ramp was a face Kess had been aching for; Iris Kieral saw her and promptly dissolved into tears.

"Kess!" Iris leapt off the ramp and sprinted across the landing pad, and Kess ran to meet her. The two caught in a furious embrace, Iris kissing her lips, her cheeks, weeping. "You're alive! You're really alive! Forgive me, but I… I thought…"

"Sorry to disappoint." Kess smiles, holding her at arm's length, cupping her cheek in one hand. "Iris, I've missed you so much."

"I thought I would lose you this time, Nekessla."

Kess made a scoffing sound. "Imperials can try what they want. I came through and survived again, didn't I?" She grinned, then blinked and looked over Iris' shoulder at the man coming down the ramp. It took her a moment to even recognize him, but then it clicked. "Oh, by the Gods… Crash? Crash Shockrider?"

He smiled at the use of his old name. "Something like that, Huntress." He gave her a lopsided smirk, saluting her. "Good to see you again, especially considering the circumstances."

She smiled, touched. "Don't tell me you're here just to help me…"

"Well, actually, coincidence of all coincidences, I just happen to be your flight attendant for the duration of your journey home. Could I interest you in a blanket or a pillow? An airsick baggie, perhaps?"

Despite herself, Kess laughed. "You always were the comedian…" She grinned, then gasped when she saw who else was aboard, leaning out to get a look at her. "Leon!"

Leon bowed his head. "An honor, as always, to serve you, Huntress."

Kess looked at Iris. "Where's my Dad?"

"On board." The Zeltron smiled. "He knew we would all mob you, so he said he could be patient for a few minutes."

Nekessla smiled, staring at all of them, at some faces she hadn't seen in years, and knew if she thought any longer about how much it meant to her that they were there that she would probably break down and cry. She turned away and, instead, looked at her lover, who was still toying with the stormtrooper. "Garr, put him down."

Predictably, Garrick just let him fall, crashing to the pavement with a great clattering of armor. He cried out, scrambling back as Nekessla advanced, but she caught him and grabbed his helmet, ripping it off. "Do you know who I am?"

"I-I-I've heard stories!" The young man beneath the helmet stared at her, wild-eyed, then looked at JD, standing quietly aside. "You can't let her do this to me!"

"Why?" JD asked softly. "Do we not deserve it?"

"Oh, shut it," Kess told the frantic stormtrooper. "You'll live, and only to serve as my errand boy. That man with the lightsaber who killed your whole unit – he could've chosen anyone to let live, and for some reason, he picked you, so why don't you thank him for sparing your life?"

The soldier turned panicked eyes on Garrick, stammering. "Th-Thank you!"

Garrick smirked. "Much obliged."

Nekessla grabbed the front of the stormtrooper's armor, then grabbed the two message cylinders from her belt. "This is very important – important enough that we needed you to live. Take these." She shoved the cylinders into his hands and tapped each one in turn. "This one goes to Admiral Dodonna. This one goes to Lieutenant Commander Kix Davin. Repeat that."

"Dodonna… Davin…"

"Close enough. These go to them and only them. You should be fine. Just tell them the Huntress Nekessla sent you, and I can guarantee you safe passage because, oh, they'll want to read."

"Okay, okay! Just let me go! I'll find them right away!"

"I know you will." She smiled and pointed at the spaceport door. "That way."

He took off running like so many Imperials have in Nekessla's wake, and then Garrick reached out a hand to her. "It's time we take you home."

She let him lead her on board, and when the ramp closed behind all of them, nervous JD included, and Crash hurried down the hall. "I'll get us out of here. Faran, get that engine up and running! We leave now!"

Everyone seemed to be talking at once, trying to get details or ask how she was feeling. Kess tried to answer as best she could as the engines revved up, but the one voice that Kess heard through the commotion was the quietest.

"Nekessla?"

Kess turned. Her father stood in the next passageway, his face alive and bright at the sight of his daughter.

"Dad!" Kess ran to him and embraced him, let him wrap his arms around her and cradle her to his chest. They stood that way for a long time, the others falling silent, until Sauric turned her away. "Come on… Let's get you into bed."

They left the commotion behind, and he led her to a small bedroom with an adjacent 'fresher. On the bed was a duffel bag with a change of clothes for her, courtesy of Iris. Kess retreated into the 'fresher, washed up, and changed into a soft, dark bodysuit that still fit over her growing belly. When she returned to her room, the ship lurching a little as it finally took off, Sauric turned the bed sheets down and helped her into bed.

Kess smiled up at him. No matter where they were, Sauric made it feel like home. "Thanks, Dad…"

He nodded, smiling. "I was very worried about you."

"Don't be. I'm all right now."

"Garrick will brief the others on what happened. You rest. We'll take care of you."

When she spoke again, her voice was thick with tears. "Daddy…"

"Hey…" He sat down on the edge of the bed, stroking her hair. "What's wrong?"

"They… did things to me, to my baby girl. I'm… scared."

"Do you want to go to a hospital?"

She nodded, blinking tears down her cheeks.

"Okay, then we'll go. It'll be okay. Are you in pain?"  When she said no, he nodded. "Then get some rest. Garrick can give us the details. You just try really hard to let someone other than you take care of you, all right?"

She smiled a little, composing herself, and nodding. Sauric kissed her forehead, then turned and slipped from the room, turning the lights off as he did so.

Kess lay still, feeling the ship lurch into hyperspace, and then spent a while dozing on and off, able to hear, just faintly, the faint murmur of voices as Garrick and the others discussing events on Bakura somewhere else in the ship. She was grateful to Garrick to talking with them. She was so very tired and didn't want to think any more about the Empire. She knew if she saw one more suit of stormtrooper armor anytime soon, however, she might scream.

She'd lost track of time when she awake from a light doze, hearing footsteps from outside her door. Then the door opened and Garrick slowly stepped in, looking down at her. He didn't say anything, didn't need to say anything, and started to undress. Kess lay still, watching him shed his Imperial uniform like an old, unwanted, too-familiar skin. The dim light coming in from the viewport, the soothing glow of hyperspace, faintly illuminated his body, his face looking shadowed and predatory. Then he drew back the covers and slid into bed beside her.

Kess closed her eyes as he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her against his chest. She felt the gentle brush of his lips on her neck as he buried his face there, and then he lay still, silent, with her protectively in his arms. Kess wrapped one arm around him, slid the fingers of her other hand through her unusually short hair, and held him in turn, the peaceful silence saying more than words ever could.

To be continued on Zeltros…

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The Corellian corvette rocketed over the Bakuran landscape towards Salis Daar.  Inside its black anodized hull the lone occupant of the ship sat in the command chair, his two arms elbow deep in the command console.  The ship did not have a viewscreen, it has no flight controls, and it has no readouts to relay sensor information.  The only thing in the entire command room was a large cyborg sitting motionlessly.  Kabal’s organic eye moved rapidly under its fleshy lid as his mind interfaced the ship.  Pilots sometimes feel a kinship with their ships, a connection that is indefinable, but there none the less.  This connection went deeper for Kabal, he didn’t just connect with his ship, for all intents and purposes, he was the ship.  Its sensors were his eyes, its engines his legs, and he was its brain.    More then once, Kabal had thought to himself that Dunn industries had been on to something amazing with The Hunter, and it was a shame that she was the only prototype.  Although, truth be told, Kabal didn’t complain too much over having an advantage versus any other ship in the galaxy.  Inside his own mind Kabal saw everything as if on a giant Heads Up Display.  In the upper right corner were ever changing stats of the ship’s speed; weapon/shield status; atmosphere density; a diagram of how much power each of the 11 engines were putting out; a time countdown to destination, and an option button to expand the menu to other functions.  In the center of the screen there was a computer generated real time map of what the corvette was flying over, and a line superimposed on the ground indicating the ship’s flight path.  Towards the bottom of the HUD the current mission objective was shown.

“Investigate the bombing at Saalis Daar” Below it was the previous second priority “Contact Ravisher and call for air support” which was faded and crossed out.

*Alert: Arrival at Salis Daar in less then 2 minutes* flashed across the screen.

“Once we cross into Salis Daar airspace, tap into the Bakuran emergency frequency and patch it through to audio channel 2.” Kabal commanded his ship.

“Affirmative” The Hunter’s computer replied.

“Hello, hello, is anyone there?  Any Imperial units please respond.  This is Captain Vontoma with a priority one message.” Kabal was slightly surprised to hear the Captain’s voice.  He had tried to reach him upon launching from the Ravisher, but had not gotten through.  Apparently whatever communication error had been plaguing him had been solved.

“Yes Captain, I read you, this is General Kabal, state your message”

“General?!  Um…thank you sir” Vontoma said pausing briefly, slightly shocked that the General would respond himself.  “I’m sorry to inform you sir that a group of rebels has hijacked the hover train from the mine.  My troops were unable to stop the train, and it is heading for Salis Daar at full speed.”

“I am approaching Salis Daar now Captain.  I will see to it that the train is welcomed by a squad of troopers when it arrives.”  Kabal said adding an objective to his list.

“I do not think that they intend to escape sir.  My men detected that our attempts to stop the train may have damaged the fusion reactor…it was unstable when it left.  We could be looking at the total destruction of Salis Daar if that reactor blow within the city limits.” The Captain said trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.

“I understand Captain, and I’ll take care of it.  Support Lieutenant Davin and his men, Kabal out”

Kabal cut the communication line, and began altering his course.  On the HUD, a map was brought up with the train route from the mine to Salis Daar.  The course calculation was made to fly along the route in reverse until the train was spotted.  Once the course was confirmed, the black Corellian corvette turned and took off like a shot.  Kabal erased the last two objectives, and contacted the Ravisher.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Onboard the Ravisher, the command room was in a flurry of activity.

“I want to know the damage caused by the explosion, and the number of causalities.” Dodonna ordered one of the young communications officers.  He went furiously back to his terminal.

The comm officer approached the command bridge.  “Admiral Sir” he started

“Report” the Admiral replied without looking at the officer.  “Multiple sights have been bombed in the city, and casualty reports are still coming in, we have over 100 dead sir, but the reports keep climbing every 10 seconds…and…”  Dodonna looked at the young man, and saw him with his hand on his headset listening intently.  Looking back to Dodonna he said “…and you have an urgent call from General Kabal, audio only”

“Very well ensign, I want regular status reports every 10 minutes, and put the general through.” Dodonna replied.

“General, how does it look down there?” Dodonna asked.

“My apologies Admiral, but I will not be able to give you the first hand account of the bombings as ordered.” Kabal’s voice boomed over the speakers.

“And why is that General?” Dodonna said trying to mask his annoyance.

“Captain Vontoma has informed me of a very volatile situation.  The hovertrain from the mine has been hijacked by the rebels.  They plan to blow the train’s reactor up upon reaching the city.  I am on my way to stop them now.”

“Do we have time to order an evacuation?” Dodonna asked

“By my calculations, you would have 20 minutes to evacuate over 10 million Bakurans.”

Dodonna suppressed a large sigh, “These rebels were becoming more and more bothersome by the day” he thought.  He then straightened up and said “Very well general, good luck.  Keep me informed of your progress, and I would prefer some prisoners to interrogate.”

There was a slight pause, “Roger Admiral, Kabal out”

---

Inside the mine, Kix Davin was leading on point.  His squad mates following in his footsteps, with each double click of the comm, signaling the all clear, each man moved up taking the previous position of the man in front of him.  This was a technique that supplied the most cover in this type of situation.  They were five minutes in and had not seen a soul.  The dank dark halls of the power plant reeked of people living in them far too long under very bad conditions.  Kix was thankful that the air was filtered; he couldn’t imagine the full force of that stench.  Going around the corner he raised his arm up signally a stop.  He waved his men back, and broke radio silence.

“Nash, how many people should have been in here?” Kix asked through the comm.

“Dozens, according to our readings.”  

“If there were dozens we would have run into one by now.

“All I know is the readings detected way more traffic then what we’re finding here.” Nash whispered over the comm.

“One thing I learned, computers can be wrong, your eyes generally aren’t.  Ok Nash you’re with me to the east.  “You two” Kix said pointing to the next two commandoes, “Double back, and see if any of those side tunnels lead anywhere.  The rest of you secure the power generator.”

“They all double clicked there comms and went off in they’re separate directions.”

“Got a hunch Kix?” Nash asked?

“Yeah, but let’s hope I’m wrong”

---

As Kabal finished his conversation with the admiral, an alert popped up on the screen

*Attention: Sensors have identified target*

An image of the hovertrain was placed on top of his HUD, and a dot was added to the train route to show where it was.  Below the dot, the train’s speed and time till arrival was displayed.  The Hunter completed it scan of the train and highlighted the front car with the reactor in red.

*Reactor unstable, recommend ejection of core or meltdown will occur in 15.25 minutes*

“Plot course to intercept and match speed, transfer control to auto-pilot, and disconnect from host.”

Kabal commanded his ship.

*Affirmative, altering course, auto-pilot now engaged, goodbye Kabal*

Immediately the HUD faded, and his familiar optical display came up.

1830: Disengaging Sleep mode
1832: Cybernetic systems-online
1832: Weapons systems-online
1832: Organic Systems- Functioning within acceptable parameters
1832: All systems nominal
1832: Would you like a status report?

“No” Kabal responded.  The cyborg’s legs and arms glowed slightly blue as power was transferred into them.  The metal flaps that concealed the limbs various armaments and tools open and closed as if flexing themselves.  Kabal rose from the command chair and marched down the corridor towards the roof access hatch.

1833: <Message from Hunter:  Course and speed matched with train>

“Hunter, open Hull access hatch 1C” Kabal ordered while climbing the hatch’s access ladder.  Obeying his order, the hatch’s iris opened letting in the warm sunlight and the roar of the wind as it whipped across the ship.  Kabal closed his organic eye as he rose from the hatch and stepped onto the hull of his ship.  As his cybernetic foot came in contact with the hull a message flashed across Kabal’s field of vision.

1833: Wind force exceeds safety protocols, engaging magnetic traction enhancers.

Kabal felt his foot firmly grasp the ship’s hull and finished his exit from his ship.  The hatch closed automatically behind him, and he proceeded to look out over the nose of the Corvette.  He imagined that to anyone viewing this, it must look rather amusing, what with his all black starship descending from the heavens and hovering over the train like the angel of death.

“Computer, link to The Hunter’s sensor’s and overlay onto current view of selected target.” Kabal said as the train was highlighted red in his field of view.  The sensor data from the ship was linked to Kabal’s visual cortex and the train became transparent.  Inside he saw the seven insurgents, 6 males and 1 female, spread among the first three cars.  The engine was flashing bright red with countdown clock that was just over ten minutes.  Analyzing the situation Kabal said “Computer, activate microphone and project voice through The Hunter’s speakers”.   

1834: Linking…..
1834: Link established with The Hunter

“Attention Rebel insurgents.  This is General Kabal.  You are in violation of Imperial law.  Shut down your engines and prepare to be boarded.  Failure to comply is not an option.  You have 30 seconds.”

1834: Link terminated

“Imperial protocol can be quite bothersome” Kabal thought to himself.  A countdown clock for 30 seconds appeared in his field of view. “Now we wait”

---

“Waiting for instructions on how to proceed lieutenant” Kix heard over the comm.  The third team had come across the reactor chamber.  It seemed like the perfect place to hide for their missing insurgents.

Kix answered with a single click from his comm, which meant “standby”.  He and Nash were standing on either side of a doorway leading to the area where the ore train had escaped from.  They had heard noise from down that hall, and thought they might have found their first insurgent.  Kix raised three fingers and lowered them one at a time.  When the last finger went down, they rushed in and trained their rifles on….a malfunctioning automatic hoverloader.  The floating platform was dumping its ore where the train would be, but since it wasn’t there, the ore was just being dropped onto the hover track.

“Stand down” Kix said to Nash, who let out an exasperated sigh.  “Problem trooper?”

Nash shook his helmet.  “No, just clamoring for some action Sir.”

Kix’s helmet nodded and tapped his friend on the shoulder replied “I’m disappointed too.  Hey why don’t you see if you can turn that thing off?”

“K”

Kix watched nash go towards the droid and radioed his other team, “Blue team, you’re clear to proceed, check out the reactor chamber and let’s blow this wild goose chase”.  They all replied with double comm clicks.  Suddenly, a blaster rifle fired three times, the sound echoing off the walls, making it many times louder then normal.  Kix spun around rifle at the ready, only to see Nash walking away from the no longer floating hover platform.

“Was that really necessary?” Kix said relaxing.

“It was being unreasonable”

“So you couldn’t find it’s off button” Kix surmised

“Like I said…unreasonable”

Kix chuckled, and the two troopers started to walk back through the compound, rifles still at the ready, when they heard a scream over the comm, “It’s a trap!”

---

 
00:27: Open transmission:  The Bakuran people will never rest until their freedom is restored.  You think you’ve won this war.  Well you haven’t, all you’ve done is make a lot of Bakuran’s very imbalanced, and we will weed you out trooper by trooper and collaborator by coll…”

00:30: Transmission terminated

Kabal rolled his one eye, for the last thirty seconds he’d been screamed at by some insurgent named Albin.  The General made a mental note to see to his interrogation personally.  Once it was clear that surrender was not an option around second number 5, Kabal took advantage of the time by walking along his hull to the underside of his ship.  Hanging upside down, Kabal measured the distance and the train below.  He wished that he could just lower the ship, but 100 meters off the deck was already cutting closer then he preferred.  “Computer, is a fall from 100 meters within safety limits of my legs?”

