The game had changed. Where once there had been one, now there were many. Where once there had been one, now there was none. Emperor Palpatine was gone, as was Vader. Their dominion quickly turning into a carcass beset on all sides by scrap-hungry vultures. It was not the Rebel Alliance or the fledgling New Republic that consisted the largest danger looming over the crumbling Empire. It were the jackals let loose after Palpatine’s death.

Ostensibly an homage to the self-same appellation accorded the ancient Atrisian Empire’s generalissimos, the designation of “Warlord” transcended distinctions among the myriad branches of the Imperial armed forces, prompting universal obedience and respect. Military minds noted for their express mixture of creativity and ruthlessness, they were distinguished from the ranks of grand Moffs, grand generals and even grand admirals by not only repeatedly redefining the impossible, but doing so with inimitable panache.

In the leaderless vacuum, the title of “Warlord” was hijacked by power-hungry Imperials of non-existent integrity. Undeserving small fish and second-tier “replacement” warlords like poached the rank in all its supercilious glory…but the self-appointed warlords also came in a much more dangerous variety: megalomaniacs like Admiral Blitzer Harrsk, ultranationalists, and superlative sadists. These Imperial rogues would keep the New Republic from claiming true victory over the Empire but were the single greatest threat to said Empire themselves. Their selfishness would destroy the Imperial State and that was something High Admiral Caul Bylvers was not going to let happen. He had already dealt with Harrsk in his own way and returned his Deep Core fiefdom back to the fold – albeit under Caul’s own command.

That did not, as some voice accused, make him a warlord himself. He adhered to the crumbling Imperial Government embodied in the Ruling Council. Unlike others, Bylver’s declaration of loyalty to the Empire was no empty gesture. Still… a solution had to be found for the council’s division and indecisiveness. Every moment they lost was a gift to their enemies.

Steeling himself against more possible accusations – for these seemed to fly back and forth over the table and an increasingly annoying rate – Caul adjusted his impeccably starched white Admiral dress and marched into the chamber. Shock-troopers guarded the entrance, the crimson markings on their white armour flaring violently against the dark grey background.

Inside, a large round table took up the centre of the room with the glorious Imperial symbol encased within. Thirteen chairs provided seating to thirteen council members. In the past these had been occupied by Palpatine’s leashed yes-men, but those had all but gone. Power made for a seat on the interim ruling council, and so it were Moffs, top-brass officers, intelligence brokers and – of course – that vestige Mara Jade who had been able to lay claim on a chair. Maybe, just maybe that revenant force-user could be swayed. Security in the Empire could benefit from her talents, at least if she was not to... damaged.

Reports flashed across the hologram that illuminated the table’s interior symbol, and Caul was eager to check what information the ISB was supplying them now and match it with his independently gathered intel. He would have to be making his own report to the council himself soon enough.

He had been locked in his study for hours, the screaming had stopped not even 30 minutes after he began. Maybe if the poor captive had taken medical treatment within the hour he would've survived but Di would have none of that ruin his hobby time. Scrimshaw as it were. Multiple knives and sharp objects were lain across the table in a tray, dripping red. It was much easier to perform his art on an unmoving canvas. With a finish touch, he took on the laser cleaner which released a thin layer of energy in a straight line to disintegrate the small bone dust particles that were muddying his art peace and it really was one. He was probably the best scrimshaw artist in the galaxy. That's what years of relentless practice give you.

He kept the camera rolling while the canvas was alive, turned it off while it lost consciousness and turned it back on, showing himself taking the bone upon which he graced it with his skills, removed from the body and cleaned, and put it on a massive statue made of countless bones, all with unique and awe inspiring engravings. The statue itself was a work of art, he spent hours upon hours contemplating on where to put the next piece. It had the shape of a dragon's head. Why would he do such things? Power of course, to inspire fear among the underworld, to establish his dominance...but that was just an added benefit to the pleasure and calmness that he felt while performing it.

And these weren't just ordinary run of the mill canvases, they all had made a name for themselves in the underworld. And Di had, for years now, sent an open invitation to everyone that had made a name in the underworld. If they were to kill him one on one in the arena, located on his pirate base, with any of the weapons provided, they would be granted ownership of all his riches and crew members. He would make a show of it, broadcasting their defeat galaxy wide in the underground world. To certain people he trusted, trusted their fear of him that is, he offered them a chance to buy tickets in order to spectate in the arena. Lets say that there was never enough room to house all applicants.

