Simula sat inside of his LH freighter. He was angry at Diabolus, who stood him up. He wanted to go into the Hutt market and preptrate a killing spree was how contemptuous he felt. But, he did not. He practiced his meditation, creating a rhytmic flow of oxygen in and out of his body. Then, he opened his eyes and looked around calmly. He stood from the pilot chair and peered out of the window to see if he could spot some strong aliens standing around. He spotted his first one. He was an alien with oval eyes and green skin and stood up eight feet tall. The next one looked like a Mandalorian. He did not want to do business with an old warrior. So, he skipped him and laid his vision upon a Herglic. He was the biggest thing in the whole field, and he knew that gambling was part of his DNA.

His anger was not active when he prepared himself to talk fast and move fast. He knew where all of his equipment was, and put on his cloak and covered his head and peered out of the window one more time. He checked the equipment, all well secured and in fine condition. After he scanned over it, he closed the cargo bays he both checked. It crossed his mind that they could crack one of the tanks, or try to run off into the desert with power parts. He cracked his neck, then he opened up and closed the ramp and begin walking toward the Herglic.

He walked normally towards the crowd of thieves and traders. The closer he got he was gently overcome with nervousness, which made him walk harder and faster. As he approached the big Herglic he reached out to him and interrupted him while he tinkered with parts of a hybrid astromech droid. "Hello. I need your assistance."

The fish humanoid looked at the mysterious looking humanoid and slobbered while he looked at him. He did not answer Simula because he was operating on his mechanical friend, despite the apprentice's charm. So, Simula asked again but placed a strong hand on the Herglic's arm and suggested he respect his presence. He used the Force to implant some fear into the Herglic's mind and the two started talking.

"I can't get it to work! What do you want?" said the big guy.

"I need to find a trolley to move some of my goods to another vessel," Simula said.

"What kind of goods? Do you have any transistors?'

"I have these," Simula remarked and presented the dumb mammal with a handful of credits. He threw them in the Herglic's hand, and then the two looked at each other for a moment.

"I can do this. I can pick up 500 pounds! What am I hauling?" he spoke excitedly. He looked at the credits in his hand a few times and he felt like luck was on his side.

"Bacta tanks and power connectors. You don't ask about my business, even in this cesspool of a plantation. Now, go get the trolley, a large one, and meet me here in five minutes," and he stopped talking at the big fish guy's grin.

"My brother and me should be all you need. He's over there doing business," he said pointing at a similar looking mammal. He was the same size and pigment, and he was waving his fist up and down at the transactor he was occupied with. He considered it and it didn't take long before he agreed. "He's the smart one." That made the Sith apprentice roll his eyes but like always he kept his feelings to himself.

"You're a Zabrak, right?"

"Yes, I am. Let's go."

"Hold on, I'll get Visch," said the fish man and ran off 10 meters away to get his kin. Simula watched him collect his mad brother. The two brothers almost fought because Visch was being hustled by some salesperson overcharging him for whatever it was he wanted to purchase. But, they calmed down when the first Herglic showed him the coins, and the Sith apprentice watched uneventfully while Visch waved at him, Simula not responding. Then, the two brothers started walking back to him but then stopped. They restarted their path and held up their hands to motion him to wait a moment. He deduced they were going to get the trolleys, and in a few minutes they come from somewhere they had walked to behind the main plaza and with two huge trolleys. They didn't look like the weight bothered them when they approached Simula who was near his ship with the ramp deployed.

"Visch? You are Visch?" the Sith asked.

"Yes, I'm Visch. Beltore tells me you got a lot of money to haul some bacta tanks to that ship over there." They had sat down the trolleys and questioned him to see if he had more currency to be delivered.

"Yes, I have plenty of coins. Your work is light and these credits are more than you should get. But, I can be generous. Can you move these tanks and batteries to that ship there," he pointed at the Dread Adversary and the two workmen looked at it again, and everyone tuned in and Visch and Belfore boarded the ship and started carrying the tanks and power systems out from their cargo holds and placing them atop the two trolleys. They did so carefully and fast, which Simula noticed.