1835: WARNING: Height exceeds recommended safety parameters

“Calculate rocket boost necessary to compensate, adjust parameters of drop to compensate for the greater drag time, and send new coordinates to The Hunter” Kabal responded

1835: Calculating………..

1835: A rocket boost at 68% power for 5 seconds will bring action within safety parameters, adjusting angle of drop.

Kabal felt the ship increase speed and over take the train, this was to account for his slower fall.

1836: Drop destination reached
1836: Warning 9 minutes until Reactor meltdown

“Engage Holo-emitters, enter combat mode, and disengage magnets”

1836: Holo-emitters engaged, current setting: General Kabal, Combat Fatiques (black)
1836: Combat mode engaged, safety restrictions: offline
1836: Magnets disengaging

Kabal fell towards the train like the metal rock that he was.  Using the booster rockets on his feet, he righted himself with a single blast, and then slowed his decent using the pre-calculated parameters, and as the train rushed under him he dropped.

Havers was leaning against the left wall in the third train car.  “Will you stop pacing, you’re starting to make me nervous.”  Penen, the shorter of the two men kept pacing back and forth looking up out the windows of the train.

“I don’t care if you’re nervous, this is suicide!  Frak, what the hell was I thinking?” Penen said while continuing to pace back and forth.

“You were thinking about a free Bakura you nervous ninnie.  Besides we’re untouchable in here.”  Havers said knocking on the metal wall.  “They wouldn’t shoot a reactor that’s about to explode.”   Penen didn’t seem to take that reminder very well.  “Holy Frak, will you please relax, you know the plan.  Stay on the hovertrain till the city limits, escape in the escape pods, and then the train crashes into the city destroying a bunch of Imperials and Collaborators” Havers said triumphantly.

“We’re going to kill millions of people” Pelen stated.

“Wrong, they forfeited their lives when they let the Imperials set up shop there.  They are Collaborators, and just as bad as Imperials.  We’re going to be Heros” Havers countered

“Maybe…” he wiped the sweat from his brow, “I just wish that we could have a sign to tell me that we’re doing the right thing, ya know.”  Penen said finally sitting down on the right side of the car.

*BOOM!*

The entire third car jolted from the impact, a huge dent appearing in the ceiling.  The two men were knocked off their feet, hitting the ground at odd angles.  As they recovered, they heard clinks and clanks from the ceiling.  “What the hell is it?” Penen asked

“How the frak am I suppose to know, maybe it’s your precious sign, shoot now, and ask questions later.” He said while peppering the dented ceiling with blaster fire.  Penen joined in, and when both blasters were spent they went to reload.  *Clunk* they looked up and saw a very large man with a square jaw, and unnerving eyes staring back at them from the other side of the door.

“Don’t worry” Havers said.  “That door is magnetically sealed, there is no way that he can get in.” he sent while reloading his clip.  The screech of metal, and the sudden rush of air almost made Penen drop his power pack.  They looked up and saw that the door had been ripped from its hinges.

“I am General Kabal, do you surrender?” the man asked standing very imposingly in the doorframe.

“Screw this guy, shoot him!” Havers said clicking the power pack in, and opened fire on Kabal.

1837: WARNING: 8 minutes left until Reactor Overload.
1837: Analyzing weapons: E-17 blaster, standard imperial issue (Math, this can change, I didn’t know what they had)
1837: Threat Assessment: moderate, recommend disarm
1837: Personal shield activated

Kabal’s left forearm projected an energy shield to protect him.  The blaster shots ricocheted off the blue shield and into the train walls.  Pelen stood there in stunned silence, as he watched the General stand very calmly as Havers emptied his clip.  Empty once again, Havers went to reload, but Kabal was on him in a flash.  With two massive strides he’d covered the length of the train car.  Knocking the gun out of Havers’ hands, Kabal backhanded the man.  However with his safety systems off, he cracked the man’s neck as if snapping a twig.  Havers slumped to the ground lifeless, and that was enough to bring Pelen back to reality.  Pelen fired twice into Kabal’s back, only to watch his shots bounce off.  Kabal spun around grabbing and crushing the gun around Pelen’s hands.

1837: WARNING: Back armor plating at 38%, recommend repair cycle.

“Override repair cycle and set strength settings to 50%.” Kabal thought to himself

1838: WARNING: 7 minutes until Reactor core explosion
1838: Repair cycle request has been overwritten
1838: Adjusting safety limits…..Safety limits adjusted successfully

“What are you?” the small Bakuran man said in a high voice.

Kabal’s eyes rolled.  “Please” was all he said, he then shoved the man down into the deck of the train knocking him unconscious.  Kabal turned towards the door, but found it opening and a man running forward, trying to stab him with a vibroknife.  Kabal’s abnormally fast reflexes intercepted the stabbing arm and seized his torso.  The man struggled futilely in Kabal’s iron grip as a woman stuck a blaster over his shoulder at Kabal’s head.

1838: Analyzing weapon: standard Vibroknife
1838: Threat assessment minimal to moderate, recommend disarming
1838: Analyzing weapons: E-17 blaster, standard imperial issue, set to stun
1838: Threat Assessment: minimal, recommend disarming

Kabal pushed the man hard sending both combatants flying into the next car.  Hourig’s shot went wide while being knocked prone.  As she and Marrjo recovered she looked up to the soldier who had invaded the train pointing his open palm at them.

“I need prisoners” he said as if that explained everything.  Kabal then fired 1 stun shot each into them.  Picking up there limp bodies, the cyborg tossed them into the previous car.

1840: Warning: 5 minutes until Reactor core explosion

Kabal turned to head to the cockpit, but was greeted by a very large pot bellied man blocking the way.  “Stand aside” Kabal ordered.  He did not have time to deal with this man, but all he heard is response was what could only be considered a low growl.

“Ok, we’ll do it your way.” Kabal said as the man charged him.

---

“Ah!”  Nash winced in pain as he injected himself with painkillers from the emergency kit on his utility belt.  His gun had been dropped, and it was pitch black.  Thankfully, he’d learned to memorize the contents of the equipment pockets in basic.  Having no light made the procedure that much harder.  He couldn’t see his knee, but he knew it wasn’t supposed to bend that way.  He sat there for a few moments and let the medicine work while he was calling to his friend and comrade through the comm link “Kix! Do you copy, Kix do you copy?!”. “This thing is dead” Nash said taking off his dented helmet and tossing it.

“Ugh!” came a groan from the other side of the room.

“Kix is that you?” Nash said crawling over on his forearms, dragging his legs behind him.

“What happened?” came Kix’s raspy voice.

Following his voice, Nash found his friend, “Reactor exploded; caused the whole cave to collapse.  They set a nice trap for us alright.  We managed to make it to one of the crew quarters.  Are you hurt?” Nash moved his helmet.

“Ahh” Kix winced in pain.

“Sorry” Nash said as he found Kix’s gun on the ground and turned on the scopelight.  Shining the light on Kix he found that the trooper had a gash on his forehead.

“When’s the rescue party coming?” Kix asked weakly.

“Don’t know if they are, comm’s dead and…frak” Nash started

“What?”

“We’re trapped” Nash said shining the light on the multitude of rocks and concrete blocking the door.

—————————————————————————————————-

Albin was opening the bottom hatch to the train’s escape pod, that’s what it was called, in reality it was a skiff on either side of the front car that could hold three people.

“Ok, it’s five minute until the fireworks, time to get moving.  Where’s Bowl?” Piero asked as he looked around the cockpit.  Looking down the few stairs that separated the control room from the rest of the train, Piero heard “Stand aside” in an unfamiliar voice.  Walking back to Albin he grabbed his blaster and said “We have company”.  Piero headed back to help Bowl when the large man flew back into the cabin landing on the stairs with a thud.

“Albin, emergency force field NOW!” Piero yelled, and the stubbly man complied engaging the forcefield that blocked the entryway to the control room.  Oddly enough that was put in place to prevent terrorists from gaining control of the train.  Piero laughed and stroked his mustache as the would-be Hero of the empire ran into the force field which bounced him back.

“Albin give me a hand with Bowl” the two insurgents managed to lift their friend up the stairs with great effort, and tossed him into the skiff.  Looking back Piero didn’t see the soldier anymore.  He shrugged, and before he left the last thing he did was shoot the controls so no one could stop their plan.  The train shook violently as Piero jumped into the skiff with Albin, the latter engaged the repulsorlifts.  As they started away from the train Piero saw that from the second car back the train had been disconnected fro the rest of the cars, and he could have sworn that he saw the soldier…walking on the roof.

1842: WARNING: 3 minutes until reactor core explosion

Kabal growled at the message, he was fully aware of the time.  The forcefield had required that he take an alternate route.  The controls were no longer an option.  His ship’s scanners had detected their destruction as it happened.  There was only one way to stop the train now.  “Computer, download schematics for this model of Bakuran hover train, identify the engine compartment, and list the procedure for an emergency ejection.

1842: Linking to Bakuran Planetary network….Link established….negotiating with host….online
1842: Searching……….
1842: Documents found, downloading…….
1843: Warning: 2 minutes till reactor core explosion
1843: Engine compartment identified
An area on the train’s hood was hightlighted with an arrow over it.
1843: No such procedure exists

“Great” Kabal thought reaching the hatch on the train’s hood.  It was suppose to be remotely ejected, but that was no longer an option.  He hit the manual release.  Inside he found warning labels in 16 languages that beyond that point was the engine core and high levels or radiation.  Kabal scanned the schematics he’d downloaded.  This would work if he was right.  He opened the input box of the engine block and entered the code to seal and eject the core.  The display on the door flashed *code accepted*.  The door started to rise out of the train and Kabal heard doors clanking shut beneath the rising column.

*Engine ready for ejection*

*Ejecting*

*Ejection error, aborting*

“Going to Plan B” he said to himself.  Computer release safety settings, full combat mode.  Reroute power from all non-essential systems to my arms and legs”

1844: WARNING: One minute until Reactor core explosion
1844: WARNING: current action exceeds safety limits for cybernetic servos

“OVERRIDE!” Kabal screamed

1844: Acknowledged, transferring power

Kabal’s arms and legs glowed bright blue, and his holographic disguise disappeared.  He tore through the metal surrounding the core and grabbed onto the lead block housing it.  Then with every ounce of strength his limbs could produce he pulled back.

1844: WARNING: 30 seconds until reactor core explosion
Kabal screamed as his arms and legs were now smoking as the servos strained against the weight of the engine core.

1844: WARNING: 10 seconds till reactor core explosion
1844: WARNING: Power level critical

“10 seconds!” Piero said from the skiff.  Piero was looking through macrobinoculars as the train was about to enter the city.  He saw something huge fly off of the front mover and land behind the train.  A few seconds later, the train crashed, metal squealed twisted and crunched.  The prime mover erupted in a swath of flames, and came to a stop just outside the city.

“Turn around” Piero said to his followers.

“But we’ll risk getting captured” Albin retorted.

“DO IT!” was Piero’s only response, something had gone wrong and he wanted to know what.

1855: Rebooting off backup battery…….
Kabal opened his organic eye and breath in deeply.  He was dazed and didn’t know what was going on.  His readout began it’s report
1855: Cybernetic systems-Damaged
1855: Weapons systems-Offline
1855: Organic Systems- Damaged
1855: Would you like a status report?

“Yes” he said hoarsely.

1856tatus report
1856: Servos damaged in right arm, current operating capacity 10%
1856: Servos damaged in left arm, current operating capacity 20%
1856: Servos damaged in right leg, current operating capacity 30%
1856: Servos damaged in left leg, current operating capacity 30%
1856: Holographic imager is offline
1856: Shield Generator is offline
1856: Communications array offline
1856: Main battery status: 0%
1856: Backup battery time remaining: 59 minutes and 15 seconds
1856: Booster Rockets disabled
1856: Weapons systems disabled
1856: Organic muscle labeled as rectus abdominis muscle has been pulled.
1856: The organic component labeled face has been lacerated.  Bleeding is minimal, clotting has started.
1856: estimated repair cycle needed to repair damaged: 4 hours and 27 minutes
1856: end of status report

“Activate homing beacon” Kabal said and a light started to blink on his chest.    Kabal looked at where he was, and he was under something, but couldn’t tell what.  He pressed against it, and with a little effort it moved off of him.  Kabal winced as he sat up, his stomach muscle ringing out in pain.  He found that he was in the middle of what appeared to be wreckage.  Kabal surmised that this must be what was left of the train.  What remained of the front mover smoldered a few feet away.  He gazed up at his ship which was still hovering over him, but he needed his booster rockets to get up there, and they were not functioning at the moment.  Inspecting his left arm, Kabal saw the scorch mark where his personal shield generator had been.  He had transferred all available power to it after throwing away the core, and surrounded himself in its bubble.  It must have shorted out because of the strain. Kabal managed to stand, and saw a skiff coming towards the crash site.  Zooming in, he recognized the leader of the insurgents.

“Weapon systems online”

1857: Unable to comply, weapons non-functional while on backup battery.

“Well that’s just prime.”

“What the hell is it?” Albin said looking through the macrobinoculars and then handing them to Bowl.

“I have no idea, some kind of imperial superdroid or something.  Nothing human could have survived that.

“Didn’t he say that he was the Imperial General?” Bowl ask staring at the cyborg through the macrobinoculars.

“Imbalanced!” Albin swore

“You said it Albin, now let’s get out of here, we have what we need.  The rest of the Imperials will be coming for there General soon.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

After Lieutenant Aganox had been leaving his office, Traven poured himself another cup of steaming stim tea. He was used to be functional even after little sleep. But the last night had been too short. Too many restless hours that he did spent with handpicking the rookies for the bombing raid. But it had helped to avoid other thoughts. And now the tea was helpful to raise his alertness. Which was important, because the next person, he was expecting was his new executive officer Laakim Bal’ak. The younger pilot was his wingman also, meaning that they would have to trust each other with their lives. But like a dire-cat that was looking for a scent of blood, Mr. Bal’ak seemed to be looking for mistakes Traven would make. It was a new situation for the Imperial Captain. Of course there had been enviers before. People who did not believe that Traven deserved his position. Their opinions changed when they saw him in action. Captain Dunn was a strict but fair commanding officer. He did not demand anything from his pilots, he would not demand from himself. So hopefully Bal’ak’s envy would change into loyalty.

Traven checked his chrono. It was two standard minutes after the set time for the appointment. Right that moment it chimed at the door. With a push of a button on the control panel at his desk, Traven opened the door. “Good morning, Commander.” He greeted Bal’ak, who stepped in. “Good morning, Sir.” The other man stood at attention, saluting.

“Please take a seat, Commander. You are late already.” Traven pointed to the chair in front of the desk. Bal’ak’s face flushed slightly as he sat down. “Just by a minute or two, Sir.” He replied, his eyes darkening. “Punctuality is the courtesy of kings, Mr. Bal’ak. And we do not have much time this morning.” Traven showed no smile as he reprimanded his inferior. “Did you take a look at the roster I sent you?”

Bal’ak nodded, taking a datapad out of his pocket. He was very aware that the sending time showed 0315. “Yes, Sir. So your plan is it, that the Paladins are babysitting the rookies?” Traven leant back in his chair. “Instead of babysitting, I prefer the word <i>support</i>. In my opinion it will be a good training chance for the new candidates. As well as a good chance for us to see how they react in a real situation.  That will simplify the selection process.” Bal’ak was looking at his datapad again. “You made some… daring choices already with that roster, Sir. Like Emyn. She’s just a Controller. And a…” The Commander stopped mid-sentence. “A woman?” Traven completed the words of his second-in-command. “I am aware of that, Mr. Bal’ak. But to win this war we do not have the luxury, our predecessors had. They could choose their pilots from million of planets. We do not have this potential. I do not care about the sex of a pilot as long as they have the right skills for that job. As well as showing loyalty.”

The last word hung in the air for a moment. Finally Bal’ak did answer. “I understand, Sir.”  For the first time Traven showed a small smile towards his counterpart. “Good. Commander, muster the Paladins as well as the rookies for a briefing in 30 minutes. I will join you at that time in the Paladin’s meeting room. Make sure that everybody will be there in their flightsuits already. And I expect punctuality.”

Once Commander had left, Traven got up from his chair as well. He had to use the half an hour for more personal matters. Traven headed towards the hangar, where his cousin’s ship was waiting. He was wondering if his cousin would relabel his personal transport, now that he knew the real name of his former lover.  As Traven walked into the hangar, he saw Bartek Roth supervising the refuelling of the ship.

“Good morning, Mr. Roth. Is my cousin on board already?” Traven greeted the other man. Daiman’s bodyguard and right-hand-man nodded a greeting in return. “Yes, Captain. He’s doing the pre-flight check.” As Traven was about to step up the ramp, he felt Roth’s hand on his arm. Confused he looked at him. Bartek Roth and he knew each other since many years, because of their mutual friendship to Daiman. But they had never been friends themselves. The gesture made Traven frown. Quickly Roth withdrew his hand. “I just wanted to ask, if you can talk some sense into him, Mr. Dunn. Daiman is not listening to me. He’s as stubborn as a Taun-Taun.”