Now that he had relaxed enough, it was time to go to business.
"It's time captain."- one of the crewman approached him, a large black metal encased dragon that carried a large heavy blaster. They called him Scar, he was second in command.
"Make the preparations. You know the plan, tell everyone their part, we leave in 10."
With a nod the dragon went to carry his job. If what his contact informed him off was right, then this would be one of the biggest catches in his career as a pirate. A sudden screen tear flashed on the screen of his bionic eye. It happened within less than a second but that's all it would take for the opponent to get the upper hand.
Damn that scientist. Gonna have to pay him a visit after this.- he thought to himself.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
_Yavin-4
The political gridlock within the Rebel Alliance was powerful enough to stall the attacks on the dying Galactic Empire. There wasn't any major battle against the Empire since the famous battle that finally killed Darth Vader and Emperor Palpatine while the second Death Star was destroyed. The newly formed Galactic Senate, a tribute to the Republic of old, was established on the planet of Chandrila. Kaijosh had been staying at Yavin-4 for about a year while the leaders of the Rebellion decided on the location for the Senate. When Chandrila was officially decided to be the capital of the New Republic, members of the Senate were already being moved to the planet.

Kaijosh stayed behind a bit longer on Yavin-4 to convince Rebel soldiers to join his cause of taking Corellia from the Empire. Many of them listened at the opportunity of fighting stormtroopers and AT-ST walkers once more but they weren't committed. Some did not believe it was possible to attack the Empire at the moment while others treated him like another politician. Determined to not give up, he kept going to soldiers and pilots and telling them of Corellia and it's current state under Empire control. Thanks to his scouts and agents in the planet, Kaijosh managed to get the name of the warlord that's ruling Corellia: Shane Aldamar, a forty-six year old general of the Empire. Aldamar was the commander of the planet's garrison force when he massacred the previous governor and his supporters. He blamed the massacred on the rebels and executed them once he got power over Corellia.

Based on the reports, Kaijosh wished that the old governor managed to maintain control and stayed alive. Aldamar was a ruthless warlord that enforced curfews and killed anyone that openly supported the Rebellion. If Kaijosh had decided to stay, then he would of been dead in the matter of hours of Aldamar's rise to power. With the entire planet's garrison force in support of Aldamar's rule, it was not going to be an easy invasion. That was why many Senators and Rebel soldiers weren't behind Kaijosh's invasion of Corellia; however, he never gave up on trying to gain support for his invasion.

Once he finished talking to some Rebel pilots, someone approached Kaijosh to tell him that his ride to Chandrila had arrived. He said his goodbyes and headed towards the shuttle satisfied enough with his attempt at gaining the required support. The senator entered the shuttle and sat in one of the seats as it quickly filled up with people going to Chandrila also. It was going to be awhile before the shuttle arrived at Chandrila and there wasn't anything to do. So, Kaijosh closed his eyes to take a nap in hopes that he was in Chandrila's orbit by the time he woke up.

Admiral Hennir Karlomman

The Togoria System was perhaps the single most important star system in the Taldot Sector. Admiral Karlomman's forces certainly thought so, after all the system housed the Thanos shipyards. And though certainly not anything on the level of the prestigious Kuat Shipyards, Thanos could still produce Imperial-chass Star Destroyers. As a matter of fact, it was the only kind of ship it was able to produce. Which left the Imperials to rely on smaller and more spread out facilities to supply Battle Group Punisher with other kinds of ships.

The only other planet on the system was Togoria, its namesake, inhabited by a rather primitive and isolationist alien race. The former Warlord Teradoc had started efforts to fortify the planet. Said efforts, however, were stopped once Battle Group Punisher seized control of Taldot and sent the self-proclaimed Warlord back in chains to the Imperial Centre to face justice. Admiral Karlomman did not judge the planet worth the effort fortifying, instead he restricted Imperial presence to several orbital stations tasked with monitoring the happenings on the ground while redirecting the funds and supplies to other strategic areas in his domain.

The Admiral himself turned Thanos into his new headquarters. Taking residence in the local Moff's palace (right after having him arrested in one of the earliest rounds of purges). Despite the needless opulence and decadence of the pace, it did house a rather impressive command and control infrastructure that allowed him to coordinate the efforts of his forces through Taldot and its surroundings.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Planet Thanos. Togoria System. Taldot Sector. Mid Rim.

Admiral Hennir Karlomman strode through the halls of the palace with a squad of loyal Stormtroopers marching closely behind. Officers, soldiers and aides saluted as he crossed their paths while the work crews tried to keep out of their way. Hennir would keep them working around the clock to remove the last vestiges of the gaudy, needless, ridiculous and opulent "art" that littered every inch of the palace complex.

His destination was one of the several meeting chambers spread around the massive building. The checked his watch and frowned, he was late for the meeting he had called. Well, Hennir couldn't do much now besides quicken his strides and curse the damned ISB goons that had taken too much of his time. He half suspected Colonel Yulfren did it on purpose just to spite him.

Karlomman paid no mind to the stormtroopers guarding the ornate golden doors of the meeting chamber nor to the chorus of salutes and greetings that followed him as he took position at the head of the massive holographic table. His personal aide handed him a data pad wordlessly and withdrew a few steps behind the Admiral.

"Apologies for the delay." Hennir started, raising his voice to silence the idle chit chat in the back of the room. "An incident required my attention. It has been dealt with now."