They hauled all of it in four trips. Simula stood by his ship while they took all of the pieces out, and followed them to his Master's ship. While he was on the trail he quickly felt in danger and looked back at the main plaza to catch two thugs running up at him. He pulled out his scoped blaster and unleashed at them. He missed every shot and before he knew it he was in a fight.

He had tried so hard to conceal his identity, and remained with that sentiment. One of the goons with him got in a right hook, but his Iridonian skin did not caused more than a sting to Simula's face. But, the other troublemaker pushed him down when he grabbed his body and started running until they tripped. Then, the Force seduced him to use it. As he and the one who tackled him fought over the upper hand, Simula got to the trigger first and mounted this man, who, by now, the Sith wanted to kill. He hated this thug and he placed his hand over his face and pushed out electricity into his face and body. It was not too strong, but the other idiot ran away after he saw the fight preformance while Simula got to his feet and looked around. Then, he remembereed the mission and darted his eyes to the fish people and the ship. He picked up his blaster and trode towards them.

"Hurry up!" he demanded. They showed him that they had carried most of the power systems and their accessories. He waited while they finished their job loading the tanks. He was irate and wanted to hurt somebody. But, by the time the work was done he was at least halfway sound, but he kept eyeballing the plaza to see if he could find the other culprit; whose friend lay dead in the middle of the day where everyone could see. It could spell more trouble, which he yearned for by the way he thought, and lived. When the fish people were done, he threw some credits at them and boarded the Dread Adversary.

Once he was inside and secured all of the stolen goods he made a communication to Zaras, telling him that the goods were ready to go: "If I don't get out of here soon, I'm going to kill."

“Dan’ Arak’s drink hub? Really? There wasn’t a better place than this?” Both Alena and Kina sat from across each other in a booth, though one seemed to be having a bit less fun than the other. “Hey, it has great reviews online! I’m sure the place is fine.” Kina responds with a smile, sipping her drink lightly.

The bar was pretty large, with a spartan approach to things. Not many decorations, less things to beat people with the owner always says. A holo projector was on one side of the room, while the main bar was in the center. The duo was currently sitting on the right back corner of the establishment, nursing what the locals called a local delicacy, though they could quite pronounce the name.

“So, when are your new friends supposed to show up?” Kina says off handedly, checking her watch. “Oh, any minute now… I sent them the location a while ago, they should be here shortly.” Alena responds, quickly finishing her drink.

It took a few minutes for them to arrive because there’d been an argument over the shooting/not-shooting situation with the Dug. He was very put out, but promise of a little dining and drinking for his troubles seemed to cool him down...a little. So naturally, what Kina would see was the arrival of three very different people. She was already aware of the Sephi with the equipment practically worn on her with combat vest on and such. She was even marginally aware of the sight of the Tynnan - seen one space otter, seen ‘em all - with the goggles and the belt harness, light repeater on his back. The Dug was a different story. He was in his own kind of combat armor with not only a light repeater on his back, but some kinda’ double-barreled carbine blaster, as well. He even appeared to be wearing a pair of specially-made talons for his ‘feet’, which is what normal humanoids would have as their hands. Singe led them over and took a seat across from the two with a certain level of amusement on her face.

“Well then...you two obviously know who I am, so let’s skip me for the moment. My hairy friend here is Meyran Tufts, trader and transporter who’s currently hauling me around. His friend is umm…”

”He’s Morgas. Don’t bother him none. He don’t even like to speak Gal-Standard.”

To demonstrate this fact, while also pointing out that he understood Gal-Standard, Morgas said he didn’t like any of their stubby faces in Dugese, and didn’t give a crap if they understood ‘im. Goggles DID, and asked him to cool it, basically. The Dug relented by inspecting the drinks menu and let them carry on.