Traven saw the sincere concern in Roth’s eyes. “I will do my best. “ He entered the ship, walking directly to the cockpit. Daiman looked up from the controls as Traven slipped onto the co-pilot’s seat. “Morning, Trave.” He turned back to the panel in front of him. “Good morning, Daiman. So you are serious about going to Imperial Center. I had hoped that it had been a crazy idea only, caused by too much good whiskey.” Traven glanced to his cousin. Daiman frowned by his words. “I was never so certain about something.”

“Take Roth with you at least. You will need somebody who backs you up, if things will go ugly. “ Traven sighed deeply. Daiman looked at him with a little smile. “I’m a big boy already. I know what I’m doing. I have good contacts there. But to do you a favour, I’ll consider it.” Traven sighed again. This time out of relief. “Alright. Who’s your contact?” Daiman pulled a lever in front of him, checking his ship’s engines. “You know him. Tarsk Mal’fey.”

“Ah, that Bothan.” A smile played around Traven’s lips suddenly. Daiman rose an eye-brow surprised. “The thought of a non-human makes you smile?  Are you alright, Cousin?” Traven grinned a little more. “Well, there are not only Bothans in Mal’fey’s household.” Now Daiman turned the pilot’s chair around to look at Traven directly. “Now I’m intrigued, Trave.” The younger man cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed now. “Lets just say: If you meet his assistant, a stunning blonde named Yara… I saw her first.”

Daiman started to laugh about their old joke, the<i> I-saw-her-first-claim</i>. “Trave, sometimes you surprise me. Still waters run deep, huh?” Traven shrugged. “She will not even remember me.” He answered, not truthfully. He was very sure that Yara would remember. If not the night, the way they parted for sure. “I’ll refresh her memory.” Daiman patted his shoulder.

“Just take care of yourself, Cousin.” Traven got up from his seat. It was time for the briefing. Daiman stood up as well. “You too, Trave.” Both men hugged, not sure if and when they would see each other again. As Traven walked towards the exit, he stopped, turning around again. “Daiman, if you will get in trouble, send a message to my parents. They know how to contact me. I will do whatever is in my power to get you out.” Daiman nodded in acknowledgement, knowing that his cousin was serious about it.

Traven had to hurry to get into his flightsuit. But he strode at the exact time into the meeting room. No satisfaction for Commander Bal’ak, who looked slightly disappointed as his commanding officer appeared punctual. The other pilots rose from their chairs, saluting as he walked to his place in front of them. Traven returned the greeting, then telling them to sit down again. He switched on the projector and the holoimage of Bakura illuminated the room.

“Lady and Gentlemen,” He began to address them. “This will be our operational area.” A part of the planet hologram scaled up. “The rebels entrenched themselves in some mines outside of Salis Daar. Our troops are there and there.” Traven pointed to the positions of VonToma and the artillery. “The grunts need our support. So we will give them some nice fireworks.” He smirked slightly. “The co-ordinates are in the nav computers of your TIEs. The rookies will follow the orders strictly. This is just a routine mission. We do not expect any resistance in form of enemy ships or aerial barrage. It is just a bombing raid. That means: I demand accurate aiming. It is about fighting the rebels, not the civilian population. I do not want any collateral damage. Any questions?”

Traven looked from one pilot to the other. While the new candidates looked a little nervous, his veteran pilots just seemed to be anxious to act finally. Traven knew how they felt. “No questions? Fine. Then man your ships.”

In the prime of the Empire it had been common, that no pilot had a special TIE. The ships had been all the same. It did not matter which one a pilot got. But those times had changed since they had to fight another enemy: The shortage of spare parts. Now every pilot had his favourite TIE.

Traven was putting his helmet on as he walked along the catwalk towards his TIE Interceptor. Almost synchronously Commander Bal’ak was walking to his own. Traven looked at his wingman. “Good hunting, Commander.” Bal’ak hesitated before returning the old fighter pilot salutation. “Good hunting, Captain.”

The launching of the TIEs ran smoothly. Soon they soared through the atmosphere of Bakura. The pastoral planet looked peaceful. Green valleys and plains, small blue lakes. Just the screaming sounds of the TIEs cut through the idyll. They were flying in perfect formation. But suddenly Traven frowned as he noticed that his Interceptor started to drag towards starboard. He reached out to adjust it, but it just aggravated it.  

Traven suppressed a curse. He knew these ships better than every other pilot, maybe even better than most engineers. Why did the adjustment not work? He started to countersteer, but his control sticks seemed to react with an immense deceleration. “Leader, this is Paladin Two.” He heard the calm voice of Bal’ak in the headset of his helmet. “Do you have a problem? You seem to roll.”

“Leader here. My fighter has a slight malfunction. I will get it under control.” Traven’s voice was as serene as the one of his wingman. He knew very well that all pilots listened to their com traffic. There was no reason to alarm them. But then his control panel flickered. “What the…?” Traven murmured, hitting with a gloved hand against it. Some lights turned on again. But only some. Instead sparks started to fly and the TIE started to accelerate without any action of him.

While Traven was trying to retain the controls, he heard another voice in his com-unit. This time it was Lt.-Commander Borden, one of his older pilots. “Bail out, Leader! Your ship is smoking. Bail out!” Contrary to the popular belief TIEs had ejection seats. Just most of the time the pilots had no chance to use them. Traven pushed the ejection button. But like the rest of his ship, it was not working.

“I cannot…” The rest of his sentence perished in a symphony of electrostatic noises. Traven just realised that his fighter lost more and more altitude. The treetops of a near forest hit against the TIE already. His Interceptor started to cut a swat through the trees.

Then suddenly everything went dark.

Developments

The sound of mechanical wiring snapping together to produce a hard and very loud sound scared ‘Grand Admiral’ Aath awake from his slumber. He jumped up from his bed, breathing in as he realized it was the cheap alarm that awoke him back to reality, and relaxing back onto the bed. Looking at the chrono he had come to realize that he only received five hours of collected sleep. The old Moff shoved himself up from his bed now within the Nightbringer’s Cabin’s Quarters, shaking his head as he looked over to his nearby closet. He was going through the Order of the Day, which started with the refresher.
   
He stood up and shoved his feet forward, his body not wanting to follow him in the direction he wished he could go. He felt his black night-suit easily ripple against his own body as he continued on his short journey to the first business of the day. Cleared of liquids by not drinking his fill last night, Willem decided he still needed to use the teeth fresher and wash his face, and so the morning zombie shambled onto the large bathroom.
   
And, once he entered, he saw himself in the mirror.
   
His face was sunken, old, as if he had seen a thousand battles and had put every fiber of his being into each one of them. His muscles were now weak, his hair gone, his identity seemingly gone from his own soul; everything about him was not like it was ten years ago. He aged poorly, he seemingly always looked tired and haggard, nothing like his young self.
   
He let his head hang for a second, but then he tore himself up and placed the tooth cleaning device into his mouth, and activated it. He couldn’t let memories and sentimental stuff like that get to him, especially at this stage of the Bakura Operation.
   
He took out the device, his teeth shiny and pearly, licking his lips to get rid of the fluorine and other chemical taste in his mouth. He took the nearby washclothe wrapped around a metal hook, and activated the faucet to his sink. Warm water struck the clothe with enough force to push it down, attempting to go beyond Willem’s fingers. His other hand left the clothe and disengaged the flow of water, then he brought the clothe to his face.
   
A sigh escaped his lips as he felt the water connect with his skin, the feeling making him warm and awake, removing it as he blinked. It felt good to feel that warm sense of belief on him, to awake him from his sleepiness.
   
It also drove out the memories.
   
Two loud bells rung loudly from the ship’s intercom, signaling the Nightbringer’s watch change. That, to Willem, meant that Zaafrian had command of the ship now since he was due to the planet’s surface. He exited the refresher after a fifteen minute shower, quickly donning his grey uniform and grabbing his combination cover. He took one more look at the refresher mirror, to check if his Moff badge was correctly worn and his cover was positioned right so the tip of his uniform cap was positioned near perfect down the center of his forehead. Satisfied, he walked out of the Captain’s Cabin and into the open walkway that curved into another hallway.
   
Passing his two midshipmen, Cadet Naazir and Cadet Garviel, he continued on his walk to the main ship elevator, where it connected to virtually all decks except for the secondary bridge, which was located deeper into the ship than where Willem was going. Entering the small elevator with an electrican’s mate and a fireman’s apprentice, he pressed the small panel switch marked ‘HANGER BAY’, above the already selected ‘BARRACKS, ALPHA’.
   
The elevator hummed as the two low-level star-men talked about their new assignment down on the planet, most of it gossip and how it affected the planet. They didn’t bother engaging their Captain in conversation, knowing him well enough that all they did was give him a nod and he earnestly returned it. They were off-duty, but they still rendered due respect to him, therefore he did not give them a second thought as he leaned against the other side of the elevator.
   
The elevator opened up to the Alpha Barracks, where the two starmen walked out with a nod and a stiffened posture, an act that made the Moff smile as he still leaned. Four new men walked into the elevator, three of them Marines that were his escort onto the planet and the other being the Operations Officer of the first watch, Commander Jenkins. The lead Marine, Sergeant Horvath, looked over at the Moff and gave him a nod.
   
“Going to work, Commander Jenkins?”

The young officer smiled as he addressed the Moff’s question.

“Yes, sir. Just giving Captain Zaafrian a hard time.” Lieutenant Commander Jenkins joked to his superior officer, which was greeted with a warm smile from the Moff and a few chuckles from the Marines. Willem was delighted; everyone was taking this new assignment and enjoying it, compared to how most of them accepted the resignation of losing Coruscant and especially after High Port was destroyed…
   
That brought more thoughts into his head as the Moff exited the elevator, with the three Marines following. He wasn’t stupid enough to actually believe it was New Republic Agents, however may that fool Nero was involved so deeply. The droid that…was ordered to him didn’t seem to be of a good nature to Intelligence either. He didn’t believe that Intel, even the ones still holding Isard in respect,
   
But why? Who would want to unbalance everything he was trying to achieve?
   
“Captain.” Horvath asked, addressing him by his title and not his rank to get his attention. The Moff shook his head, smiled, and followed the three soldiers into the shuttle. His mind was still warped around that single facet of information, his right eye rubbing his temple as he began to think deeply about it. Why would someone in Intelligence destroy an entire station to goad him to…
   
“Isard…”
   
“What, sir?”
   
“I said the eye's hard.” Willem said to one of the other officers in the shuttle, shaking his head, as if he was talking to himself, his finger pointing to the camera near the cockpit door, trained forward, as if giving slang to it to cover up his slip-up.
   
It had to be them, some of her supporters. I had thought that I had taken care of them after the Fall…
   
“Attention. This is Flight Lieutenant Falcar here, reporting on Bakura. The average temperature is chillingly cold, enough to saw the hair off your head, so I’d suggest keep it tight. Also, reports are coming in about rebel resistance fighters, so I’d tell y’all to just give them some love, maybe they’ll go away.”
   
The men and women inside the troop bay laughed to the pilot’s jokes, but Willem didn’t even stir. He was very much still deep in thought as he sat there, the laughter dying quickly but people still retaining smiles.
   
I need to let Betruger know that they’re still in the game. I think a meeting with the Security Bureau would be in order.
   
“Arrival in two minutes.” Falcar’s voice projected once more into the ship’s troop bay, getting the attention of all within. Willem shook his head as he stared out into the viewport, the ship entering the atmosphere and slowing down enough for it to ease up on the speed. Willem gripped the holding bars, unsure enough of the resistance’s anti-air capabilities.
   
“We have entered atmo.”
   
Willem relaxed a bit, knowing that two TIE fighters were now given escort to the shuttle, and that let Willem now concentrate on what he had to do today. He felt the shuttle bank, now heading directly towards the General Headquarters of the Bakuran Campaign. He felt the shuttle slow down its speed even more, knowing now that they were so very close now.

The landing clamps hissed, and the ship shook.
   
“Welcome to Bakura. Please let the third shift board as you leave. Have a nice day.”
   

Antonius Maarco was waiting outside the GHQ, with another member of Ghost Squad with him, both of them armed with E-11 Blaster Rifles and other assortments of weapons. Another officer, a scant Lieutenant with an ensign in his hands, standing at the modified position of attention, the flag securely locked in his hands. Nearby, in the park that fronted Bakur Complex, was Captain Rinehart VonToma, and his men, assembled in parade formation. They looked dirty, having just arrived from the battle, but Maarco saw how easily they assembled into formation and snapped at every command. He’d hoped that they were alright in terms of wounded men, but he heard about the battle. He was still curious on why his superior officer let them out here.

To be truthful, he knew that he was only waiting for a minute now, but he expected his superior officer to be here earlier, but he knew not to blame him. Most likely the pilot of his shuttle was late on his beacon trip, or maybe he was held up by security, but Maarco definitely knew the man himself, and being late for anything was something he could never do.

Unless it was planned.

He saw Willem exit the entrance of the GHQ in parade-perfect sequence, his three body guards behind him in a line, each armed with a weapon and each wearing armor. Willem, too, wore a chest-suit of armor underneath his overcoat, but the plate was thin and was really made only to stop maybe one or two bolts to the chest or back, nothing more. But he hid it well, and he marched with confidence, as if nothing was going wrong.

“Oi! Imp scum!” A voice rang behind him, with voices that continued to heckle him and the rest of his choice of politics. They would never, it seemed, try to push through the fenced gate, especially with Stormtroopers patrolling the fence’s inner walls and the nearby checkpoint site, with two towers manned by more Stormtroopers. It was a show of force, because the crowd was of equal size, and Maarco knew how easily a crowd could take a place by force, as evident by Arden High…

“Arden High! Arden High!” They now began to chant, catching Maarco on his train of thought as they began it in a passionate tone of voice. They were on the point of screaming, their angry voices most likely accompanying distorted, violent-filled faces. Maarco himself couldn’t see them; he had his back to them and he was standing at the position of attention, not allowing himself to look for fear of breaking rank. Even Carida teachings still hold true.

But his eyes still glanced over to the ISB Agent, the Captain himself, and he tried to read his emotions. He had no doubt that words were affecting him, but in what way, Maarco was unsure. He had almost perfect parade attention stances, detailing him as a Captain, even in the Bakuran Enlisted uniform. And no matter how dirty, he wore it well.

And it worried Maarco.

Willem had now arrived, and shouted orders over the people’s cries and screams, the small crowd now very close to the fence, with the Imperial troops waiting with their weapons raised, but not aiming, towards the group of Bakurans, both made of human and non-human origins.

“Hoist…the colours!”

“Hoist the colours!” Maarco immediately echoed the order to raise the standard the trooper had in his hand, his voice loud and commanding. The crowd then yelled and screamed louder, their chants of ‘Arden High’ still prevalent over their cries for them to be killed or hanged or gutted, and that was haunting to Maarco. He had never seen any sort of people rise up against invaders like that, in full view, under total domestic control.

It caused fear in his heart, a black hand of surprise and terror, but he hid it down within him, stoically poised at attention, not putting one cent of that within his face, and that Carida regime was always with him. “Always hold fear fast, because courage is just that. Taking it down, hold it there, and keep it with you, because courage is fear but acting with it.”

“Arden High! Arden High! Arden…” The cries, the shouts, the outbursts of heat and horror, all of them died quietly, and slowly. Even Maarco lost his train of thought as he watched the flag rise. The crowd, all of the voices that belonged to them, stopped and stared up at the flag against the morning sun, finally out after the clouding days that began with the Imperial invasion, and with all Imperial officers and troopers present and nearby not on guard duty saluting and rendering due honors, it was poetic.

The flag that was raised was the Bakuran Standard.

VonToma’s voice now boomed into the self-inflicted silence, his voice a counter-attack to the deathly grim of hallow reply, his right hand rendered into a smart salute.

“Present…arms!” He ordered, his voice carrying out easily across the lawn of the GHQ. All of VonToma’s men, all of them, rendered a perfect salute that was detailed and sharp. Maarco was impressed now, for sure, even for battle-weary troops drill still was prevalent. The crowd, who moments ago were screaming for the Imperial heads to be on a platter, were dead quite as they watched the Bakuran Standard wave in the wind.

And not one word of dissent was heard.

“Color Guard…fall…in!” Moff Aath commanded, with Maarco and his accompanying Ghost Squad operative taking a step forward to meet the Ensign, the Navy officer sharply turning right and entering back to the proper position of attention. The three guards formed up next to them, a miniaturized platoon, and then they marched towards GHQ, with only the sound of the crowd warming up their voices for dissent began to rise up again, but some of the voices in the crowd were attempts to stop it, and others simply left entirely…



Willem now sat in his office, reading a screen of data concerning the battle that VonToma had fought hard for, and Willem was definitely grateful for his actions, be it that they fought tooth-and-nail, and Matheron Thayer was still lost. He turned his head to the intercom, the buzz of his new assistant asking permission to talk to the Moff. Willem smiled at the little intercom, much like the one he had on Muunilinst, his right finger pressing down upon the red button. His voice was clear, cut, deep, but refined and smart, a perfect penchant of an Imperial’s voice.

“Yes?”

“Sir, Captain VonToma is here under your orders, sir.”

“Ahh, good. Send him in.”