The holographic table flickered to life, displaying a map of Taldot and its surrounding sectors. Colors filling the 3-d image to represent zones of control.

"Thanks to Commodore Zilaxis and Task Force Chastisement, the budding dissident forces in the Taldot System have been crushed with extreme prejudice and their Stronghold base is now under our control." The colors in Taldot shifted from a stripped green and yellow to solid green as the Admiral continued. "That leaves us with no overt threats to Imperial control over the Sector. Now its up to our colleagues in the Bureau to deal with infiltrators and saboteurs. Deputy Touzan, anything relevant to add to the discussion?"

The head of the local Bureau of the Imperial Intelligence shook herself, turning to the Admiral before replying in her usual almost mumble:

"Nothing urgent, Admiral." Which was her way of saying that Hennir should expect a late night visit soon with the actual information. Because paranoia was apparently a prerequisite to join the Bureau. Hopefully, it would just be another crooked politician instead of a rebel cell sabotaging their supplies. Though the Admiral wasn't one to count on his luck.

"Very well." Hennir acknowledged. "Now that we have secured our base of operations and brought stability to the Sector, we can now start looking to our surroundings and lend support to our fellow Imperials. Unfortunately, we have yet to receive direct orders from the Centre. Until that happens we will have to act on our own initiative."

"With all due respect, Admiral." General Zorban called out from his chair on the other end of the table. "But we do have our orders. The Ruling Council was pretty clear on the issue, the Fortress World strategy is the-"

"The fortress world strategy is an overall strategic directive." Admiral Karlomman interrupted. "But we have yet to receive actual, direct orders from the Centre. Lantillian is buckling under repeated attacks from the Azure Warlord and who knows what the accursed rebels are planning? Someone has to act now or else we risk losing even more." He paused for a moment. "Now, I'm sure that there's a perfectly good reason why the Ruling Council has yet to give us any actual directions. Maybe they simply haven't had a reason to question our current policies. Regardless we cannot stay idle."

General Zorban settled down, though it was clear he wasn't entirely convinced while Admiral Karlomman continued:

"As it stands, the greatest threat around us is Warlord Merek." The map highlighted the Truum Sector while the Admiral continued with clear disgust in his voice. "This upjumped Captain has already seized the Truum Sector and is pushing into Lantillian and the Perlemian Trade Route. To make matters worse, Lantillies has declared complete neutrality. Depriving us of vital industrial and shipbuilding facilities. And while that would be enough to treat them as rebel scum in my books, we have yet to receive any official word from the Ruling Council on the matter."

"What about the Rebel operations in Kashyyyk?" Another Captain asked, Karlomman hadn't managed to learn his name yet. The purges and attrition had forced him to fill his ranks with fresh faced Academy graduates, he was one of the newest ones.

"Unsubstantiated rumors." The Admiral replied. "We will wait until we get official confirmation from the Centre to act. Until then, we will focus on the real, pressing threat: Merek's little private fief and the wavering loyalty of the Lantillians. I will be writing once again to the Ruling Council explaining our situation and asking for further information on the Kashyyyk issue." A pause. "But until then, we will focus our resources and efforts in preparing for a campaign to protect the Pelermian Trade Route. Now, the next item on the list is...the mustering of new militia formations..."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@Sini @Ruby
To the Imperial Ruling Council

*Attached to the usual host of reports and documents received from Admiral Karlomman, comes a message*

Due to the deteriorating situation in the Mid-Rim, I, as commander of Battle Group Punisher, request clarification on the status of Kashyyyk. My intelligence networks are filled with rumors of a planned Rebel operation to seize the planet, though nothing truly certain. Is there any possibility the central headquarters of the Imperial Intelligence or ISB could confirm whether or not the dissidents are planning such offensive? Considering my relative proximity to the Sector I would be well placed to provide assistance to the loyalist forces in the region.

Furthermore, now that my forces have managed to secure and stabilize the Taldot Sector as a base of operations. I am preparing to move in support of Imperial units operating in Lantillian. With additional forces I am certain that I could not only relieve my beleaguered comrades but also push back and restore your rightful authority over the Truum Sector and bring Lantillies out of their misguided isolationism.

*Attached to the message is a series of reports presenting an overview of the situation in Karlomman's command*

Nareia Norre didn’t think of herself as a daydreamer, but more and more she found herself staring out into the blackness of space and focusing on the distant stars and systems that were one hyperspace jump away.

Farfalla Station orbited Thyferra as a watchful, silent guardian to the Vratix people that inhabited it, as well as the rebels that helped fortify and protect the planet. Twin planetary ion cannons were ready and waiting on the surface with an already sizable rebel force stationed within the base that powered them. Long-range artillery units and tanks wielding massive twin guns and concussion missile launchers rest idle and unmanned within. Speeder pilots ran frequent patrols through the hot, humid surface while soldiers ran drills and went through combat scenarios. They were stocked, more than well-armed, and all they needed was an enemy to fight, and a world to free.