“I hire all sorts, as needed. The ones I like get the most repeated contracts. That said, you two obviously want something. We’ve already done the dance of trying to figure each other out, now tell me: What is it?”

“You can get anything you want, handsome, the tab is on me.” Alena brightly smiles toward Dug, not expecting an answer she could understand. She quickly fumbles through a backpack next to Kina, eventually revealing a small holo projector. She places it on the table, and activates it revealing a dark haired man in an imperial uniform. “Tell me, what do you know of the Moff Drak?”

Morgas muttered something or other with an attitude and let things get on. He knew when business was about to be business, so he didn’t get in the way. That left Singe and Alina talking, with Goggles paying attention if he had any input. As soon as the holo-projector displayed that face, though, Singe’s eyes narrowed. Well, the one eye they could see. Oh yes, she recognized it. That was his archive holo-image, a little outdated since the collapse of the Empire. He was a little older now. The Slicer turned her gaze back to Alina and her friend.

“The Butcher of Mandalore, the man who so-callously ordered a genocidal purge of its people when there was an uprising against him.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, obviously familiar with him, familiar with alot of the Moff names, from old (and long-dead) Moff Tarkin to the thoroughly mad Moff Melchett, whose insane battle strategies during the Clone Wars onwards landed him his lofty rank...but also to be set far off to the side and out of trouble, in charge of Dromund Kaas. Still, the total lack of shock or concern that they were addressing this man and presumably action against him would tell Alina that Serious Singe was engaged.

“Whatever you’re planning against him had better not be a desperate gambit, but something substantially solid. People I’ve worked with like working with me because I don’t throw them to the grinders and hope for best. Whether you’re planning on systematically cutting down his support and resources until his power is broken or looking to injure him directly, there will be a solid plan with a high chance of success and contingencies that will leave him bitter if all does not go as expected.”

She stared down Alena and Kina, as if daring them to speak some reason why they couldn’t operate in this manner. Folks who have ever known Singe or ever worked to her tune know that she wanted nothing less than success. Alina’s own analysis of the woman indicated she was driven to execute her actions with a certain obsession, and she was right. This woman just turned on a dime and got very serious with them. Singe demanded that her attacks, her sabotage, and otherwise her plans be handled properly, and to that effect she put a demand on herself to make plans that guaranteed that the ones doing the footwork had ample opportunity to do the job and get out, or be able to cut loose quickly enough if it got to be too much. She did not like loose ends, and it was to the benefit of all of her associates that she took care of them.

She was careful. Very careful, something Alena could very much relate with. As a commander her squads were her family and she did everything in her power to make sure they were able to leave every firefight outside of a body bag. And that won’t change now if she had anything to say about it.
“Yes, I do have a plan. I want Moff Drak to be dead and I want mandalore to be free. There’s many ways I could do this and it all depends on the support I have gathered. There’s a lot of prep work that needs to be done, mostly gathering intel and weakening the hold he has on his power base, but once it’s done all that will have to be done is a push. I am very careful with these sorts of things and I can assure you that this is very personal to me, so I have a lot of incentive to see this to its fruition. I would tell you more, but I want to know if you’re in.”

While Alena was talking, there were subtle signs of eye movement beneath the eyepatch, little things that you’d have to be watching for in order to know it was there, like before. Singe was doing a quick-and-dirty search on public domain information, just to get Mandalore’s current basic lookout, especially in their capital city where Drak would be located. This was mainly for her own personal bearings. That which Alena probably knew by heart, Singe at least needed in front of her. Because of her current focus, the Sephi was looking more AT the table than across it when she finally responded.

“I think you already know that there is only one answer to this. I was simply laying down my requirements to operate with. The Moffs and Imperial Scum in general are the worst forms of refuse, to be discarded just as easily. It seldom IS ever easy, as I’m not sure I’ve ever actually gotten at a Moff before now, only made their lives indirectly miserable through the ruination of their efforts, the removal of their resources, and the depletion of their men.”