Captain Rinehart VonToma then walked into his office a mere five seconds later, quick and punctual. He closed the door behind him, and flipped out a device in his left hand, going to the left side of Willem’s office and checking over objects with his other free hand, an attempt to find any sort of ‘bugging device’ within the confines of Willem’s new home. The machine continued to make the same sound, a singe ‘breem!” with each second, no change, and it appeared Rinehart was satisfied. Willem smiled; it appeared the Captain was very focused on his work, and he respected that.

However, the next words he heard were unexpected, for the moment, but Willem knew they were coming.

"I didn't know the Emperor created a 14th Grand Admiral, or does being Moff of Moneylend entitle one to that honor?" Rinehart asked coldly, the ISB officer's Corellian accent a sharp contrast to the Willem's own, his words directly to the point. Willem’s smile dropped, but his eyes did not leave VonToma's.. The Moff was not going to let the ISB Captain get an edge in this talk, especially when it was so important. VonToma could either be the glue, or the water, in the entire operation that Willem was planning.

And if not VonToma, then surely someone else.

“That was the reason why I called you here, because I need to explain myself to you. And only you.” Willem said, offering a hand to the still dirty ISB Captain, still dressed in the Bakuran Enlisted uniform. Willem chalked up half of the resentment to that very fact, the meeting not allowing VonToma to clean up or dress properly. Or was it because VonToma had been forced to return to Salis D'aar empty-handed, Matheron Thayer having slipped through his fingers?

“You see, Captain, most of the Moffs on Bastion think Dodonna has no chance of winning against the Republic, and that it is foolhardy for him to even try. To me, he’s the last chance, the only chance. With most…if not all of them…” Willem stopped as he took a glass of water on his desk and drunk, quickly, letting the water drain down his throat.

“Water?”

“No. Continue.”

“…With most of the Moffs on the Council being naïve and young, they are trying to find a way to hold the Republic for ransom, trying to find a way to make another superweapon, or arguing amongst themselves again. That’s not the way to fight a war, especially one like this, you and I both know this…” Willem paused again, looking over to his side, away from where VonToma was sitting. After a quick second of thinking, he brought his head back.

“Tell me, VonToma, did you approve of Isard?”

The ISB officer stared at Willem for a long time, about seven seconds with silence, but then the Agent gave him another look.

The Moff couldn’t tell what the emotion was.

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her. You can't deny Iceheart's ambition though, but a lust for political power is no substitute for tactical and strategic sense.” The ISB officer replied back, Captain VonToma giving him another stare. Willem let him continue his little political games; He was not either in the mood nor inclined at all to play them.

“I’m extending an offer to you. and you don’t have to accept it. It will not affecting your standing in any negative way.” Willem said, leaning back in his chair, his eyes looking away from the agent, as if he was trying to formulate what he wanted in words, but that wasn’t the case. The ‘Grand-Admiral’ was still trying to figure if having VonToma in the Patriots in the first place would be a better option.

“I’m asking you to keep me informed of any sort of order Dodonna gives you unless it is heavily classified when it pertains to areas near civilians, or civilians themselves.”

“And why shouldn’t I report you about your rank to ISB?”

Willem smiled again. He leaned forward again, his back straighter, his hands crossed together with the fingers touching the knuckles, his eyes locking with VonToma as he kept that smile.

“If you had a choice between saving the Empire or remaining at your post, what would you do? This operation here is a lot bigger than you, me, or Dodonna. Do you realize how many Moffs on the Council invested something in this operation? Or how much Intelligence and even your organization has put their troops, funds, and other supplies in this campaign?

“Dodonna is the last chance for a military victory. Everyone in the Galaxy who knows about Bakura has their eyes on what happens here. You think I want Intel’s paws over this without me or ISB knowing about it?”

VonToma gave him a look, but it was much softer than before, but with a quality of that still ever-present distrust. He was grateful, however, when the ISB agent merely stood up and nodded.

“I’ll try to do that. But make no mistake, Moff, I’ll be watching you.”

“As you should, Captain.”

The Agent locked eyes again, before he merely shook his head and walked away from Willem.
     

Two hours later, during Willem’s small lunch break, all of Intelligence’s men and women, and those who were affiliated with the agency at the moment, were in there as well, eating similarly.
   
“…And that’s why I feel we need the security droids.”
   
Willem tapped his finger against his desk, thinking about Jasra’s proposal in regards to the droid security pitch. But before he could make a statement, Maarco spoke up.
   
“She’s got a point. Cost-effective, and no doubt intimidating. But I have to disagree with her about the timing. Right now it’s also intimidating for the civilian population. We don’t need to spark recruitment for the guerillas out there.”
   
Jasra was about to speak up again when Willem put his hand out, to silence her as he spoke. She held in her voice, only out of mere respect for Willem.
   
“Jasra’s plan is sound, and we’ll go with it. For now. I’ll write up a support order form and ask for Dodonna’s permission to begin to phase out the guard troopers to droids. But eventually, if the Admiral does decide to do that, then after a month or two we’ll phase them out with private, living contractors.”
   
“That’s if he approves of it.” Randyll said, turning his gaze at the Moff, rubbing his chin as he spoke, adding a charmful look to his thinking. Willem smirked, his wizened gaze peering at the disgraced Senator-turned-diplomat.
   
“Yes. Definitely. Anything anyone wants to bring up?”
   
“Still no sign of Republic interference. Yet. Also, I would like to have Randyll working with me on the media. We can spin a lot of interference around to help us, not the Rebels.” Janus spoke up, talking slowly but with confidence. The Moff nodded, and took a look at his chrono.
   
“Speaking of which, you all should get back to your posts. Last thing we need is ISB or even the regular Navy getting suspicious about our operations here.”
   
They all nodded and stood up, leaving one by one out of his office. The last one to leave was Maarco, and that seemed reluctant. He was growing attached to him, both of them in a mutual relationship of respect and father-to-son attitudes. Willem smiled as he realized that he was growing on him much as his own son was.
   
His holo-link shuddered, an incoming call attempting to reach him. The caller was identified as CAPT ZAAFRIAN. Immediately, Willem pressed his finger down onto the ‘RECEIVE’ button marked.
   
A blue holofield shimmered into view on Willem’s desk. On that table was the venerable Captain, his face beginning to show signs of age as well. He was wearing his combination cover, his eyes locked forward and upwards, gazing right at the Moff. His chin bones were pronounced, but he had the look of a gentleman, naturally, imbedded in his face. However, his stern stance and his staunch Imperial Naval demeanor put that off.
   
At least on duty.
   
“Sir, the Fleet is in position outside the system. Chalk 2 is hiding out carefully in some particle dust clouds, so we’re the only ones who’ll see them if we’re looking at the right places.”
   
“Excellent. What else do you have to report?”
   
“General Hadric’s men are onboard the Nightbringer sir. Just waiting for your command to deploy them.”
   
“We’ll keep the good General’s men in reserve for now, at least until the Bakurans make a good push.”
   
“Yes, sir.”
   
“Good job, Captain.”
   
“Thank you.”
   
“One more thing.”
   
“Yes, sir?”
   
“The operations on Muunilinst…Are they complete?”
   
“Yes, sir. So far, Moff Zurel has obtained warrants on all suspected rebel and freedom fighters on Muunilinst. We've already made a move on the larger rebel sympathtic citizens, and they've gone smoothly. We're rooting the resistance on that planet out."

"Good. I'll commend the Moff myself. What about my rank?"

"We're still on stealth, sir."

"Roger. Keep me posted."

The line cut.

Long live the Garral!

Plateau above BakOr, in the rubble of Venien Shaft

The whole night they spent in the crater, half covered by rubble, while the noises of battle became more remote and increasingly scarcer. When a swarm of jagged, dagger-like wings ripped up the brightening sky. Then came the bombers. A low, threatening growl before you could spot the twin cylindrical hulls push past against a reddish-grey dawn. Huddled up under the remains of the winding tower, Seon stared; petrified yet gripped by another shiver. Matheron gently pressed down the boy's head and closed his eyes as lasers flashed and bombs came down in the other valley. Twice more the interceptors crossed; once a roaring went odd and one of the sleek frames went into a spin. Matheron smiled –

Finally flashes and bursts abated, then gave way to an eery silence. No TIE; no round; only the smoke still hung, muddying the orange dawn and mixing with the stink of human excrements that bore witness to just how relieved Seon must be that he did see another day. Just like Matheron himself. Though not knowing what had become of the rest of them, a parched throat and dull throbbing in several limbs put a damper on crawling from the ruins. Looking over the plateau, that by now appeared deserted by both friend and foe, he detected sinkholes in the North-west –direction Arden shaft and the reactor– that revived the memory of the tremors he had felt the evening before of a violent subterranean explosion.

Had the others made it? What of Marrjo and Bowl? The Kurtzen sniper? And their bombing teams under the lead of Zisah and Cirrian Karranden? The old mining intercom ran out of power after two tries that yielded naught but the unnerving wail caused by the Imperials’ jammer. Seon's wrist-comm -that contrasting his own had survived the night- stated 'no connection'. Possibly the air-raid had taken out radio towers as well? Or perhaps things had gone badly. Perhaps by now they were all dead? Crouching next to a rivulet they found between broom and boulders, coyly laundering his pants by the help of a handful of sand and a fist-sized pebble, Seon looked up at him with an expression that seemed to ask the same.

‘Well, you can’t know,’ Matheron began, then broke off and squatted as well.

'What is it?'

'See the little wood over there?'

Gazing where the older indicated, Seon recognized treetops snapped off; trunks broken and splintered as after a storm; but just in one lane.

'Looks that's where it crashed.'

'A bomber?'

'An Interceptor, I think.' He gnawed on his lips. 'Anyway, we'd best be gone before they're returning to rescue.'


Salis D’aar under the New Order
From the journal of Cirrian Karranden

Katunda, 16th of Helona. Once more, I peer out of the second storey window. There is barely a Bakuran on the corridor, only squads of Imperial troopers patrolling the passages in vehicles as armoured and armed to the teeth as they themselves are. Menacing though they look, bother though they undoubtedly mean to my people, I somewhat enjoy the sight: swarming like Saurian hornets, but startled ones that we caught right within their own new-found nests so that they themselves are now feeling the sting of fear.

Sorry to say, this also means we need to move on with utmost caution. As Thayer predicted, our bombings did cause them to pull tight the cordon, reinforce barricades and road blocks so that there is barely a coming through. Looked at from this point of view I am quite glad we opted to stay inside of the capital where I feel I can help more than I could hiding out in some mountain cave. On the downside, our plan to set up a pirate radio station is void: Salis D’aar controlled like this and us operating from within, they’d track and capture us within minutes.

Yet we urgently need one free voice! Some way to counter their propaganda and lies and let our compatriots know that, in fact, Bakura is not yet defeated, that they must keep on fighting and resisting the occupying forces by each and every means possible! With this notion I visit Elleck, my colleague, who helped us acquire the necessary equipment already the day prior. Today though he looks careworn: his aged mother –rashly expelled from one of the medcenters that the occupying forces acquired for the treatment of their own– succumbed to the grave injuries inflicted to her in the Imperial air raid by this very morning.

Offering my condolences, a part of me cringes, well aware I am jointly responsible for the mass of, chiefly Imperial, wounded who flood medcenters since yesterday evening—jointly responsible for the pain that must befall many Bakuran families as well. Yet, to any Bakuran capable of thinking, the Imperials’ actions keep speaking for themselves: there will be no happiness, no carefree breath before we have freed our planet from those people! To this thought I hold tight and, after some discussing, Elleck suggests a thing I should have thought of myself: if we cannot get the better of them by high tech, we need to fall back on the low; out of date means and media that they do not expect or probe for—for that, he brings up the idea of a printed paper.

Zisah keeps rolling his eyes. Too complicated, he objects, too difficult to procure and distribute—too labour-intensive! Why not slice into some hosts and send rounds of the good old-fashioned spam? I am not so sure. Never a friend of unsolicited mail myself, I worry that employing this terrible nuisance may reflect as badly on our cause as it does on every sender. Eventually our nerd is outvoted and the plan changed: Elleck and I are to compile the information and write articles for our first issue, Zisah and Rhina go a hunting for flimsiplast, while Obry sees to remould the dusted old copier that stuffs Elleck’s cellar for decades.

Still I’m pondering contents. There is so much Imperial cant, so many attempted deceptions that we’d need to expose—like this morning’s ceremony in which Grand Admiral von Aath soothes a crowd by hoisting the Bakuran standard. Undoubtedly a ploy! Another barefaced attempt to stall and confuse us! Yet more aggravating, by now my thoughts stray back to the message that reached us the other night:

Bowl’s voice, atypically distraught. Frantically he informs that Marrjo is dead. Though, following a group of miners, they had managed to start the ore-train and break through the Imperial lines; briefly after, they were assaulted by what, from his description, must have been a demon. It looked human, he says, till it struck through durinium and crawled out from underneath the wreckage of a prime-mover worth several tons. This fiend, I conclude, must have killed Marrjo. Sem, our Kurtzen sniper and scout, luckily survived and let us know he took Riaksh and Bran to the natives’ mountain resort, then but returned to his own unit. Only as to the whereabouts of Thayer and Seon, who went on a scouting mission apparently gone bad, Bowl hitherto lacks any clue.

Yet there also are heartening news: one of trio we met yesterday –men of General Kontrak who helped us carry out our attacks– did assure me the General stays firm in his resistance and is rallying supporters from among the refugees with every passing day. The same young man who confided me this –Bayner, a brave student who himself lost classmates and friends in the bloodbath of Arden– also let me know that this unit of loyal Bakuran soldiers and volunteers is yearning to fight and that, before long, the Garral will sound the counter-offensive.

This fills me with hope. Sharing my sentiment with Elleck, who against his today’s appearance did voluntarily complete his military service, my colleague corroborates: ‘that Kontrak’s a right one!’ Though famously grumpy and despising the media on principle, he also stands for unwavering loyalty through more than three generations. ‘An old officer to boot’, he concludes, ‘yet indeed a bloke you can trust.’ I beam. So here is a leader who is taking initiative and who does warrant our support! The thought immediately rekindles my confidence and I am positive this very real prospect must fire hope and courage within our compatriots as well.

With zest I set about compiling a summary of his successes, as well as a few vicious sideswipes against the spineless collaborators amongst our own government, while Elleck works on an article expounding how, despite all pretences to the reverse, the occupying power is really not interested in the well-being of any Bakuran citizen as much as the exploitation of our mineral and human resources from the proceeds of which they plan to fund the continuation of their war of conquest. Before long, Rhina and Zisah each return with a stack of flimsiplast, Obry presents a faultlessly working copier that in fact spews out an satisfactory sheet. One difficulty though remains—in a severely controlled city, how do you distribute an underground paper?

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Following Willem's meeting, Janus, Jasra and Randyl took one of the VIP shuttles down to Salis Daar's local news network, prepared to exercise their newly acquired authority over the sector's broadcasting relay station on Praesitlyn.

"So.." Jasra began in summation. " Are you clear on what needs to be accomplished Mr. Corra?" Jasra asked in a 'polite' tone with her eyes glued to a series of schedules on her Palm Comm.

"Perhaps you could go over the talking points one more time?" Randyl replied from her left, leaning in almost to the point where his lips brushed against her ear with an arm resting upon her shoulders.

"Oh.. oh yes, please.. Please run over it a fifth time, because the fourth explanation was just a tragedy." Janus replied from her right.

"Well, it… doesn't hurt to be prepared right?" Randyl replied with faux honesty, as if he didn't know what he was doing.

Jasra turned to him with a surprised smile and let out a brief sigh with one palm pressed to her chest. "I could not agree more.." She said in an adoring tone, clearly pleased that someone appeared to share her point of view.

Janus rubbed his temples with a thumb and an index finger before burying his face in his palm. "That's fine." He muttered between winces.

Honestly, Janus didn't know exactly why he was complaining. He didn't have too much to do with their planned media blitz aside from the few punditry spots they wanted him to do on some of the morning talk shows so he wouldn't have to witness this much longer. Still, something about seeing the two of them together was bothering him.

Perhaps it was because he knew both of them so well. He could sense Randyl's intentions but they weren't any different from his intentions when any other moderately attractive female was present. Jasra's thoughts however had been increasingly focused on Randyl since their arrival on Bakura. The fact that she was thinking of Randyl wasn't surprising since he was present, but when she thought of him, she appeared to be thinking of the Randyl from way back on Coruscant around 4 or 5 ABY.

That struck him as odd.

Anything specific was hard to pin down however, since Jasra's thoughts changed subjects so frequently and partially because he was still a bit uncomfortable looking back on that era.

It wasn't his job to worry about that though and focusing on it wasn't productive. Randyl and Jasra were more than capable of running the media campaign and unless she somehow managed to botch the security droid roll out, convincing the Bakuran population to do nothing shouldn't be a difficult task. His main objective at the moment was to secure the Agency's contact on Bakura who sent the initial scandoc, one Bayner Cardik.

The only information he had been provided was a copy of the contact’s origination file which contained a handful of aliases that were cleared by the Operations Bureau and the generic briefing given to every Junior Agent for their initial assignment. The dossier listed a school he would be attending for the mission, but it failed to list a residence where he would be staying on Bakura. Arden's student database should have his current address however, so that was his first destination.

“Janus?” Randyl’s voice snapped him out of his trance-like state. “This is you isn’t it?” Randyl said, nodding towards Arden’s main gates through the transparisteel rear shuttle window.