But what took her attention every time were the starships that flew by the observation deck. X-wing and Y-wing's, as well as A-wing and B-wing's, flew in formation whilst patrolling the idle fleet that guarded Thyferra; a mixture of colossal cruisers of Mon Calamari design, as well as more classic vessels such as the CR90 and the Nebulon B’s, supported by Quasar carriers and even older Hammerhead-class frigates took up much of her view. Orbital defense platforms were a combined set of turbolasers and concussion missile launchers, with a few scrambler systems to prevent long-range missile salvos from firing outside of their firing range.

It was paranoia wrapped in a tightly knit package of courage and anticipation. All it needed was a target to be delivered to.

The sound of durasteel doors parting had taken her attention from the stars and the starships. She looked over her shoulder, meeting the dark eyes of a tall and crisply-dressed Bothan with her own. The bags under his eyes betrayed the strength in his step as he made his way to her. The circumstances behind this meeting were casual, but Admiral Karsk barely knew the meaning of the word.

“Commander,” Karsk started, “I apologize for the wait, but the update on Sullust was lengthier than expected. Several smaller updates followed.”

“Something I should know?” she asked, standing straighter as he joined beside her.

“They’ve finished construction of an ion cannon on the surface of Sullust and have begun placement of key defense platforms to better defend their shipyards, just as I had suggested. In addition to those platforms, they’ve prepared the next batch of recruits to come in for training; some to be soldiers, pilots, mostly engineers.” He paused, a hum of amusement escaping him. Cocking his head to her, he asked, “Thinking you can fill Rogue Squadron with another group of Sullustans?”

Nareia grinned behind the cup beside her lips, a few chuckles escaping her as well. “Well, I don’t discriminate. Noob was special… and I don’t select just anyone for my unit.”

“Of course. I trust your judgement, which is more than I can say for most anyone.”

A sense of pride was felt, dangerous but welcome. She didn’t mind being challenged by someone so experienced. It usually resulted in a heated debate, but it was better after a mission than in the middle of one. Speaking to Karsk was like speaking to one of her wingmen. He understood the burden of leadership, and was as much a father figure to her as Marvo was. She maintained six people at a time. He maintained what must have been thousands.

“That senator’s name keeps popping up recently,” Karsk began again. “Frakjess. A senator from Corellia. Word is he’s trying to gather support to liberate it, but very few are willing to commit to another attack on that scale. That close to the Core Worlds is going to have a lot of Imperials ready to reinforce it.”

“It could be done,” Nareia interjected, watching the twitch of Karsk’s lips. “I heard a few transfers from the base on Yavin talking about him.”

“Surely you aren’t considering it?”

“Not yet,” she said, shaking her head. “I feel for him, but what he’s trying to ask is selfish and, frankly, it’s just too soon. From what I heard he lacks any actionable intel, so he expects us to jump in and make it happen. And even if we did that, you think the Empire is going to just let us get that close to Coruscant and not answer for it? That isn’t a small-scale invasion by any means. We’re lucky we even have control of Chandrila.”

She didn’t realize how breathless she had become until her rant had ended. Burdened with Rogue Squadron and often the leadership of other squadrons joining her in battle, the cost of a battle, whether large or small, was always kept in mind. There was nothing leading her to believe Corellia was going to be made simple. The Alliance was divided enough already without a senator asking them to commit everything to his home world.

A lack of response made her turn to Krask who had done nothing but smile at her.

“What?”

“Nothing. I’m just used to hearing that amount of tension during battle, not a chat.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“No, no, it’s alright. I’m glad to hear it from you. Corellia is too much of a risk at the time – though it pains me to say it – but there’s another battle coming that I wanted to go over with you, one that I admit I dismissed far too quickly when you brought it up to me before.”

Her eyes following the path of a few passing X-wings frozen. Towering trees on a massive scale immediately came to mind. A planet rich with life. A powerful people desperate to be freed from the Empire. One species of many.

“Kashyyyk?”

“Operation FreeWook, as Alara called it,” Krask inhaled deeply. “I had my reasons not to commit to it, largely for the same reason I have not supported Kaijosh’s pleading for attention to Corellia. After a great deal of contemplating, I have decided to offer any resources I can for Solo’s mission.” The Bothan turned on his heel and beckoned Nareia to follow him. “Let’s talk more on the Reprisal.”

Downing the very last of her Muja juice, she hustled after the Admiral with a pep in her step she had lacked for some time. Now, after a month of idleness, she felt the heat rush to her blood, and her heart race in excitement. She couldn’t wait to tell the others.



A routine patrol was not the most exciting of assignments, but it was the one that was often the most necessary. Thyferra was held so well because the construction of a long-range scanner did not make the men and women of the Alliance lazy. Volunteers from Sullust and Bespin, as well as other territories in the Inner Rim, had to see them as the watchful and vigilant organization that they were. This meant no corners cut when it came to securing the sector. And to make that point clear, even Rogue Squadron had become more involved in maintaining their eyes on the sector. Not that they had much choice.