But here, she smiled now, actually making eye contact.

“I’m up for the challenge. I came out of hiding to put on some finishing touches. This would be as good a start as any.”

“Great to hear and welcome aboard.” Alena says quickly, picking up her holo device and quickly setting it to a different picture, this time the local sector of mandalore. “Drak has a large defense fleet around mandalore, with several more ships patrolling around the planets he claims as territory. Mandalore is the most fortified planet, with several fortresses and garrisons across the world, while the other planets have a much smaller presence. So, what I propose is this: A long con. Incite rebellions on the outer planets of his territory, to force him to move some of his defensive ships to take care of the rebellions. A token force of operatives will then land on mandalore, infiltrate his dwelling and assassinate him, while calling in the New Republic to invade Mandalore while its leader is dead and it’s defense fleet is separated. Mandalore will be free and the rest of the planets will earn their freedom as his state shatters. More details will be revealed once I get more pieces to help, but other than that, this is the core of the plan. Any complaints?” She quickly gazes up from the holo projector, to the trio of partners sitting across her.

The three of them reacted differently to this. Goggles opened it up with a sound that indicated he wasn’t entirely liking the idea, while letting somebody else - like the woman whom this was addressing - speak first. Morgas didn’t wait, snorting derisively and calling their plan...well...you wouldn’t repeat it in polite conversation, but the gist of it was that he thought their plan was - even as only the core - a bit optimistic. Singe frowned as she got the exact translation through her eyepatch. Honestly, Goggles obviously didn’t associate with this guy for his winning personality… She exhaled through her nose before she finally spoke up.

“It’s certainly part of a plan. Some of it could work, provided Drak isn’t particularly mad or a decent strategist. However, given that the man is a callous murderer, I feel there may be some things left to chance.”

Her right hand went to the device on her left arm as a holo control pad lit up and allowed her to change settings on her instruments. In no time at all, her choker began to emit her own red-tinged hologramatic display, indicating the Mandalore System, its planets, and orbiting vessels, which ranged from Corvette to Imperial Star Destroyer.

“Now, bear with me, as I don’t know the exact numbers yet, but I foresee some problems based upon the potential extremes. For instance, if he has any Star Destroyers at all, there’s a good chance that Drak will order said ISD to any planet causing a fuss and tell it to bombard the living daylights out of it. I know that a fully-equipped or even a skeleton-crewed vessel of that size can just about manage a planet on its own, owing to superior firepower and range alone. Of course, he might just as easily horde any large-scale vessels for Mandalore itself and tell whatever ships are there to perform low altitude passes without bothering to land any troops.”

Now, she bridged her fingers together as her right eye looked across the table at her hosts.

“So then...how about a long con that anticipates the viciousness of the man? One that works in all our favor? As much as I am tempted to try a plan where smugglers come in with the parts for a V-150 Planet Defender to fire on ships in orbit powered by the very grid the local garrison runs on, that’s wishful thinking and a bit complicated. Instead, as I anticipate either bombardments from ships or actually dropping down reinforcements, I believe our game will be to appropriate communications from Imperials on the ground - Slice into their network and make it our own - and give them false information. If they’re firing from ships, we can have them destroy their own ground forces, or at least never get reliable intel on our own. If it’s all soldiers on the ground, we can lure them into traps where anyone with a gun and a bit of practice can fire into the crowd and kill some Imperials. I would like to see if we can get some lesser Ion Cannons for any ship that enters the atmosphere. Anything we can drop out of the sky is a vessel Drak no longer has, and it’ll certainly keep him from instantly employing the ‘Kill Them All’ strategy.”

Her hands dropped now, and all her displays vanished, looking at them seriously.