Janus let out a mild sigh as he swung the shuttle door open, snapping his fingers towards a pair of Jasra’s corporate security droids that were sitting across from them in the speeder and gesturing for them to follow.

"Janus?" Jasra queried as he was halfway out the door.

He turned around to face her and forced a smile. "Yeeeesss?"

"Forgetting something?" She asked, holding up an ID card with her eyes still glued to her Palm Comm.

He released a heavier sigh, snatching the card from the grasp of her index and middle finger. "What is this?"

"That.." She took a pause to finish reading whatever it was on her display screen. "…will be the only way to traverse Salis Daar once the checkpoints are in place in a few hours. Honestly, I wish it were more surprising that you managed to forget something that was explained to you on several occasions over the past few hours." She said as the droids climbed their way out of the speeder.

He rolled his eyes at that and swung the door shut.

As the speeder pulled away, Jasra continued gazing at the slammed door for a moment until Randyl's arm, still resting on her shoulders, gave her a mild tug. "Jazz?…"

"Mm?" She replied as she turned in his direction, seeming almost surprised that he was still there.

"… the talking points?" He replied, holding a datapad out between them so she would have to lean in a bit closer to read it.

---

As Janus made his way towards Arden's entrance, he got a chance to admire the new line of security droids Holowan had created for this operation. Even when idle, advanced motivators inside the chassis ran thousands of random adjustments to simulate the tiny movements and fidgets of an organic humanoid. They were also capable of adjusting their height by a foot or so and were programmed with different postures and mannerisms, allowing each one to appear somewhat unique even though all their parts were still uniform  In addition, the heads were molded to resemble the riot helmets used by local law enforcement and this particular batch was spray painted a dark navy blue with the letters SDPD ((Salis Daar Police Department)) stenciled in faded copper down their right biceps.

Branding them with the SDPD insignia instead of the Imperial Circle was Holowan's way to bypass the Bakuran population’s aversion to droids, hoping these new units could be passed off as existing officers with new uniforms due to the occupation.

Apparently, it wasn’t as far fetched as it sounded.

As Janus tried to bypass the two stormtroopers standing guard at Arden’s entrance, they halted him with crossed blasters.

“No local cops…” One of them started to say with a raised palm. "The Empire is still conducting an investigation."

"That's why we're here." Janus said with a businessman's smirk as he flashed his Banking Clan ID "The company wants to conduct it's own investigation as part of risk assessment."

"What're they doing here?" One of the stormtroopers asked, nodding towards Janus' entourage.

"They've been hired by the Company. Look, if you're interested in wasting someone's time, you should talk to this guy. I have other places to be." He said, tossing a datapad towards the buckethead and turning to make a hasty exit.

The stormtrooper took one look at the datapad before placing a hand on Janus' shoulder, stopping him. "No!.. Wait.. You guys can go in."

Janus turned back around to the buckethead with an annoyed glare. "You're sure now?"

"Yea, no.. Go ahead." The stormtrooper replied.

After Janus and the two droids made their way into the school, the other stormtrooper slapped his comrade on the back of his helmet. "..the fukk is wrong with you?! Why'd you let him in?"

The other stormie shook it off and showed his friend the datapad Janus had given him, displaying a contract with Dodonna's thumbprint and official seal at the bottom. "You wanna explain this to him?!"

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Alone at last…Well, almost.

The remains of Salis D’aar flew by Randyl’s window. A small clean up attempt was being made, but at the rate it looked like it was moving, it would take several months if not years to fully restore what had been destroyed. Those bombers really did a number on this city, he thought. It was a nice enough place too. A planet he would have liked to visit under different circumstances. Come to think of it, there were plenty of places and things he wanted to see and do, but had forced to the back burner because of his career as a senator. That was obviously a mute point now. You need to get out more, he told himself, go places. Do what you always wanted but never had the time or opportunity. Perhaps find someone to share all these new experiences with…

Randyl looked at Jasra out of the corner of his eye. The smell of her hair still lingered in his olfactories, bringing back memories from years ago on Coruscant. The battle between his desires and duties waged war in his head. He had experienced his fair share of women over the years, but Jasra had always stuck in the back of his mind. He had known her as long as he had Janus, meeting at upper class social gatherings when they were teenagers. It couldn’t be described as love at first sight, but rather the unrelenting thirst to have her. Jasra’s admirable devotion to her job made it nearly impossible to keep in touch, save the bill that helped blocking the IGBC’s recognition of the New Republic credit. So Randyl had written her off as the one woman he wanted but would never hold. Never touch or taste. The one that got away. Only after she contacted him after his dismissal from the Senate did all the feelings return. And now it was one of the rare moments they were together and Janus wasn’t around to read any minds.

“I see the broadcast station, ma’am,” the transport pilot said over his shoulder.

“Find a safe place to land,” Jasra said, not looking up from her Palm Comm.

“Yes, ma’am,” Randyl heard the engines begin the landing sequence. The Ravisher had been kind enough to loan them two of their comms officers and an R2 unit in order to get the station up and running once again, if the initial damage wasn’t incredibly bad.
“Beginning landing now,”

Randyl buckled himself in, the officer’s doing the same. Jasra had been buckled in since they had boarded the transport. “You two ever do anything like this before?” Randyl asked the officers.

“In a simulation once,” Corporal Jensen “Tek” Trebloc said, “We had to infiltrate a small Rebel hideout with nothing but blaster pistols. It didn’t go well, as I recall,” he smiled, pushing his thin spectacles up the bridge of his nose, “Although I was the only one in my squad to survive,”

“Only because you hid in a supply closet,” Private Awns Jotter replied, “I’m the one that found you in there!”

“And they didn’t! That’s the point!”

Jasra made an annoyed sound. One Randyl knew all too well. “Gentlemen, I don’t think there are going to be many Rebels at the station,” Randyl reached over to the seat across from him, where a deactivated TY was strapped in. He flipped a switch and the silver protocol’s yellow eyes came to life.

“Hello, my name is A-2TY, human cyborg relations, I am fluent—“

“TY, we’re here,”

“Hello, Master Randyl!”

“I need you to take the R2 unit and hook into the broadcasting computers, find out if it’s still operational or not, and diagnose the problem if it isn’t so my communication officer friends here can fix it,”

TY’s visual scanners went over the two men, “Hello sirs,” Awns gave a little wave and Tek spread a goofy grin on his face.

“Can you do that?” Randyl asked the droid.

“Of course sir,” The transport came to a rest on the street in front of the broadcast station.

“The street looks clear, ma’am,” the pilot said. Everyone unbuckled themselves and gathered their things. Jotter threw a black bag over his shoulder, filled with spare circuit boards and components. Tek carried another larger bag full of tools and spare parts. Randyl was optimistic, if the equipment in the station didn’t work, they might have enough electronics to start their own. The rear hatch opened and Randyl held a hand out for Jasra. “Ladies first,” he smirked. She barely rolled her eyes, “How gentlemanly of you,” taking his hand and walking down the ramp.

— — —

“Go!” Jotter yelled as Tek punched the door control panel and the heavy back door of the station slid open. Randyl felt Jasra jump as the sound echoed through the open hallway. The comms officers ran in, laser pistols at the ready and made their way through the building, making sure it was clear of any resistance members.

TY was already in a deep conversation with the Imperial R2 unit, the beeps and buzzed coming from the droids getting on his nerves. He couldn’t imagine how much it was grinding Jasra’s gears. He needed something to distract him. Randyl leaned one shoulder onto a wall, hands in his pockets. “So,” he said, his eyes slowly examining Jasra’s body before settling at her eyes, “Tell me your story. What had you been up to in all the years we hadn’t seen each other?”

“It’s been all business,” she said, finally looking up from her datapad, eyes locking with Randyl’s, “And unfortunately it’s none of yours,”

“Oh come on, Jazz. You can tell me, you still like to go out and have a little fun right?”

Finally, he thought, there’s that smile… “Well, you know, whenever I can get away from Janus,”

One of the comms officers sounded the all clear. Randyl took a hand out of his pocket and gestured gracefully toward the interior of the station, “After you,” Another minute smile just cracked the corner of her mouth as she stepped into the dark building. “TY, let’s go,” he said over his shoulder.

“…Well, I don’t know what this is all about,” TY said to R2-R3, as he began to scoot toward the door, “Perhaps some questions are better left unasked!”

Randyl tasted thick dust as soon as he walked in, somehow managing to suppress the urge to cough. He heard Jasra coughing furiously ahead of him, cursing profusely. “TY, is this air okay to breath?” The protocol droid’s circuit boards clicked, “My sensors indicate there is nothing toxic in the air. It is entirely breathable,” Well, not entirely, Randyl thought. He clutched the end of his tie, balling it up and stuffing it under his nose and over his mouth. He squinted, his eyes itching intensely from the dust. He used his free hand to feel along the wall, the hallway getting darker and darker. They had assumed the light from the open door would be enough to illuminate the interior, but there was no way they could have anticipated the grime would be this thick. Randyl’s steps were getting heavy, and he looked down at a six inch blanket of dirt settled on the floor, Jasra’s feet had already cut a trail through it. He shook his head, amazed at the building was in this capacity. The exterior looked to be in good health, but somehow the inside had taken more damage. Jasra’s path had turned off. He followed it and found himself in what looked to be the studio. A handful of lanterns dimly lit dozens of control boards and consoles, which Trebloc was already sitting in front of, his hands flying across the dials.

“It’s completely dead, Awns,” he said though his breathing mask, “I’ve not no power, I’ve got nothing!”

“What else is new?” Jotter said, taking a two foot solid black box out of one of his bags. He took it to the middle of the room and stood it up on one end, flipping a switch Randyl couldn’t see. He heard a quiet vacuuming sound and saw the dust around the box swirl. “Air purifier,” he said, “I thought there would be some dust in here but I didn’t think it would be this bad. I’ve only got one more, so it’s going to be a while before it’s completely clear,”

“Put this on,” Jasra said, holding out a breathing mask. “Disgusting…” She was already wearing one, leaving nothing but her eyes visible. Her beautiful eyes… Randyl slid the mask over his face. “TY, plug in, find out what’s wrong with the equipment,” TY confirmed the order and escorted R2-R3 to a terminal, where they both plugged in. Jotter left the room with the other purifier and another pair of lanterns. Trebloc twirled around in his chair, his eyes looked quizzically at the former senator.

“So what do we need this holonet station up and running for anyhow?”

“We’ll get to that when we come to it. There won’t be need of an explanation if the dust ruined the equipment,”

“We can always get more equipment,” Trebloc said.

“Sir!” TY shouted. Randyl raised his eyebrows, showing the droid he had his attention. “The terminal is not responding. It’s completely powered down, and is only relaying a default message. Apparently, the terminal has a defense mechanism. When it senses an imminent threat, it shuts down completely, including its power source,”

“What kind of threat?”

“A power surge or natural disaster, such as an earthquake,”

“Or something that appeared to be an earthquake?”

“Like concussion bombing…” Jasra chimed in. Self-sabotage, Randyl shook his head, only the Empire could do it as often as they did. “Where is the power generator?”

TY paused a moment, “In the lower levels, ma’am,”

Randyl turned to Trebloc, “Take Jotter and try and get the power back on, we can’t do anything without it,” The Corporal nodded and left the room, taking a lantern with him. Everything was suddenly quiet, sans the humming sound of the purifier and the steady clicking of Jasra’s stylus.

“I’d turn that off if I were you,” Randyl said.

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s going to be hard to spend quality time together with you working on that thing,” Jasra gave him a look, “And because the dust might ruin it,”

“Could the dust have damaged the equipment?” she asked.

“Unfortunately we won’t know until the power is restored, ma’am,” TY replied. R2-R3 beeped in agreement.

“We can’t afford anything to be ruined. Time is of the essence, Mr. Corra,”

“Believe me, I know,” Randyl said, turning his head away and rolling his eyes. “So why did you volunteer to come along with this little expedition instead of tagging along with Janus?”

“Our resources need to be spread evenly throughout this endeavor, or certain things won’t be done properly. And besides, I can’t be in two places at once,” Ah, a shot at Janus.

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Corra. If I wasn’t here to supervise, I’m fairly certain the media branch of this operation would quickly rot and fall off the tree,”

Randyl whistled, “Oh, very harsh, Ms. Kaar. And what exactly are you going to be doing except breathing down my neck?”

She ignored the question, “I’m getting a message from Janus, hold on…” An angry sneer overtook her lips. The former senator smiled under his mask and picked up one of the lanterns, “TY, will you be okay here by yourself?”

“Of course sir,” the droid answered.

“How about you make a little more use of yourself then just standing there and looking pretty, Ms. Kaar?” Randyl raised his voice, “Follow me,”

“I will do no such thing!”

“Okay,” Randyl was already out the door, “Stand here in the dark,”

— — —

Randyl dragged his feet through the dirt, the lantern providing just enough light to keep from walking directly into a wall. He spotted a source of daylight coming from up ahead around a corner, so he decided to head in that direction. But he stopped when he thought he heard a moving set of footsteps. “Jotter?” Something bumped into him from behind, startling him. He swung the lantern around to reveal a wide-eyed Jasra.

“Pardon me,” she said, panting.

“I thought you were staying?”

“I was. I just…I finished what I was doing,”

Randyl nodded, “Of course you did,”

“It’s not what you think,”

“Really? Then what is it?” He was smiling under his mask. Taking a step closer, he moved the lantern down, the light gleaming off her eyes, staring right back at him. “I think you want to help me…explore,”

“No…” she whispered.

“What then?”

“I…I just…”

“It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone you like to explore strange buildings,” he laughed. They continued standing there, staring into each other’s eyes. I missed you…. the words were right there, about to come out of his mouth, but something stopped him. It wasn’t the right time, he told himself. Patience…

“Come on, this way,” he managed. Randyl turned back around, raising the lantern and continuing down the hall, toward the daylight. He felt Jasra’s hand lightly touching the middle of his back. They finally reached the end of the hall, peeking around the corner at huge windows, now gone, and felt the cool breeze swooping in. It was a lobby of some sort, numerous couches and tables scattered throughout the room, now ruined by the dust. Randyl set the lantern onto on the tables and walked to one of the busted windows. He felt glass crunching under the dirt.

“What happened?” Jasra asked behind him. He shook his head, his eyes scanning the horizon. Skyline was all he saw, until he was turning back and saw the crumbled remains of a building about twenty meters across a courtyard. Then it all clicked. He pointed at the destroyed structure. “There! The bombers!” He looked back and Jasra was giving him a curious look.

“What do you mean?” she walked toward the window.

“When the concussion bombs were dropped, it shattered the windows. And then that building went down,”

“So…all this dust is from that building. Of course.”

Self-sabotage, he told himself. The overhead lights suddenly came on, and cheers could be heard from the lower levels.

“At least one thing went according to plan today,” he winked.

“Yeah…” she responded. He saw something in her eyes, something he had never seen before. Or did he? Maybe it was just his imagination. They both looked out over the skyline of Salis D’aar. He felt a cold hand graze the back of his.

Now that wasn’t his imagination.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

<i>Calm… blue water bobbing up and down, sparkling and cool underneath her body as she floats effortlessly… Warmth basking her face and the sound of a voice calling her name.

Her ears prick at the deep tones, however.  "Pet…"</i>

"Dad?"  Petra's eyes snapped open and then she sighed, pushing herself out of her seated position and stretching her body to its full height as she reaffirmed her location.  <i>ISD Ravisher.</i>  And she had a mission that she needed to carry out.

Walking over to the standard-issued bed in her quarters, Petra scanned the items she had already put inside: sand-colored camoflauge body suit, a few concealer weapons such as her favored blaster and silencer, and five canteens of water in case she ended up camping out on the sands during her stake-out.  Marsh hadn't shown up yet to go over her techno-gear yet, and her shuttle was leaving in (she glanced at her wrist chrono) an hour.

Dodonna's words came back to her as she closed her eyes and reanalyzed the specs of her mission:

<i>"The officer in question is the garrison commander, Kesa. I believe he is using his Imperial influence to gain wealth of his own. To add, it is rumored he failed to stop several Rebel spies from transmitting their findings to the Rebellion… If your findings are true about him, I want him eliminated… Use what means and resources, Miss Williams… If Kesa indeed is corrupt, I want no mistakes. A flawless execution."</i>

Kesa's file had been transferred to her datapad, and Petra reached into the pouch on her belt to pull it out, flicked through the information she'd gathered for the hell-planet and opened the document to scan what Dodonna had sent her.  

His record looked impressive on the outside, although she rolled her eyes at the long list of medals and honors the commander had racked up since the end of the Empire, and she paused over some of them, wondering what he'd had to do to earn such distinctions.  <i>Maybe he's already been corrupt and Dodonna's finally catching on.</i>  She pursed her lips when she finally reached his record since his arrival on Tatooine and frowned.

Records were missing.  There were dates and instances not recorded and they made glaring holes in the information she'd received.

<i>Bad move on your part, Kesa.  Really, really stupid.</i>

But all she had were missing pieces, and where would she find the information on Tatooine?  Petra started pacing unconsciously while tapping her fingers on the palm of her other hand, trying to think.