Marvo maintained watch over the other Y-wing ahead of him, seeing it rotat both left and right impulsively. Alara – better known as “Dory” – was still growing used to the weight and the feel of the ship. Nareia authorizing her for A-wing piloting had spoiled her when it came to speed and maneuverability. Going slower, even with engine speed at maximum, must have been driving her insane by now.

“Dory, if you’re bored, you can turn back,” he said.

Immediately the ship ahead had corrected itself, and the meek voice of Dory spoke back to him. “Sorry. It’s just… weird, you know? Being this slow is hard. How do you do this?”

Marvo chuckled. “I do it because very few people enjoy the trade-off. All this power and utility in one slow, dangerous package. It isn’t for everyone.”

“Definitely not me!”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to try and fly one? Wanted to be flexible, like Nareia?”

“Well, yes, but I just didn’t… I didn’t… hold on.”

He held on, just as she asked. From his cockpit, he could make out the enthusiastic head of her droid spin in its seat just ahead of him. Usually that was good. Usually.

“ZeeZee’s picked something up. Some kind of energy signature, faint, not far. Fighter-sized, he thinks. Can we check it out?”

R6Z6 had an impressive scanning range and he was inclined to believe Dory’s droid. Still, that trust did not give him any sense of ease. The fleet wasn’t far now, but if there was danger—

“Please?” Dory interrupted. “It could be someone in trouble… even if Zee doesn’t detect any lifesigns. Still!”

“No lifesigns?” Marvo paused. “Is Zee sure?”

“He’s really, really sure. He’s so sure that he’d bet his manufacturer on it, and he doesn’t do that a lot.”

On the contrary, ZeeZee bet his manufacturer on a lot of wagers, but that wasn’t very important right now. The curiosity would only grow from here, and he was starting to catch it himself. “Alright, we’ll check it out. Lead the way, and Zee, get that ion cannon charged. No telling what’s actually out there.”

“Alright! Follow me!” Dory’s ship revolved three times before it took a sharp right and accelerated towards the source of the droid’s eccentric chattering. Marvo followed closely behind.

A few klicks later, he could make out the stillness of a chrome ship from an era he had thought long past.

“I recognize that ship…”

“Zee says it’s old. Like, Clone Wars old. Really old.”

“Before your time,” Marvo stated. “Question is, did someone get stuck out here and die before anyone could find them?”

“…Zee says that the power source isn’t the ship itself. It’s something inside it. Like—“

“A droid?”

“Yeah. It might have enough power to talk to us. Can I try it?”

“Sure, knock yourself out.”

Dory cut her engines and, for no reason whatsoever, slowly began to rotate her Y-wing towards the idle ship and the slowly dying possibly-droid inside of it. Marvo was left to watch the perimeter, keeping an eye on both Dory, the ship, and whatever else could be found floating around nearby.

“Hello? Hellooooooo?” Dory called to the hailed ship. “Is this thing on? Are you awake in there? We’re hailing you, open channel!”

Her ship passed overhead, cockpit passing over the dead ship below her, slowing down enough to try and catch movement within.

The old star fighter had been floating for ages, unaware to the galactic politics that surrounded it, lost to it all. Yet, one droid rationed power, hoping that one day someone would have found him within that metal tomb which confined him. Luckily, it seemed that day had finally come as he detected someone attempting to hail the ship, he would smile if he had the capability to. The droid had kept the communications of the ship online for just such an occasion and he began to do what he could to speak with those who attempted to contact him. His hand stopped for a moment, his mind calculating the chances of this being a republic trap and a second later he pressed opened communications.

“This is, unit TB-239,” he began with a deeply monotone voice, “CIS T-series command droid, I request that you aid me in getting to the nearest space station.” It had been years since he had last spoken to anything other than the ship drive, and that was not even talking as much as it was simply coxing the ship in what appeared to be a hibernation. While there was not a lot of power inside of it, there was enough for the engines to get to a nearby space station since no other auxiliary power was needed.

“According to estimated times, I have been adrift for over twenty years,” the droid droned on as the engines hummed to life slowly. It was like an old man attempting to get out of bed, drifting in and out of sleep before ultimately the being awoke. He was putting a lot of trust into these organics to not destroy the ship, but it was his only shot of getting out of the cramped starfighter. The droid’s eyes peeked outside of the cockpit, seeing fighters similar to those that the wretched clones had used, yet not exact. Yet, the sight still unsettled the droid.

He would reroute some power to weapons if he could afford to, but sadly, he just did not have the power to do so. Hopefully these were just some pirates who wished nothing more than to scavenge his ship and the probability was still there, but he sighted no other insignia other than unfamiliar ones which only added to the probability. TB had a bad feeling about all of this and he could not even properly feel emotion, only calculations and results.