”Now...I don’t know about this token force. It sounds like a small group without a backup plan, where people die to secure the fates of others, and they might not have had to. I don’t know what kinds of people you had in mind… Presumably in disguise, perhaps as guards. If that were the case, I’d prefer any assassination be lead with some sort of Imperial Droid, maybe more than one, and then when he calls for guards, he gets your people and they shoot up the Droids to make them look loyal and trustworthy...before shooting him in the back.”

There was suddenly this venom in her voice, where her last words sounded like she was bitter and angry, possibly reliving something even as she spoke…

“I don’t quite think he’ll simply glass the worlds as he needs quite an amount of resources to maintain his fleet and he simply can’t get it all from Mandalore. Simply killing all the rebels would require him to re-colonize the worlds and repair all the damage, which is something he could possibly do, but would take years and a large amount of resources to do. I’m quite confident there will be no aerial bombardments unless he feels that there is no other choice, perhaps if they somehow become a threat to Mandalore itself. I still believe it’s a solid method of forcing his attention elsewhere while the main group infiltrates his stronghold.”

“And yes, it will be a small group, but with several back up plans. We will be disguised and dressed as guards and do the deed and leave quietly. Should something happen, there will be several distractions put into place that give us openings to escape. And on account of these droids, I hadn’t taken it into consideration, but I would like to hear more about it from you.” She leans back into the booth, lightly sipping from her drink, while Kina is silently taking notes in a notebook, nibbling on a bowl of what look like nuts.

People who were confident in their plans often didn’t take criticism well. Alina at least had the benefit of not speaking with bravado or arrogance. She was not stubborn and belligerent like plenty of other people were, including pirates, mercenaries, Hutts, Imperials, and even some Rebels. So, the good news was that her disagreement with Singe was more out of her perception of the man they were dealing with, something born of a certain logic, and not simply brushing her aside with ‘What the hell do you know?’. That much prevented the angry bud forming in her heart from taking root in this conversation. Singe took a deep breath, and a drink, before conversing again, letting her more impassive professional side return.

“I still think Sliced and interfered-with communications on the outer worlds to confuse the Imperial forces present and being sent could only help in those areas. Consider that part, even if they don’t bombard the places. As for the plan on Mandalore...”

Now, she smiled, as the Droid idea was something she could believe in more than just a ragtag gang of mercenaries or even seasoned Rebel fighters just hoping to make it all the way in and succeed in their mission. Singe liked insurance, the thing that seals the deal, the last stroke of genius in a well-made masterpiece.

“Naturally, there will be some Imperial Droid presence. Being low on personnel will require that. Whether these are full combat models or utility and Astromech, that depends on basically what the team finds. It honestly doesn’t matter, though, because the point is that they will be the attack Drak is expecting. Because he will be forced to pull ships and resources away from Mandalore, it is likely he’ll be worried for his Imperial neck, that someone is doing this in order to do precisely what we plan to do. We give a number of Droids in his base a software upgrade ‘to improve efficiency’, and they will instead receive a shell program which will make them see Drak as an enemy and ditch their self-preservation protocols. This means that they will find and attack him on sight, thinking nothing of the guards that will shoot them all to pieces. Namely, your team.”

It essentially boiled down to turning every mech they could get their hands on into a single-minded assassin with one target in mind, to seek him out to the exclusion of all other things, which would make it fairly easy for the team to ‘rescue’ Drak so that he - and anybody else around - will have their guard down. The moment that guard is down, it’s time for the REAL assassins to make their mark. Everything after that is escape plans, ahoy.

Alina glanced at the notes Kina was writing, muttering something in another language to the girl, before turning back the trio, plucking a nut and eating it. “You have me sold on the droid idea, but I have to ask. What if it goes wrong? What if the droids can’t reach Drak, what if they’re destroyed before they can act? Does your idea have a back up plan? Or will we just be trying to escape at that point?”