<i>Surely he has a personal datascanner in his office… or in his lodgings.  I'll have to find out his schedule, see if there's an inconsistencies or if he ever disappears without anyone knowing where he is.  Frak, this'll be easy if he's stupid enough to send reports like this to his admiral, right?  Unless he's playing stupid and there's a missing piece here I haven't found.</i>

"Hmm," she hummed out loud, pausing and staring at the gray wall in front of her.  Maybe Dodonna could give her more- No.  He'd already been more than generous in his donation of Kesa's file, and if he wanted the man dead with proof he would have given her more.

<i>So I'm pretty much flying blind.</i>

She'd done that before; she'd gone with less information and come back with results that may have not occurred the way Bastion wanted but it worked and so she didn't give a damn if they tsked over her procedure.  Isard had allowed Petra's guts-or-glory attitude, and that was what counted.

A knock sounded on her door.  Petra walked over to the wall controls and let the door slide open to reveal Marsh.  "Hey."

"Greetings to you, too."  He walked over to her bed and slumped down on it unceremoniously.  "Pet, what am I gonna do here without you?"

"Keep them on their toes and find security blips?"  She fought a smile and walked over to kneel in front of him, rubbing Marsh's knee.  "C'mon, you've done fine without me before.  You'll be astral."

"I've never been out of Bastion without you, though!" the techie whined while leaning forward, butting his head gently with hers.  "And I'm not sure I really like the people here.  That Dunn guy scares the living force out of me, and that Bal'ak guy-"

"What about him?"  Her voice turned sharp.  "Marsh, did he hurt-"

"No."  Marsh shook his head.  "But he was asking me stuff about you, trying to find out about you and the Lai Nookta assassination, figure out why you haven't been acting as friendly to him since we got here."

"He had no right to ask you that." She managed to keep her tones controlled but her jaw clenched.

<center>************************</center>

<i><b>Earlier…</b></i>

<i>Dodonna wanted to meet her after the party, and Petra needed some space to think, but of course: “Petra!”

She grimaced but turned to face the intruder. “What do you want, Bal’ak?”

His face registered surprise at her flat words but he managed to cover it up.  "We need to talk."

"We don't have anything to talk about."  She tried to walk away but he grabbed her arm and pushed her into the wall, staring into her eyes.

"There's something."  He frowned when she tensed as if preparing for a blow and his eyebrow arched.  "What is it?  Petra-"

Nothing could account for her behavior as she grabbed the back of his head, yanked him forward into an angry, harsh kiss that would leave them bruised and give him more confusion, but the idea of being out there alone on the sands was making her stomach tense, and he felt warm, safe…

After a moment she put both hands on his chest and shoved him away before she walked to her quarters.  This time he didn't stop her.</i>

<center>************************</center>

"He wanted to know if you'd be safe out there, that's all."  Marsh tilted his head, his dark eyes staring at her, until realization poured through his features.  "Oh, Pet…"

"Don't, Marsh."  She stood and wiped imaginary dust off her trouser legs.  "What do you have for me?"

Marsh started to open his mouth to question, maybe to make a comment that she'd have to throw him out for, then thought better of it.  "Well, I know you'll be out in the heat so I tried to whip up some heat-resistant gear.  Sorry if it's not that pretty; I didn't have much time."  The first device he handed barely fit into her palm.

Petra raised an eyebrow while examining what looked like… an old computer?

"This is how you're going to track Kesa's movements.  It's got a map of his building but there's heat sensors so you can track every person or object that radiates warmth."  Marsh flipped it open so she could see the screen.  "We're too far away here, of course, but it'll start working when you get within ten kilometers of his location.  There's also a feed to his comlinks and a translation device in case he decides to start spouting off in some frakked alien tongue."

"Smart," Petra commented while putting it in her bag.  Marsh handed her the next device and she raised an eyebrow.  "Lipstick in the dessert, Marsh?"

"Har, har."  He grinned a little and opened it to show an unnatural gleam on the color.  "Be careful when you put this on, but if anyone kisses you they'll be out cold for about two hours.  That'll give you enough time to get in and out."

"And kill Kesa if needed."

Something tensed in Marsh's body, and Petra grimaced to herself.  Of course he hated when she talked about murdering someone in cold blood, but it was their job.  

"I'm sorry, Marsh."

"Just come back from this alive, okay?  I've heard rumors about what Kesa does to traitors or anyone snooping on his turf."

"Don't worry, Marsh.  If he catches me," and Petra snapped her bag shut, "the last thing he'll be worried about is calling me a snoop."

[The Epic of Agent Williams… continues here]

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Commander Bal'ak's TIE Interceptor knifed through the atmosphere toward his falling leader as the scene unfolded before the Paladins. The rookies inside the TIE Bombers were flying below almost skirting the forests in standard bombing formation. Now was not the time to panic the rookies in informing that Captain Dunn had suddenly went down without an explanation. Laakim peered one last time through his canopy to view Dunn's fighter vanish into the woods– suddenly accompanied with a plume of black smoke.

Now it was his time. He searched about his formation and found Flight Officer Askal to his right and Lt. Commander Borden behind him. Now it was their job to search and destroy, to protect the TIE Bombers, and hopefully cover all their collective butts.

Balak's felt his heart kick up as he began to speak into his comm. "This is Paladin Two. As of this moment, I now assume command of the Paladins, according to Imperial regulations. Captain Dunn has been shot down it seems."

An instant later, Lt. Commander Borden's voice filtered in a wash of static. "Paladin Eight confirms same. Captain Dunn has crashed near coordinates sixteen-three, forty degress right." A pause. "Should we turn and investigate, Sir? You sure he was shot down?"

Bal'ak responded. "Negative! We proceed on our mission. We have TIE Bombers to escort and we cannot leave them." He chewed the inside of his right cheek. "Paladins, continue on course. The bombers are starting their runs now." The Paladin leader watched as the Interceptors remained to his right, forty degress off his horizontal, but shedding altitude to stay near the TIE Bombers.

Borden chimed again. "Leader, this is Eight. We need to report Dunn's crash to Control so they can send out a search party."

"Affirmative. But after the mission." Bal'ak flatly stated. And then: "Uh-oh." This came in from Lt. Emyn, one of the rookie pilots in the TIE Bombers.

Now Bal'ak saw it, too. First there were two GPA starfighters, a fighter developed by the Bakurans, and then there were four. Fanning out from their flightmates' shadows, two additional fighters fell into a diamond formation– coming right for them and closing fast.

A second later, Lt. Emyn: "Paladin Leader, we got bandits, nine-point-two klicks and closing. Confirm?"

Paron was cool and collected; he had to give her that. Laakim watched as the pings streaked right for them. <I>This is it. I either pass or fail if I don't protect these rookies.</i>

Aganox suddenly chimed in: "Paladin Leader, I read bandits, coming in hot!"

<I>Hot</i>. The insurgents were targeting, and his squadron were now relying on him to command. This was he was finally waiting for. The enemy wouldn't wait around for them to take their shots. <I>Unless we shoot first</i>. Bal'ak's thumb searched out his override switch, one o'clock on his throttle, and hesitated as a new thought bubbled to the surface: <I>Now to hope no one knows the truth about the sabotage of Dunn's ship</I>… "Paladins Three to Six, throttle up, assume four at forty-five, two-point-seven klicks, go hot!"

No one argued; everyone did as the lead pilot said and in ten seconds the Black Paladins began to engage the enemy, while the TIE Bombers began making their runs. Bal'ak watched as his HUD tracked incoming fire coming from the surface now. His throat was dry, the stuffy air in his helmet smelled and sweat slithered down the knobs of his spine. Yet, his thoughts still couldn't break away from the events he set off prior to the mission…

***
<I>"I could do it… why the frell not?"

Bal'ak was shaking his head. "Because I need you flying with me. No arguments," he said when he opend his mouth to protest. "If anyone even suspects, we need everyone in flight so no one can look suspicious. It makes sense. Lt. Tori is the one who could do this. So he will be the one."

"How will you convince him?"

"Easy. I've read his file when Dunn handed me command as XO"– he glanced over his shoulder– "He's a minor tech under Grotag and it seems there is something he covets from him: the position of Chief Engineer. In fact, if we play our cards right, I can give it to him. Of course, we have to rid of Grotag."

Laakim saw that his wingmate struggled with this one; his face turned a shade of red only slightly lighter than his hair. "I don't think that is wise," he said finally, and pushed to his feet. "If the Admiral finds out about this treachery, you'll be in front of a court martial in ten seconds flat and, twenty seconds later, you will be marched in front of a stormtrooper firing squad. If something happens to you…"

"If I am taken, you go to the head of the class. You're the one man I trust to do this right. I'll give you all the time to get back to your various duties. Then I'll head to Tori's quarters and see if I can persuade him to see things our way." He smirked. "Besides, I have another card up my sleeve if things don't work out."

"You're assuming a hell of a lot. Look, I'd never betray you, we're deep in this together, but I'm begging you. At least wait until we hear from Zak and Kai Darkrider. If Earle's persuaded the other Paladins, maybe Zak and Kai will…"

"We can't afford to wait, and I haven't heard from them in several hours. They are a gamble, anyway."

"You should let me go."

"Tori is the best man for the job, and the least conspicuous. Grotag trusts him completely and he blends in enough to cover his rear." When he didn't reply, he said, "Look, either he does the job or we end up shooting Dunn down– and that will not work."

"Yes, you're right," said his wingmate, flatly.

Bal'ak nodded. "Good. Then there is no time to waste. I'm going to see Tori now. If all goes well, he will sabotage Dunn's fighter and we will all rise up in rank with no one to question us…" </I>

***

He blinked the sweat away from his eyes, and so he saw things much more clearly now: the sweeping attack runs of the TIE Bombers below him, dropping their cargo of proton bombs; the pencil-thin darts of fiery laser fire; the orange balls of autocannon from the surface. Each time a proton bomb impacted, a sonic boom of thunder rolled through the forests below.

Suddenly, there came a huge, ear-splitting explosion. Laakim blinked against a flare of yellow bright enough to hurt. The flash had come from above, and his eyes jerked in the direction just in time to catch a cluster of debris from a starfighter race downward, as his wingmate flew by. "Good shooting, Paladin Three!" he exclaimed. He manuevered his Interceptor to race side by side, matching his speed. "That's one I owe you, Lt. Ferry."

"And you better remember it, Paladin Leader," Ferry replied over the static.

A second later, Lt. Emyn: "Paladin Leader, all targets have been compromised. We're fresh out of bombs and awaiting orders."

After a moment, Laakim nodded to himself. "Excellent work. All rookies proceed back to the <I>Ravisher</I>. All Paladins withdraw and escort our bombers, standard defensive formation."

"What about the Captain?" Emyn replied. "We can't just leave him behind. At least have one of our pilots circle around–"

"Negative, Lieutanant. It's too dangerous and I don't want to risk any our new pilots. We'll just report to the Admiral and let him decide what to do." He cleared his throat to sound more authoritive. "Proceed to the <I>Ravisher</I>. That's an order. Borden, report to Control that we lost Dunn."

"Copy that, Paladin Leader."

As the TIE formations raced back to the Star Destroyer above orbit, Laakim began to think about how to address the Admiral on what just happened. He knew a flight mishap investigatory board would convene, and Grotag would be questioned, along with his other techs. Of course, with Dunn's TIE crashed on Bakura, the board would have a little problem: no evidence. That being the case, Grotag would be cleared of negligence– or removed as Chief Engineer–  but only after the board had finally exhausted their efforts. They would find nothing that will lead back to him.

But that would be then– and this was now and, for now, the Paladins were finally his. And he was taking them home.

Sadly, he knew by the time he returned, Petra would be gone…

An Aganox Point of View

I took a look at the chrono after I left my new Captain’s office, and I realized I had some time to get dressed into my flightsuit, let alone meet my new wing leader. Knowing how easily one can be distracted, I decided to instead head to my locker and get into my flightsuit. My steps to the nearest turbo-lift weren’t exactly slow and practiced; contrary, I really wanted to get there. I’m anxious to get back into actual combat operations again; it’s been so long since I’ve piloted any craft in combat.
   
I entered the turbolift and took in who was in it: A cute communication’s mate, two shipswain’s mates, and another pilot. Reactionly, I took steps to stand next to the communication’s mate, but I still kept enough distance not to be considered.
   
“You just got here?” The pilot asked me, catching my attention. Now I really got a good look at his face. He seemed aged, but young as well, and I marked him about thirty years old; same age as me. He had green eyes. Otherwise he was just another pilot to me. I’ve seen a lot of those on this ship, the Nightbringer, and any other ship in the Imperial Fleet. What intrigued me was that he was wearing the black uniform usually associated with special officers, or in our case, special flights.
   
“Yes, I just got reassigned to the Black Paladins.”
   
Like I expected, the other man smiled and extended his hand to me. I wouldn’t have shaken it without knowing he was another pilot.
   
“Lieutenant Commander Zak Uer, Paladin 10.”
   
“Flight Lieutenant Bellarius Aganox, Paladin 9.”
   
“So you’re my new wingman?”
   
I smiled. I liked this guy already.
   
“Yes, sir.”
   
He smiled back, and the doors to the turbolifts opened. I followed closely to him as we both began to walk to the locker room. I noticed the way he walks; It was almost like the way I do, close and careful. His head turned over to his right side, to speak to me.
   
“How long have you been flying?”
   
I answered almost immediately.
   
“About nine years, sir.”
   
“Stop calling me sir. Call me Zak. At least when we’re not in front of Captain Dunn or Commander Ba’lak.”
   
I’m happy that Captain Dunn picked me to be Uer’s wingman. I like his style already.
   
“Makes me more comfortable that you’re not just an off-the-block rook.”
   
I could only agree. I remember times when I was flying a five ship with three vets and one rook. Those rooks think they need to be impressive all the damn time, they’re so tense and jumpy. One rook almost cost me the farm about two years ago on a deep strike mission. I can definitely understand the questions that my new wing leader was asking.
   
Not besides the fact that I could recognize him from some old holos.
   
We then entered the locker room, a dull grey looking tile that lined the surface of the walls. The room was big, but it encompassed almost, if not all, of the pilots onboard the Ravisher and their belongings. We walked together, or at least the presumed appearance of walking together, towards his locker. I took a lot at my personal datapad for a few seconds, checking my locker number and combo, and then I smiled with satisfaction as I realized my locker was right next to his.
   
I took off my clothes (I’m accustomed to stripping when I have to change into my flight suit), and donned the one-piece, thin layered undercoating that we wore under our flightsuits. My own was red, denoting me as a member of Eta Squadron, but when I took a glance at my wingmate who was doing the same thing, I noticed his was black. Another facet of inter-ship politics and status symbols.
   
I put on my flightsuit, but I chose not to wear my helmet to the meeting. If the Rebels did anything right, it was their flight helmets.
   
When Zak and I were dressed into flight gear, he nodded, and I followed him to the meeting.

   
   
Again, I realize the Black Paladins are an elite squad.
   
One that I would like.
   
The XO, Commander Laakim Ba’lak, sitting to who I presumed was his wingman or a friend, smiled at me. Zak, once we got there into the meeting room about five minutes before it was scheduled to begin, stood up and introduced me.
   
“This is the newest recruit to the Black Paladins. Flight Lieutenant Bellarius Aganox.”
   
I got a little wave, some hellos, some nods and hand shakes. Lieutenants Ferry, Grapevine, and Earle seemed like natural pilots, while Lieutenant Commander Borden sat next to the XO, both of them (to me at least) seemingly veterans. Myself and Uer sat next to Lieutenant Commander Darkrider.
   
“You got combat experience?” Commander Ba’lak asked me from across the briefing room.
   
“About nine years worth, sir.”
   
Ba’lak smiled, seemingly relieved that one of the recruits wasn’t a fresh-out-of-basic flight rookies.
   
“Welcome to the Paladins.”
   
I smiled again. They didn’t know about my record so far, so maybe that’s why they’re greeting me with open arms. I’m positively sure I’m just replacing someone who was probably well-liked, and this is really all a benefit-of-a-doubt situation.
   
I took a glance around the room, and I noticed another noticeable trait for this squadron. I saw another female pilot, and I didn’t notice it until I was almost done sweeping the room, doing a double-take. She noticed this, and looked at me.
   
“What?” She was direct, to the point.
   
I was about to respond back when Paladin Leader, Captain Dunn, entered the room. We all immediately jumped to the position of attention. I was curt with my position, with a bit of drill-team precision once again. I saw how sharp Captain Dunn returned the salute, and then gave us another command.
   
“At ease. Take your seats.”
   
“Lady and Gentlemen, this will be our operational area…”

   
   Bakura
   Low Atmo

I’m confused.
   
One minute, everything’s perfect. The arrow formation, pointing ahead of my Interceptor, screamed forward towards our target zone. Data continued to stream as I gazed at the gauges and digital HUD displays that my helmet showed. We were getting closer, and I had time to cycle through to my concussion missiles, the only other effective weapon besides my lasers to protect Emyn’s bomber while she would drop her payload on our target. Uer was the closest to me, and he was hugging in the formation, giving me some slack but letting me know he was there.
   
Then Paladin Lead started to roll.
   
And then his fighter smoked.
   
“Bail out, Leader! Your ship is smoking! Bail out!” LTC Borden shouted, and Dunn attempted to answer back.
   
And then he crashed.
   
I was stunned for a second; this seemingly random act came from nowhere and suddenly, and it thrusted Commander Ba’lak into the leadership position.
   