---

@SoleAccord

Srin didn't know what time it was. Hell, most organics on Coruscant probably didn't either. The former pilot found herself a few a drinks deep in some shitty spacer bar near a major port. Her head was swimming with the stinging scent of Corellian Ale. Strange... she thought to herself, I'm not usually a drinker. Ah, but that was before the crash. She found herself thinking of her Squadron often. Well, ex-Squadron now. But still, they were her brothers and sisters. What would they think if they saw the once unshakable and eager Lt. Odessa, sitting like a drowned womp rat in a spacer bar. Her flight suit was dirty and the top half was around her waist like one of those kamas the hotshot Stormtroopers would wear. Her undershirt was soaked in sweat and grime from working on some ancient freighter all day, and this dingy bar's malfunctioning cooling system certainly was not helping. Or was that just her?

Srin's arm clicked a few times. The door opened. She managed to open one eye and peer towards the door. Stormtroopers. It had to be. No one else walked lockstep like that, even on leave. A group of three of them, probably on Coruscant for this big meeting of the minds for all those ambitious Imperial Officer types. Even in the docks word had got around, some of the other mechanics had been refitting a bunch of Imperial Shuttles that had all touched down within the same cycle. Not your average ground-pounder shuttles either, really fancy diplomatic types with all the 'luxuries of office'. A few pilots in her squadron had been picked to fly a few of the brass from their fleet around in 'em. They all said they handled like crap but were pretty forgiving. Srin picked her head up off the bar counter long enough to sip her drink and spy on the group of bucket-heads ordering some drinks. Their off-duty uniforms were spotless, like most everything about them, down to the haircuts. They were always respectful, if a bit curt when Srin had to deal with them. She just hoped they wouldn't notice her imperial-issue boots.

Through her haze of alcohol she caught a few glimpses of their conversation. "..Corellia.." Why was everything reminding her of that Force-forsaken place? "The Imperial Council..." Damn them! She wanted to get away from that venting starship, not get hourly updates! Srin forced her head up and downed the last dregs of her drink and slid her credit chit over the holo-slate that indicated her tab.At least it's cheap here, the pilot thought to herself as she stuffed the chit back into her pocket and stumbled out into the brisk Coruscanti air.

"Hey!" Oh god, is that directed at me?

Srin half-pirouttes, half trips over her own feet.

"You a pilot?" the voice calls out.

Her arm clicks. She can make out a shape, no... a person! A stormtrooper, in his crisp black uniform.

"I-I was a pilot." Srin manages after a few moments.

"A pilot saved my life, and you don't look so good. Need a cab? It's the least I can do."

Srin Odessa stares blankly and then nods, slightly swaying.

The man comes over and steadies her with a firm hand on her shoulder as he waves down an airspeeder.

"So why did you get out?" He asks after helping her into the back seat and then following suit. Why so many questions?

"I er, crashed." She blurts out after a few moments, startled at her own voice. "The docs said I wasn't fit to fly anymore." She kind of half grins and points to her arm. The trooper nods, seemingly buying her half-true story. Srin taps her apartment's address into the navcomputer and lets the automatic cab do the rest of the work as she nurses her swimming head.

Finally, after a seemingly endless journey the humming airspeeder comes to a gentle stop and the door slides open. The trooper gently drags her out of seat and on to her feet. The ex-pilot drunkenly thanks her guide and gives him a half salute as she makes the long journey up the many floors of the hab-block. No one else is around at this time of day/night. Or most times, actually. The truth is that there just isn't much to do in a grey, stresscrete wasteland, especially when there is a strip of bars and nightclubs a few minutes' journey down the block. After much hiking up stairs and riding the lifts up the vast superstructure, the drunk and tired Srin made it to her apartment door. Carelessly swiping her palm over the scanner, she groaned when it beeped in denial. She swiped again, this time with her organic palm. Easy mistake, she tells herself. Yeah except she's had this arm for years now. That Corellian stuff is strong.

The apartment is dark. Her datapad the only source of light. The room is messy, well, as messy as a room with three or so objects in it can get. Srin lives out of a duffel bag. The desk and bed came with the place, both as spartan as spartan can be. Compared to Imperial standards? It was downright cozy. Srin Odessa kicks off her boots and slithers into bed. Sleep comes like a planetary surface to a doomed starfighter...

Planet Thanos. Togoria System. Taldot Sector. Mid Rim

It was already late at night, the Admiral's day had been filled with a litany of meetings and inspections on orbital and ground facilities. With the imminent departure of Punisher Batte Group, Karlomman wanted to make sure everything within his command was ready for the campaign. He had spent the last week travelling all across the sector, conferring with the army of lesser officers under his command. The bulk of his forces would soon be engaging in offensive operations, not only his ships must be ready, but the "home front" must also be equally secured.