This sort of question comes up alot, and it’s reasonable for it to do so. ‘What if it doesn’t work? Then what?’ You can’t assume that your first plan will work. That is why Singe didn’t like the initial plan of just sending in a team and praying to whatever deity suffices that they make it to the target. Singe did not believe in any divine will, and if you tried to tell her about the Force, she’d scoff at you for involving bad comedy in the conversation. To her mind, the Force was a farce, you see. If you tried to sell her on the idea that it was this all-encompassing thing which perpetuates the natural ebb and flow of the cosmos, everything in balance, Singe would take a quick peek at - oh, I dunno - the news today and declare that you were full of it. Anyway, at the moment, she smirked because she regularly had some general idea of a workable backup plan to soothe the tempers of concerned mercenaries. This discussion was just the in-person version of stuff she’d been doing for a while now.

“Well, if you have any friends with a decent explosive, you could also have planted one in the area prior to the affair, so that even if the droids don’t make it, you could walk in on Drak, going ‘Sir, we need to move you to a safe location. There’s a possibility of a bomb having been planted.’, and even if he refuses to budge, you’re still in the room and can act. I assume two potential ruses on top of your general plan of attack will suffice?”

Alena silently stared toward Singe as she spoke, hanging on every word she said. Singe certainly had experience in this sort of thing and it showed. Quite expected from someone that spent many years of their life committing sabotage and domestic terrorism toward a giant entity, but Alena still could not help but be impressed. In another life they could have been great allies or even friends, but in this one she would have to remain a temporary associate.

“Yes, that should be just fine. And even if things go horribly wrong still, i’m decent at thinking on my feet, so i’m sure I can make the team out. Now, onto other matters… The team. Besides your lovely friends here, do you have any contacts or associates you could put in contact with me? There’s still a few missing slots I want to fill and I don’t have many leads on people I want to fill them with.”

On her end of things, Singe found these two interesting, but she wasn’t quite ready to make them friends, either. If they lived through this, she might consider making them repeat contacts for use in her various schemes, though. As for other contacts that they might use for this mission, she answered with a “Sure.”, and began to work with her computer again until she had the holo-display showing a female Zabrak.

“Kiara Tosk, mercenary for hire. Has her own ship and crew of two Kel-Dor and a bunch of merc droids.”

She flipped then to the hairy features of a winter-side Ranth.

“Devero. Never got his last name. Seasoned navigator and heavy weapons expert. Sometimes with a group of his own kind, but he’s mainly an open contractor.”

She switched to a human with refined features, then.

“Jamison Lee. He’s a contract killer, often disguising his work as mediation and negotiation. Usually works in secret, but his subterfuge could be useful.”

Afterwhich, she closed down the holo.

“I could go down the line, but that’s the short-list of reliables who’d fit this sort of action. Goggles, you got anything?”

The Tynnan paused for a second, then added to all that…

”I could try getting in touch with Tao-809. Old customer, a droid that went wacko during a demonstration and killed a Nemoidian board of directors. Came to me to get his brain fixed after he fled. Nice guy. Works freelance now. Apart from that, ya might try a Quarren named Vraug Zennoth, buuut only if ya get ‘im killed.”

“...why?”

”Cause I got evidence that he’s actually the Anzati Manslayer, the one with a heavy bounty on his head. Kills by using his tendrils to do the brain-suck that Anzat do. I’ll split the bounty with anyone who gets ‘im killed or does it direct. Fair?”

Kina was frantically typing a bunch of information in her personal tablet, while Alena silently tapped on the table, appraising the woman’s contacts as they appeared on her holo-device. Many of them seemed like good prospects, but she wasn’t one to simply go for another’s word, especially one she just met. She’d do her own research on them and if she saw good things, she’d contact them. But until then…

“I believe that settles things. Once I obtain more members for the team, I'll contact you once more and we’ll begin creating a concrete plan instead of makeshift theories. I look forward to working with you, Singe.” Alena responds with a smirk, standing up from the table and extending her hand. She glances down at the still sitting Kina and nudges her, causing the grey skinned girl to quickly stand up as well.