"This is Paladin Two. As of this moment, I now assume command of the Paladins, according to Imperial regulations. Captain Dunn has been shot down it seems." I heard his voice come in, clear. No hint of confusion or worry.
   
Kinda wished I had that kind of resolve, if it was that.
   
“Paladin Eight, confirm same. Captain Dunn has crashed near coordinates sixteen-three, forty degress right…Should we turn and investigate, Sir? You sure he was shot down?” I heard Borden’s voice reply back, somewhat tense in tone.
   
Commander Ba’lak responded back, but then my eye caught the ACTIVE radar system blink again. My hand rolled over my flight stick to press the identification key and my HUD displayed the fighter screen that was coming closer. The new Paladin Leader was still talking again after LTC Borden offered up a point; I wasn’t listen, so I didn’t hear it. General Purpose Attack Fighters. I never heard of them.
   
“Paladin Leader, we got bandits, nine-point-two klicks and closing. Confirm?”
   
I watched the radar further to see if the ACTIVE systems would register their heat signature before I would report. I didn’t have a chance, because immediately the radar spiked.
   
“Paladin Leader, I read bandits, coming in hot!”
   
I rolled my craft after I made that report, coming in closer on Lieutenant Commander Uer’s fighter. My left hand switched positions with my right to press down on the release button, activating my weapon systems manually. It was a habit I developed back at Carida, because it’s never good to rely heavily on automated systems. My hands gripped the control stick, and I breathed in.
   
“Paladins Three to Six, throttle up, assume four at forty-five, two-point-seven klicks, go hot!" I heard the orders clearly, but they didn’t belong to me. Uer and I had orders to defend the Bomber’s actual mission, so I followed my team leader as he turned sharply with the Bombers, lining up behind them as they began their approach.
   
Uer’s voice came clearly into my helmet.
   
“Bogey, slipping this way. Pepper him, I’ll get his reaction.”
   
“Roger.”
   
My hands pulled on the stick, my heart beating harder as I followed my sensors, seeing the GPA Fighter streaming towards Lieutenant Emyn and the other rooks. My heavy laser cannons cycled to primary firing mode, my HUD displaying their temperature and cooling pressure, as well as the gas powering them. Swinging over the landscape, and watching it come closer to the bombers, and attempting to evade me, I popped off a shot from my blaster cannons, peppering the empty space in front of him, hoping to see a reaction.
   
I saw one. He pulled back on his stick, gaining altitude. LTC Uer followed him up into the clouds, but I pulled back to defend the bombers. My Interceptor pulled behind the Bomber formation as they dropped their payload along their target trajectories. I merely breathed in as I watched the proton bombs smack into their targets, large plums of black that followed the bright explosions thrusted into the air. Small arms fire erupted into the sky, an ill-fated attempt to take out the Bombers themselves.
   
“Bogey down, heading back to you.”
   
“Roger. No air threats in this space.”
   
“Agreed. Commander Ba’lak and the rest of us are pinning them down.”
   
   
That was about three, four, maybe five minutes ago, and already the rest of the Black Paladins destroyed the oncoming GPA Starfighters. I didn’t hear of any sort of fighter escaping, but I wasn’t paying much attention to that furball in the first place. My AO was the Bombers and the small arms fire to avoid, not that dogfight, but I merely assumed that the Commander would secure the area.

He definitely had command presence.
   
“Paladin Leader, all targets have been compromised. We're fresh out of bombs and awaiting orders.”
   
That was Lieutenant Emyn, the female, reporting on the bombing raid.
   
"Excellent work. All rookies proceed back to the Ravisher. All Paladins withdraw and escort our bombers, standard defensive formation.”
   
Uer’s craft rolled closer to mine now, the Bombers peeling off back towards the direction of Paladin Lead. My craft followed Uer’s as he ‘glided’ into the Team Lead position, with my craft slowly easing back on the speed to get back into position. Uer’s comm. came in through my communication ‘phones in my helmet, overtaking who I thought was Lieutenant Emyn speaking.
   
“Good job, Nine. You’ll fit in well with us.”
   
I nodded back, then I felt stupid. Like he can see that.
   
“Thanks, Ten. Let’s link back up to the rest of the flight.”
   
I turned off my team-to-team channel, and then I caught the last end of Ba’lak reporting back to Emyn.
   
“…ceed to the Ravisher. That’s an order. Borden, report to Control that we lost Dunn.” His voice was clear, commanding, authorative. I disagreed with leaving the Captain all alone, but no doubt a search-and-rescue team would be sent to pick him up before the Bakurans could get to the Captain. I wasn’t going to voice my opinion; I knew too well how easily a CO could demote, replace, or even make up a false charge and get you arrested. I’ve saw that too much on the Vindication, and I know it’s not worth it to lose your career because of a simple disagreement with orders.
   
That brought me back to the Nightbringer and its crew for a moment, as Uer and I looped back into formation. I know that ships really don’t get together and talk about specific people, but these pilots are one of the few squadrons I’ve ever joined up with that have accepted me with open arms. LTC Uer’s been one of the few wingmen who I can so far trust in his abilities, and the squadron itself doesn’t seem to delve in petty jealousy acts that I’ve seen in other squadrons.
   
I could really like it here.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

I need to get off Tatooine, now is too late, I should of gone like, yesterday.

There are too many Imperials here, one is bound to recognize me. I had no clue what Day’ric was up to or where he was and genuinely, didn’t know why I was thinking about that.  My job with him was done, now I have to worry about myself. I should of stayed with him so I could of got out somehow, he at least owed me that for me saving his team.

But where would I go now? The problem with too much freedom, the ability to go anywhere and do anything, you have no clue what to do with it. It’s like sitting in front of a computer in the late hours of the night, on some popular search engine. The galaxy is literally at your finger tips and you have nothing to do.

I was at a cantina when this idea came to mind. It wasn’t entirely my own.

I didn’t feel like drinking.

I haven’t felt like drinking too much lately. I drank enough in my life to the point where I’m so super cereal surprised my liver didn’t say ‘f*** you,’ and got up and left. My dad drank a lot and smoked, I don’t even want to die the same way as he did. There wasn’t even a decent human woman in this cantina worth talking to. Come to think of it, there wasn’t a human woman in here, period.

There was a lot of smuggling going on in Tatooine, obviously and the Empire, not having the resources they once did relied on independent agencies to do some of their shipping. A pilot of one of these ships just happen to be sitting next to me. I overheard him mentioning it to a Rodian woman he was trying to pick up. I think she was a prostitute. This guy wasn’t doing very well in the looks department and she was all over him.

He was at the stage of his um, seduction where he tells her of his accomplishments, you know, the part where you mention what makes you different and better than other men. What made this man different from others, is that he was a pilot en route to Bakura pretty soon. I need to sneak on his ship.

This is easier said than done. I can’t just walk in there and hide in something and hope he doesn’t find me.

I think this is one of things that take time. One of those things that you have to let unfold on its own. One thing I don’t have is patients.

For a second, I was in my perfect world in Mandalore. Why couldn’t I go to Mandalore where I have family? Because if I went there, I wouldn’t leave. Everything is beautiful there. I would find great girl, one my Grandma would try to set me up with. I would have my own family. As much as I want that, I’m not ready for that. That’s enough on that subject.

Playboy over here has some partners in crime. A younger man, wearing the same flight suit talked for a few seconds, then he left. I followed him. Now things got easy. I had no intention to kill this man and I won’t, unless some cereal s*** hit the fan. So, I just followed him onboard and knocked him out. I need some type of explosive, this guy has to have something somewhere.

About a half hour later, when the playboy got on board, messed up hair and all, was stunned, nonetheless, to see his partner knocked out on the floor in his boxers and a bald man in his flight suit. He drew his blaster pistol.

“Who the hell are you, do you know who I am, who I work for?”
“Do I care?”
“You might want to get the f*** out here,” he cocked back the hammer, I showed him the thermal detonator I was hiding behind my back,
“And you might not want to do that, because if I drop this, you, me and you rprecious little this are gonna go,” I did the hand gesture for ”ka-boom, now, we wouldn’t want that, right?”
He slowly set down his blaster pistol, “then what do you want, money? Drugs? I got it all man,”
I licked my bottom lip, “I want a trip to Bakura…..and without a fuss. Can we do that?”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The trip from Tatooine to Bakura took almost 20 hours.

This isn’t the longest I’ve stayed awake, but it is the longest in a while. When you’re deprived of sleep for longer than a day, your reaction time slows down dramatically. The longer you stay awake, the worst it gets. Have you ever walking into a night club and saw people moving with a light flashing on and off? Ever notice how they look as if they’re moving in slow motion? That’s what the world looks like to you, as the time progresses, it just gets slower and slower.

If you threatened some guy with a thermal detonator, I don’t think you’d fall asleep on his ship either.

There was no problem getting though the Imperial Blockade. Corporate supply ships are expected and as long as the ship’s clearance and cargo are confirmed, you’re good. When the ship landed, I triggered the detonator. All it has to do now is impact against metal and it would blow. To ensure this, placed the explosive between a wall and a crate about three feet off the ground, all someone had to do was move the crate and have just enough time to say, “oh s***.” This guy was transporting various types of explosives, by the way, so the boom will be very, very big. I was nice enough to thank him on my way out. I also helped myself to a few more thermal detonators and IM mines.

Scientists and priests say when the universe was created, there was great light.
When we are born and when we die, we follow a light.
Light is a symbol of hope and faith, of warmth, guidance and freedom.

Baradium is the key element found in most of the explosives in the galaxy. Every explosive device is made up of some percentage of baradium. Baradium by itself can make a very big, destructive light.

You can hate yourself all you want, or love yourself. You can deny everything, always start fresh, never look back, learn from your mistake, but you can never escape your true nature. I already went through all the stages of grief. Denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance (being the most important).

And my true nature: I can get out of just about anything and I can blow s*** up very well.

There was a war going on in Bakura. Imperials were struggling to suppress the insurgency over there. Personally, I do not care for the people of Bakura, their struggle for freedom, their way of life. I’m here to kill Imperials. Not for the obvious reason of getting payback, but for the reason of them being a big and easy target. I mentioned this before. I want to be immortal, I want to leave my mark in history. The people of Bakura will remember me as a selfless noble from the Naboo that fought against the tyrants known as the Imperial Empire.

They will remember me as a hero and they couldn’t be more wrong. At least I will be remembered. But do I want to be remembered for a lie? No one will know except for me, and I never mentioned I want to be remembered for something good. This is my way of living the life I want to live. My own way of playing the sport, not watching it from the stands or from a holonet and routing and booing those living a dream they wish they lived. I want people to be envious of me. Maybe I didn’t get enough love as a child?

Or maybe I just have a desire for chaos? Maybe I just like watching things blow up?

That thermal detonator I left on the ship, by the way, made one hell of a boom. I’ve only been here for less than an hour and already I’m off to a good start.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Explosives are great, they really are. They’re cheap, easy to make, easy to get your hands on, easy to hide and do a lot of damage.

I’m working alone, this has it’s ups and downs.

The ups: It will be hard to track just one person. Since, no one is working for me, no one can be traced back to me. I’m my own boss, I only have to worry about one person, things will be done exactly the way I want them and in my mind, that way is the right way.

The downs: I have to be nomadic, I have to do my own reconaissance and intelligence, I have to get the supplies myself, set up the ambushes myself.

The good thing about working alone is also the bad thing.

There is only two ways for a conventional army to win against an insurgency: they have to kill everyone or force them to join their cause. Needless to say, not too many conventional armies defeated an insurgency/guerillas throughout history. To make an insurgency effective, you have to remember something important: conventional armies are developed and trained to fight toe to toe. It’s easy to say to stay out of their way, but it’s harder to do it. Ambushes and raids are most effective, however, do not attack the military itself, attack it’s logistics. This means bridges, supply routes, comm towers, etc. Their eyes, ears and nose, more or less.

I got a LOT of homework to do.

At least the species here are humans. I try not to get out during the day because no one recognises me. Poverty is everywhere and a native Bakuran wouldn’t hesitate for one second to turn me into the nearest Imp unit for a reward. I could use the excuse that I’m just a homeless bum, but the five thermal detonators and four IM mines I stole would tell a different story. There wasn’t a shortage of partially collapsed and abandoned building that I used for shelter. Everyday I would have a new home, every night I would either spy on the Imps or get whatever I needed to survive.

How and what did I eat? I ate like a king. I got my food through one effective way.  In my family’s city/state in Mandalore, the boys begin their military training at the age of seven. They are not fed by the military, instead, they are encouraged to steal food right from the beginning of their training. This way, when they go to war, they don’t have to carry the extra weight or take up valuable space with food. I should also mention, if they boys get caught, their captors have the right to beat them, not for stealing, but for being caught.

The market places throughout…..I don’t know the name of the city I’m in…..was the easiest place to steal from. Tents were poorly secured and I looked for shops that had broken glass big enough for me to get into. I had my pick of all the fruits and vegetables I wanted, namana was my favorite. If I found prepaired meat, I wouldn’t hesitate to take that either. Bakura also produced a variety of mixed nuts that were a great treat.

However, I won’t be remembered if I just steal from market places and sleep from one destroyed building to another.

With that, back to my homework…..

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Bal’ak had done things almost by the book in regards to how the situation was to be handled regarding Captain Dunn’s loss during the mission, he couldn’t argue with that.  But he also couldn’t ignore his own gut instinct. The bit too cool air Laakim projected.    Or maybe it was just the unexplainable, yet intuitive dislike for the XO Zak had not been able to get past since first meeting the man.

Most likely though it was the brief little flash of smugness Zak caught crossing the man’s face as he looked over his shoulder to where the Dunn’s Interceptor should be hanging before the mask of more proper remorse slipped on as he addressed the questioning crewmembers.

“Yes, I’m afraid it is true.” He said to Grotag, the Crew Chief who wore a look of disbelief on his grizzled face.  “The fire from the surface was too heavy and Captain Dunn must have misjudged his position and…”

“”Misjudged my ass.” Uer muttered a bit too loudly as he handed the life support apparatus he’d removed from the front of his flightsuit to one of the crewmen.  

“What was that, Lieutenant?” Bal’ak turned toward him, one eyebrow raised.

“I said misjudged and too fast, Sir.” Zak covered himself, not wanting to reveal the nagging little thoughts that kept jumping through his head since Dunn was “shot down”.

The other man gave him a bland look before nodding once, “Yes well, even the best pilots among us can make an error that may prove fatal at some point.” His eyes narrowed a bit. “Even the great ones such as that traitor Soontir Fel have done so as history has shown us.”

A better man, a better officer, would have kept his temper under control at that. Go the way protocol specified by routing his concerns through the proper channels then awaiting a reply back down the chain of command.
   
But in spite of his exemplary record as a pilot, same thing could not always be said for his reputation as a member of the Imperial Navy.  “A tendency toward independent thought and action on occasions not warranted” was how more than one previous service rating was politely worded rather than stating simply that he had a hard time keeping his mouth shut at times such as this.

“And then there are those who manage to survive an entire career being mediocre yet still alive out of sheer dumb luck or some other means.” He retorted, vaguely aware that a few of the other pilots and crew had broken from their post-flight routines to listen in on the confrontation.

Bal’ak took a step closer after almost shoving his helmet into Grotag’s hands. “And others rely on their family connections such as having a father who is good friends with an Admiral to keep them in the service long past a time when they should have been discharged for disciplinary reasons.”    He told Uer before turning away dismissively, “Now I must go give the Admiral my report on the incident as well as discuss the lack of discipline and respect certain pilots have toward their superiors.”

Jaw and fists clenched Zak started to take a step in Laakim’s retreating direction until a gloved hand on his arm stopped him, its owner giving a shake of her head and mouthing the word, “Don’t” when he looked down at her.  Sometimes the rookies were a lot smarter than vets like him.   

Gently shaking off Paron’s hand as he complimented her on her flying during the mission, Zak watched Bal’ak until he was out of sight before heading for the locker room.  Ignoring the looks he was getting from the others as the suspicious thoughts that he couldn’t let go of dogged him all the way there.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

Regrets. Traven Dunn had some. Regrets, that he disappointed his parents with his career choice. That he didn’t become an engineer, that he never settled down with one of the women his mother picked. Regrets, that he never told Jordan how he felt about her, until it was too late. But nothing of that ran through Traven’s mind as his TIE Interceptor was darting towards the ground. Nor the cliché of seeing his life in front of eyes in contemplation of death. Something else happened.

The will to survive kicked in. Not without reason the humans dominated the galaxy since they discovered space travel. Their willpower had barely a match among the sentient species. Traven felt the adrenaline flowing through his body as he tried to regain the control of his ship. He always knew that he would die in the cockpit once. All fighter pilots expected such a death. But in a dogfight, not in a crash caused by a malfunction.

Traven clenched his hands around the control sticks, but the spinning of the TIE didn’t stop. There was a loud cracking sound on starboard, then the ship jerked sharply to the other side. Debris shot through the cabin as the ship started to break apart. Traven’s head crashed hard against the inside wall of the cockpit. Even with the helmet on, he could feel the pain. It made it difficult to concentrate, to focus on his actions. But there was not much to do anymore as the Interceptor crashed through the treetops, leaving a burning aisle. Then there was the impact.