Even now, in the late hours of the night, officially retired to his chambers, the Admiral still continued to work. Accompanied by his personal aide, Lt. Karmillian, and the just returned Commodore Zilaxis. The three of them sitting around the luxurious fireplace on opulent silk covered chairs. The room used to belong to the late governor, it took three weeks to get rid of all the useless finery and frivolous decorations back when Admiral Karlomman had him arrested and took control of Taldot.

The situation reminded him of his youth actually, those cozy winter nights sitting by the fireplace with his father and brothers, discussing the affairs of the Galaxy. He shook those thoughts away as fast as they came, however. This was no time to get emotional. Karlomman forced himself to pay attention to the Commodore as he finished:

"And according to General Zorban, the new field divisions should be ready to be deployed by the end of the week. But due to the number of transports being taken alongside for Flying Justice, it will take at least a couple of months to get them out of the staging areas and into their planned positions."

"I've read the reports, Commodore." Admiral Karlomman replied, looking straight into the ugly mess of scars and cybernetics that is Zilaxis' face. "What do our own sources say?"

"They confirm the official reports. The divisions field the equipment we've paid for and the conscripts are gathered in the expected numbers. Zorban so far has done nothing that could imply betrayal."

"And what about the ideological fortitude of these new formations?" Admiral Karlomman inquired further.

"The recruits are as motivated as can be expected on the average." The Commodore replied, his cybernetic eyes shining. "But I can corroborate that the officers, as a rule, are true believers of our cause. The downside is that the bulk of them have just gotten out of the academies and are lacking in actual field experience."

"I do not expect them to face any serious combat." Admiral Karlomman replied, turning back to look at the fire. "But we need boots on the ground to suppress any would be rebels while the Stortroopers and Imperial Armies under my command bring order and justice to the Lantillian Sector." He paused, turning towards Lt. Karmillian. "Have I received the latest reports from the shipyards, Lieutenant?"

"Yes, sir." He cleared his throat. "Production proceeds at the expected levels now that the last of the pirates and Rebels within Taldot have been dealt with. However, our analysts believe we might soon start facing some funding issues."

"I am aware of that Lieutenant." Admiral Karlomman replied coldly. "With the Rebels in control of Uyter and Lantillies deserting us, we are cut off from the Perlemian Trade Route. The Ruling Council is also not helping matters by refusing to grant my repeated requests for more funds and forces. Which is why I am undertaking this offensive into Lantillies. The sector must be brought back into the fold and Merek utterly destroyed so that we may restore a direct line with the Imperial Centre."

"And if the Rebels attack us while you're busy in Lantillies, sir?" The Lieutenant asked.

"I do not believe that there's a real chance of that happening. But if I am proven wrong, the forces I'm leaving behind are more than enough to stop the Rebels from taking over Taldot before I can bring back Punishment to destroy them."

"And if we aren't able to disentangle ourselves from Lantillies fast enough?" Commodore Zalmaxis challenged, if he still had them, one of his eyebrows would probably be quirked and his mouth curled into a smirk.

"We will." Admiral Karlomman replied with confidence. "There's no indication the Rebels have any major concentration of forces in the sector. Or at least nothing that could make our victory impossible. As for Merek, he's just another overambitious traitor. Once I give him a couple of decisive beatings, his forces will start disintegrating and his fellow traitors will fall upon him like vultures." He leaned back in his chair. "I'm not saying it will be a cakewalk, but there's no reason to believe that our chances of triumph are slim. Besides, we must take the initiative now. Sitting in place would only make us vulnerable while the Rebels and traitors grow in strength around us."

"It's quite a gamble, sir." The Commodore leaned back on his own chair. "But the reasoning is sound."

"I don't remember needing your approval for anything, Commodore." Admiral Karlomman snapped. "I am the ranking officer here and what I say goes. I listen to your advice because I value your input, but do not presume to judge me."

The Commodore didn't flinch at the outburst, five years was more than enough time to get used to the flaws and quirks of his commanding officer. So, the Commodore simply made his excuses and dismissed himself. There was no use in continuing anything when the Admiral got into one of his moods.

And as the Commodore left for his own quarters, which were conveniently located nearby, Admiral Karlomman turned his glare towards the Lieutenant.

"I believe we are done here, Lieutenant."

"Actually, sir." Karmillian replied, shifting in his seat, nervousness written all over his features. "There's the question of your private messages..."

"Oh...of course." Admrial Karlomman forced himself to calm down. The Lieutenant wasn't at fault for his bad mood, he was just doing his job. He couldn't let his emotions get hold of him that easy. "I've read them, no need to recite them for me, Lieutenant." He paused again. "Write to my wife and tell her she's free to buy whatever she sees fit for the twins, she has done an adequate job all these years, there's no point in changing that. Send the twins the usual note about the importance of my duties. I also want you to write a complaint in my name to their Academy in the Centre, the Empire is in no position to be giving week-long leave to cadets, no matter if its their birthday or if their father is an Admiral. If anything they should be pushing them twice as hard to replace the losses we've suffered so far."