There was a slight pause from Singe as she looked at the extended hand, her uncovered eye perhaps seeing something beyond that, such as the association. Trust… To trust someone again… Up until now, she had only risked known qualities, like the common-sensical Tynnan and anybody that he could trust, but this...this was different. This was a risk, a change, uncharted waters...or worse, dangerous waters that she was more than familiar with. The hesitation was noticeable, but...she reached out and shook the other woman’s hand, releasing soon after and letting her get on with things, getting up herself.

“I...need to go look up things on these people that he’s talking about. We’ll talk later...”

What she really meant was that she was feeling a certain anxiety and wished to seal herself up inside the Crimson Fang for a while. She’d taken bold steps of late, but she couldn’t do this all at once without retreating a little. Morgas drank his last drink, belched, and went to go find his speeder bike. The other two would be heading back to the ship on foot.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>







The ship was not...the usual design of any craft, per se. In a way, it had that sort of good craftsmanship that goes into a vessel, yet at the same time, you could be almost certain that it this was not the machine's original form. Something about it was...off. Simula had always known why, as did Tarak, but for anybody who did not know the Force, it was something unnatural that reached even into the minds and souls of the ungifted and gripped them to the core. The Dread Adversary was a large ship, like around the size of a corvette...or bigger. Or smaller? It was this streamlined sort of vessel that had taken on these distressing angles from some of the refits and additions. It was probably bigger, but somehow looked like it had less of a profile due to an optical illusion the design seemed to create. Still, when Simula came to the vessel with the hardware, he felt nothing but the emanations he'd gotten use to aboard the ship and that of his master. When the help came in contact with it, there was an almost pulsating sensation of that very word: Dread.

It is said that the Force can gather in places, usually on planets or in people because something about the life and the atmosphere has caught certain motes of that power within it. The Force penetrates and surrounds all things, and in all people, places, or things in which the Force is seemingly around the most...you get certain Force-related impressions. For instance, the Dread Adversary. A vessel belonging to Darth Diabolus for an unknown amount of time, even to his Apprentices, it had gathered the Force - specifically, the Dark Side - within its walls. And the primary source of that energy embuing the ship? The madness of their Master. The loading process would be staggered somewhat by this, but proddings from Simula would get it forward, and once done he could do whatever he liked with those that helped. The ship would eventually return to a preset course in space, moving automatically from place to place, if Simula did not operate it himself. That was when he contacted his Master. Naturally, he received the face of Mr. Zaras, AKA...Darth Diabolous.

-I understand. It can be most frustrating to deal with people, at times, especially involving those crucial elements in a plan. Well, I won't stop you from indulging yourself if you feel the need. That said, I have heard word from Mr. Tarak. Our plan has a certain requirement of viable transport, quite alot of it by the time everything is in full swing. And since he was in the area of Corellia, he decided that that might be the best launch point, or at least a good place to consider. If you wish to join him, he will be there for a while. I must remain where I am, for the time being. With certain Imperial forces attempting to re-connect and band together, I must make sure the Republic can crush them for good. Will there be anything else, Mr. Simula?-

_{Side Story - The Broken Hand}

---

{Flashback}

A middle-aged woman with raven black hair, tied up into a ponytail, looked down onto the hangar floor from up above on the catwalks. There were mechanics and technicians of all kinds walking back and forth, attending to ships, or some other piece of equipment. One of the people that stood out was a pilot working on his own ship. That wasn’t exactly standard practice, it wasn’t as if she didn’t approve, but It was the small things that changed first. And it troubled her to imagine the bigger changes that would follow.

But she recognized that pilot as part of the squad that saved her, she had botched her escape from Hutt space; overconfidence, and maybe incomplete training. Whatever it was, she had almost died in vain in the vacuum of space, if this ship hadn’t been within range.