As he woke up, Traven could taste his own blood in his mouth. He opened his eyes carefully, trying to orientate himself. The perspective was weird, a strange angle. Slowly Traven realised that he was hanging upside down in his straps. Cautiously he opened them, trying to slip out of them. But he had underestimated his condition. Somehow all his strength was gone and he fell out of them. Traven groaned as he found himself on the hatch, which was on the bottom now. So there was no exit this way. His helmet filtered the air he was breathing, but Traven knew that the cockpit must be filled with the scent of burning parts, producing poisonous gases. The viewport seemed to be the only way out. The transparisteel was already slivered partly.

Traven moved around, trying to find enough space in the cramped cockpit. As he kicked with his boots against the pane, Traven cursed loud as the pain ran through his legs. But the way was free, a hole big enough to crawl out. From the outside Traven gazed at the wreck that has been his Interceptor once. As he tried to get on his feet, his left leg buckled underneath him, making him fall on his knees again. Suddenly he was painfully aware that a shrapnel of his ship stuck in his thigh. Traven gritted his teeth as he took off his helmet to examine his wound. But as soon as he breathed unfiltered air, the nausea hit him. Everything around him seemed to spin.

<i>Gladly my breakfast before the mission hadn’t been that opulent</i> Traven thought after he had emptied his stomach. His whole body seemed to hurt still, but at least he felt slightly clearer. Looking at his leg, he knew that he had not many options. TIEs had no medpacks or other survival equipment. They would send a search party for sure, but Traven didn’t plan to wait for so long. It was a miracle already that his Interceptor didn’t explode while the crash. It was only a question of time until that would happen. And even if not, the column of smoke it was producing could attract the attention of the wrong people. Traven didn’t know about scavengers on Bakura, but he knew that the Bakuran <i>resistance</i> would like the opportunity get hold of an Imperial officer. The personal sidearm he was wearing had more ceremonial reasons originally, being part of his rank. But now Traven was glad to have a blaster. It would be helpful.

But not with his leg. Traven knew that his chance to get away from here depended on his ability to remove the shrapnel and stop the bleeding as soon as possible. Ripping off a part of his sleeve as provisional bandage, Traven took a deep breath as he looked at his leg again. The blood was soaking the fabric of his overall already. Hoping that he was doing the right thing, Traven pulled out the metal debris. The pain changed into a higher level. Traven panted as he began to cover his wound.

***

It must have been the most painful kilometres Traven ever covered in his life. Trying to ignore the agony Traven limped towards the direction of some farming settlement. At least he hoped that he remembered the map for the mission correctly. The throbbing pain made the rest of his leg feeling numb as he reached the buildings of a farmstead finally. Collapsing almost on a hay bale in the barn, Traven allowed himself a rest. He had to plan his next move.

A medpack for his wound. Clean clothes to replace his flightsuit, which was a mess covered with dried and fresh blood. A vehicle to reach Salis D’aar as fast as possible. Traven wasn’t sure if Bakuran farmers were pro-Imperial. He tended to sort them into the non-Imperial camp. Especially when an Imperial Captain was about to commandeer their property.

The farm seemed abandoned as Traven sneaked towards the farm house as good as it was possible with his leg. He hoped that no threat or even fight would be necessary. But nevertheless he drew his weapon. The backdoor was locked. Looking at the electronic lock, Traven knew that he didn’t have the time to break it without adequate tools. Pondering just a second Traven switched his Blaster to the lowest possible setting.

The shot echoed louder than he expected. Holding his breath Traven waited for an alarm, voices or some animal the farmers used as guard. Slowly he opened the door. Either nobody was at home or this was a trap. As Traven stepped into the building, he could see that the house was clean, but simple. The farmers seemed to be hard-working people. Traven decided to send them a compensation for the things he would take.

***

The clothes of the farmer didn’t fit perfectly. But they were clean. His leg felt better with a clean bandage and after a stimshot from their medical locker. It didn’t heal his wound, but suppressed the pain. That was all Traven was asking for at the moment. The speeder-bike had been easy to bypass. Sometimes it was beneficial to be the son of an engineer.  The bike was old, but it ran steadily. The outskirts of Bakuran’s capital came quickly closer.

Traven knew about the security measures coming with the occupation. Most of them would be Imperial standards. But he didn’t expect the four black IG-droids, that were serving as checkpoint. One of them rose his hand in the imitation of a human gesture.

“Halt!” the voice-vocoder of the droid snarled. Traven followed the command, stopping the speeder-bike. “Let me see your identification.” The droid ordered. Traven moved slowly as he pulled out his dog-tags. “I do not have an identification with me. This will do. I am Imperial Group Captain Traven Dunn from the ISD Ravisher. If you check…” The droid didn’t let him finish his sentence. “This is no valid ID.” Traven was very aware of the four weapons aiming for him, but he sounded annoyed as he replied. “If if you contact the Ravisher or any <i>human</i> superior of yours, they will confirm my identity.”

“You are under arrest. Dismount the vehicle.” Obviously the droid wasn’t programmed to think outside the given parameters. The other three droids moved closer to assist their companion. But then there were tinny noises as something that seemed to be pebble hit the droid’s heads. The IGs turned around, their weapons aim directed to the attacker: A lanky young boy, maybe 12 years old. “Hey!” He shouted. “Damn tin cans!” He jumped for cover as the droids started to shoot.

“Frak!” Traven cursed, pulling out his own blaster. He couldn’t let the droids kill a child. Even if he had no chance against four droids at once. But before he could fire at the distracted IGs, he noticed an even younger child in a narrow passage between two houses nearby. The child waved him a signal to follow him and Traven understood. The kids made a diversion, so that he had an opportunity to escape. Traven nodded, then disappeared between the buildings.

***

The boys led him through a labyrinth of narrow alleys until they reached a building that had some slight damage from one of the earlier bombings, the fleet had done after arriving in the system. Traven felt queasy, his leg throbbing painfully again, as they entered the building.  In the basement a surprise was awaiting him. It seemed to be a makeshift hospital inside a storage room. A woman looked angry as she saw the boys.

“Where have you been?” Her anger was mixed with worry. “We were fighting the tin cans.” The older boy announced proudly, a wide grin on his face. “This is Traven. We saved him.” He pointed with his thumb to Traven. The woman gave him just a short glance before addressing the boys. “What did I say about that? Both of you are grounded. To your room.” As the boys disappeared to a neighbouring room, the woman turned around to Traven.

“And you… take a seat before you fall down.” She said in a voice, which tolerated no dissent. “I’m fine, Ma’am.” Traven replied. The woman rolled her eyes. “Yes, of course. That’s why you are limping. Sit down. Where are you wounded?” Traven sat down, but was stubborn still. “I’m fine. I just need to get to the centre of the city. I…” She just stared at him. A glance that reminded him of his Grandmother. He knew immediately that she wouldn’t concede. “It’s the left thigh.”

She smirked, taking a medkit. “Well, pants off. Let me see it.” Traven rose an eye-brow. “Pardon? I don’t think that…” She rolled her eyes again. “I grew up with three brothers. I don’t think that there’ll be something I haven’t seen before.” Despite the situation it made Traven laugh almost. “Alright.”

***

But he felt still awkward as he sat in his shorts in front of her. “Your sons were very courageous.” He tried to make some conversation. She looked up from the bacta patch, she was placing on his wound. “They are my nephews. And they aren’t courageous. They are dumb. Just like you. Trying to get through a blockade like this.” She shook her head about it. “I had not much of a choice.” Traven answered simply.

“You hadn’t, hmm? So who are you?” She asked, closing her medkit. Traven put on his pants as fast as possible with his leg. “You know my name.”  She crossed her arms, watching him. “Yes, your name. But <i>who</i> are you? Your clothes are the ones of a farmer. Your build could be one, even when you’re looking more like an athlete. But your hands are never the ones of a farmer. Nor is your accent.”

Before Traven reacted, there was something like hope in her eyes. “We heard about dogfights. Are you one of the agents the New Republic is sending to free? Are you here to meet the resistance?”

Re: Imperial Renaissance

His service number was Tk 151, even that was more than I cared to know about him. He was secured to the bath tub that I placed a cooler sized block of ice in and him lying on top of it on his naked back, the stormtrooper was just in his boxers. His hands and feet were rigid, there was rapid, shallow breathing, his pupils dilated, cyanosis was present, hypothermia had hit a long time ago. The ice was hitting his central nervous system, in reality, he is not as cold as he feels, his mind is playing games with him and a rather lethal one at that.

When he woke up this morning, I wondered if he knew that he would be in this current state?

I would try to find houses that had a second floor so I could spy from the top windows. The problem was a lot of them had a caved in second floor, or just some of it left standing. The good thing about these houses was that there were many good places to hide, which also meant Imperial patrols would have sharper eyes on them. However, if I found a house that was somewhat intact, it would mean that they would be easier and more than likely to be searched. How do I spy on them then? What does an insurgent do in this situation? He pays a young boy five credits for all the information he knows about the “bad guys.”

Was this a reliable source of information? No. However, the loyalty and obedience of a child is very underestimated, especially for five bucks. But even this information is better than nothing. I simply asked him to remember how many times he saw them walk by, which way they came from and which way they went. Later, he would tell me they came by four times a day by using the fingers on his hand and pointed to the intersection where he’d see them come from, then point to the corner he saw them turn down. That was all the information I needed.

Organizing chaos is a very lengthy process, no matter how much you plan, something will always go wrong.

Insurgency is a touchy way of warfare. The populous either hates you, willingly supports you or unwilling supports you out of fear. This child probably told his mom or dad who that bald guy was and the child probably told him about the five bucks, the questions I had for him and when I would come by. Mom and dad would either see me as a freedom fighter and be on my side, afraid of me and not say anything or let the Imps know in exchange for a reward. Either way, I had to act fast. This is my first attempt, I was expecting to make mistakes.

Re: Imperial Renaissance

The media ate up the opportunity to broadcast the concerned leader of the Imperial Remnant arriving at the medical wing to meet the wounded who had driven the insurgent forces back. Admiral Dodonna refused to seek out the holocams, while Captain Uer waved to them as if he personally was waving to every person watching the event. Dodonna wasn't concerned to let it unfold this way. He looked humble and unassuming, which would be useful later. By the time the footage was edited for the evening news, he was confident it would make a good patriotic documentary.

Of course, there was no hiding the fact the smell of death in the air, or the rushing about of medics to add to the image of immediacy that the admiral wanted. The storm commando squad he was to see was missing several of its personnel, casualties of the fighting, and two of them were injured, which played well. Their blood-soaked bandages added to the impression that Admiral Dodonna was right in the fight with them.

Captain Uer shook his head as he saw both storm commandos.

Commander Kix Davin and Lt. Nash Cadman stepped forward to meet the admiral, and saluted sharply. The holocam crews filmed their every move as Dodonna returned the salute, stepped forward, and shook their hands, flashed the reporters a quick smile and nodded to his personal security. The media was soon ushered out of view by Captain Uer. They had their story, their images, his spin. Now Dodonna and the Commander could talk bluntly.

"Admiral, forgive my appearance." Not exactly what he wanted to say, but it always helped to be polite.

Dodonna waved his hand as if to dismiss the comment. "What is our situation?"

"Thayer's men surprised us, sir. I expected our push to press him back further, but he had more forces than expected. Thanks to General Kabal, we wouldn't be here."

"Shame you could not capture him. At least he knows we are getting closer." He sounded disappointed.

"Sir, it is unfortunately true that no plan survives contact with the enemy," Davin said, then let it drop. "Thayer may have caught us off guard, but it won't do him much good. He's holed up in that area and has established a perimeter. If you put me back on duty now, I will have a commando squad ready and formed up around him, concentrated away from Salis Daar. If he attempts to make a move, that's where we'll be waiting."

"Do you really think you are ready to resume your duty?"

"Yes, sir," Davin answered. As if to emphasize his answer, a rumble of blaster fire echoed off the buildings several blocks away. "Just give the word and I will assemble another commando squad with Lt. Cadman as my XO. We've taken enough dunkings in the bacta tank that we can't stand the smell of it, anymore. Our wounds are healed enough for duty, sir. Just tell me where to go, and we're ready." The last sentence gave Dodonna what he wanted to hear.

"The situation has changed, Commander," Dodonna replied. "I need your skills and talent to lead your men on a new mission. It is imperative that you succeed."

Kix had no doubt the admiral had something strategic in mind. "Ready and willing, Admiral."

Dodonna nodded to one of his aides to join him at his side. "Commander Davin, your mission will be difficult, but it will make you a hero of the Empire." He handed the commando a datapad. "As of a few hours ago, one of our pilots in the Black Paladins was shot down over the forests of Bakura, just a few miles from Salis Daar. I need you to assemble a team for a search and rescue. His name is Group Captain Traven Dunn. He leads the Paladins."

"Traven Dunn? I know him well, Admiral. We served together on Tatooine and I played shockball against his team." Davin frowned. "Sir, I think my talents would be better served elsewhere than a search and rescue mission."

"Commander, Captain Dunn is of the most importance in our TIE ranks. He is well respected and a natural leader. If word gets around that he is dead or has been captured by Thayer's men, it will be a blow to our ranks. As of now, we have no idea if he is alive, but we need that confirmation. To add, if the insurgents have spotted his TIE going down, they are probably heading in that direction to see if capture is possible. The last thing we need is Matheron Thayer broadcasting on the holo a captured and beaten Captain Dunn reading a false statement to advance his cause. He must be found and brought back." Admiral Dodonna insisted.

Kix hated to admit it, but the admiral was right. He nodded. "I understand your point, sir. When do we move out?"

"Soon. When I received the report from Lt. Commander Bal'ak, I forwarded it to Dunn's cousin, Daiman Sirana. Sirana got back to me within the hour and insisted that he send in one of his men to join up with your team in the rescue effort." A datadisc was presented to Kix to take with him. "The man's name is Bartek Roth. He is, as we speak, gearing up to head to the coordinates where Dunn's TIE was last seen. You will rendezvous with him within the next hour. He should be on ground by the time your team arrives at the crash site. Do not worry, he is not baggage. He is a good enough soldier to keep up with your team."

Kix took the disc and nodded again. "Anything else before I start assembling my team, sir?"

"Don't take risks, Commander. I want this smooth and efficient. You are to go in, find him, and extract him out. If you find Thayer's men out there, engage only when necessary. I don't want a full scale war with them, or you burning down farming villages to intimidate the Bakurans. It will send out a message we don't want."

"Understood, sir." Davin saluted one last time. "Don't worry, Admiral. We'll find him. He owes me a rematch in shockball."

Another distant rumble went off. Missles this time, and the sound reminded the admiral that the battle was still being fought. It reminded him of his other obligations. "Very well. Assemble your team, Commander. Good hunting and bring him back in one piece. Dismissed!"

"Yes, sir!" As Kix Davin turned to walk away, he began to peel off the bandage that was on his forehead. Inwardly, Davin cringed at the realization of what victory might require, even though it was something he had trained for, something he had come to take for granted.

<I>They don't call us storm commandos for nothing… </I>

++++

The cloaked assault shuttle aligned itself to its course and pivoted its nose forward to accelerate. It came straight on route toward the patch of forest a good distance away where Dunn's TIE was last seen. For now, they were safe as the cloaking mechanism kept them in isolation from any detecting scopes.

"Commander Davin, Roth on secured channel." The pilot's voice interrupted his catnap.

"Davin here," the storm commando replied, switching to the crypto-circuit controls on his wristlink and activating his scrambler. "You are clear on secure channel one."

"This is Bartek. I'm on route by foot toward the site. I am sending my coordinates, which I am transmitting to you."

Davin was impressed. Not only did Roth come alone in a transport, he was already on the ground. The coordinates that scrolled across his helmet's visor listed his whereabouts in the field, and confirmed something was ahead.

"Outstanding, Roth. I think you may have found Dunn's TIE ahead of you."

"There is more, but I will share it when we meet." The display flickered as Roth cut off his channel.

+++

"Incredible, Kix. How the kark did Dunn survive this mess?!" Nash Cadman exclaimed as he surveyed the damage of the downed TIE. The assault shuttle had already touched down a few minutes ago dropping off Davin and his team. Meeting with Roth occured only a minute ago.

Davin inspected the interior of the cockpit. He studied what remained of the panels and consoles, noting the wreckage– but no scorch marks anywhere. He also found the helmet.

<I>Strange… if he was shot down, there would be evidence of carbon scoring or at least blaster marks…</i>

As he peered downward through the visor in his helmet, he noted something else. It looked like… <i>was it?</i> He loomed closer and scraped his gloved finger over it. <I>Blood…</i>

Roth's voice seemed loud in the earpiece of his storm commando helmet. "Here's what I found, boys. Over here."

"Found something here too," Kix breathed, every muscle in his body clenched in realization. <I>I just hope he isn't dead…</I>

"Say again, Commander?"

"I found blood inside the cockpit," Kix replied. He peered up and faced Roth. "What did you find?"

Roth pointed to the ground. "Footprints. It looks like our pilot climbed out and started on foot. Based on the patterns of his footsteps, he's injured and heading that direction."

"Dunn should have stayed put." Kix closed his eyes in annoyance. <I>Stubborn fool… just won't give up.</I> "Good work, Roth. Looks like we're moving out in that direction." The commando gestured with his hand to his men to start moving out.