The Lieutenant silently typed down the notes on his datapad before being dismissed. He withdrew from the room quickly and soon the Admiral was left alone. That is, until the man-sized portrait of Emperor Palpatine shifted to the left, revealing a secret passage. And out walked Deputy Director Derpent, looking as if she had last slept before Yavin IV, as usual.

"Thought you would never get rid of them." She groaned as he dropped down on one of the chairs.

"This would have been so much easier if we met on working hours."

"Well, here's what I have." She said, producing a data chip from her coat pocket and ignoring the Admiral. "Feel free to let your own people follow the leads and check the info, but it will be a waste of time. They will just find out that I'm telling the truth now. Just as I have always been."

"You don't trust anyone, Director." Admiral Karlomman replied, taking the chip from her hand. "I don't see why you expect people to extend you the courtesy."

"Have I ever given you false information to work on, Admiral? Have I ever given you cause to doubt my loyalty to the Imperial cause?"

"Are we done here?" The Admiral asked, ignoring the question.

Deputy Director Derpent left without a word.

Marvo and Dory listened closely as TB-239 told them what little he knew of the situation he was in. Their opinions on what to do with him didn’t change but drastically differed, and they were left with a choice to make.

When the energy readings of his ship gave a slight bump, Dory powered her engines and cleared the space just above him after a brief look inside. Based on the readings she received, the only thing worth using what little energy he had were the engines. Powering up his weapons would do more harm for his situation than good, and she could see that even if he managed to get a single bolt from even one of those cannons, that would be all there was of his energy. No more signal. If they left him, he lost what might have been his chance to discover what he missed, and would be left out here, alone, with no one to mourn him. No one deserved that.

“Well TeeBee, you can call me Dory, or Alara, or Rogue Five,” Dory mused aloud. “Come to think of it, you can just call me your new best friend.” Her ship, which had settled just behind his own, had begun pulling ahead and returning to the Alliance fleet a sizable distance away. If she calculated correctly, there was enough power to get him to Farfalla Station and the fleet, but not much further. “Just follow me. We’ll integrate you back into the galaxy—“

“Hold on a minute,” Marvo cut in, guiding his Y-wing a short distance behind TeeBee, lining up his laser cannons with the old fighter. “You want to bring it back with us? For what?”

“It is a ‘he’, I can tell by the masculine programming.”

“Not the point right now, Alara.”

Dory felt a shiver of discomfort run down her spine. Being called Alara usually meant things were growing serious. “Right,” she mumbled. “I think it could be good. Think about how much he knows, and what he could have seen. Just look at his ship; no power for shielding or weapons, not to mention the state of the ship in general. He barely has enough power to keep up with me – look.”

TeeBee’s ship, Marvo noted, was moving just as sluggishly as the Y-wings that escorted him. Somehow he was even slower than them, and they weren’t trying to be that much faster than him. If the system power wasn’t stressed, he believed Dory was right. But that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“So say we waste the resources getting this thing looked at—“

“He,” Dory reminded with a drop of frustration. “He’s a he… you know… unless TeeBee doesn’t want that. This channel isn’t private; he can hear everything we’re saying. He might be an older model, but he isn’t unintelligent.”

Marvo held his tongue. Dory’s passion for Droids had made her their ally in everything, including giving proper respect where others would not. She introduced herself to any astromech unit in the Alliance fleet, and was the shoulder for any protocol droid to lean on. Normally he kept all that in mind. But this droid wasn’t meant to help anyone. All it could do was find ways to kill people. The galaxy didn’t need more killer tacticians to add to a war that should have been over by now.

“I understand. Let’s try this again then.” The laser cannons of his ship were still trained on Teebee’s fighter, but remained unpowered until he saw fit to charge them. With reduced speed, they would be able to make it back to the station within the next fifteen to twenty minutes. That was more than enough time to figure out what to do with TeeBee that did not involve his destruction.

“TB-239, my name is Marvo. While I don’t see the use in bringing you back with us, Dory seems to believe you may be worth saving. I’m willing to believe that you’re worth the effort if she is, because my team and I, we support one another… no matter how crazy the idea seems.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!” Dory chimed in cheerfully, tilting her ship rightward and executing a barrel roll.

Marvo smiled to himself despite his seriousness, but shook off Dory’s infectious enthusiasm. “Alright… let me start by telling you now that the Clone Wars are over. The leaders of the Confederacy were executed and their droid armies were powered down. As for the Republic, we lost just as you and your people did. The galaxy as you remember it is gone. No more clone army, no more significant presence of Jedi – nothing but a Galactic Empire down an Emperor and Lord of the Sith, and an Alliance dedicated to defeating them and working towards creating the New Republic and protecting it with our lives.”

For a moment, Marvo wondered how he would take it if he woke up and was told that the very thing he was created to do no longer mattered. Where would this leave TeeBee, and how could Dory give him new purpose? Was there even room in this old unit to do something new?

“Any questions?”