She remembered it vividly, the fear of death. If the TIEs had been even a second late, her hull would have blown up into space dust, with all her goals, her aspirations, history, turned into nothingness. The woman lamented her own failings, she was never as skilled as the Emperor’s enforcer, Darth Vader was.

But even he was killed by the same man. A jedi.

The woman furrowed her brows at the thought, and her fists closed together tightly. An oddly dressed girl walked into the hangar soon after, one of the civilians the captain picked up, she remembered.

Civilians, in the hangar? Another change…

She rested her arms on the railing and leaned in and focused her eyes. For a moment, she thought she felt something from that girl. But before she could give it more thought, a headache rolled in, like a thunderstorm, and a familiar voice spoke up. She gripped her head, bracing herself, in anticipation; it was always intense and for five years it was always the same.

Kill Luke Skywalker!

It was an echo, the last command of the late Emperor, sent through the force as soon as he had died. She knew he had died, she felt it, a powerful echo in the force, and in the wake of such an entity disappearing her own connection to the force was severed. Snapped, it had caused her physical pain at the time. She breathed deeply, centering herself, ignoring the odd looks the nearby crewmen sent her, and began to retreat to her room.

Kill Luke Skywalker!


Mara could endure it a little better now that years had passed, and with the meditative techniques taught to her by the Emperor she could even make the pain subside for a time. But it always returned, will always, until she meets him.

Remembering that girl from the hangar, Mara plugged her disk into a private terminal, and began searching through it. She furrowed her brows at the data, another expedition to that planet might be needed, she had only pieces.

It’s a good thing she kept her old access code, and even this face was useful if those codes weren’t.

I’d like to test just how loyal the Grand Imperium still is, along with this ship. Mara mused, and then her eyes darted to the bottom of her screen.

The spy program she planted into the Blackstar’s mainframe had alerted her that they had finally made the jump to Coruscant. Except there was something else, a new fleet with two Super Star Destroyers. The officers on the bridge might be panicking, or at the least, worried; worries which were well founded considering the power of these starships, and yet, Mara felt a little relieved upon seeing a certain name.

[S.S.D. Lazarus]

Perhaps it is time to come out of the shadows.

Her disguise relied on the appearance of a fifty-year-old imperial intelligence agent, a branch of the Empire that nobody wanted to cross even during the peak of its rule. Mara removed her hairband, her pitch-black hair shimmered blue, before ‘dissolving’, revealing long red hair that flowed down just past her shoulders. Looking into a mirror, wrinkles had gathered around her eyes and cheeks.

With several gentle, but accurate pokes, pieces of her ‘face’ fell off. The pieces formed a face ‘shell’ that she continued to delicately remove. Now the time came to address her uniform. Instead of the officer’s uniform she had now, she had pulled out another outfit from the footlocker at the foot of her bed. It was a combination of the old inquisitorious uniform and her old stealth suit, something she used to wear only when addressing the Emperor personally, but it would have to do.

Mara had her old look together, but one final piece left unassembled on her bed, a trusted weapon from when she could feel the force. Several cylindrical metal parts, along with a purple crystal, she would reassemble it as needed with the force. Deciding against it, she swiped everything into a bag, threw it under the bed, and turned her back to it.

She pressed a finger into the wall-mounted intercom and coded it to ping the bridge directly.

“This frequency is reserved for emergencies and authorized personal. Who in blazes is this?” The officer on the other side sounded annoyed, likely having to deal with receiving orders and her own intrusion at the same time.

“The recognition code is Hapspir, Barrini, Corbolan, Triaxis,” Mara said. “The Emperor’s Hand, I would like to speak to your Captain.”

Several days had passed since the attack by the Anzat, Drast'une, an attack which had forced to reveal his true nature to those closest to him. Nyna and Kelsa had been understanding. Though they had difficulty wrapping their heads around what they had learned, they had accepted it for what it was.

Dono on the other hand, was another matter.

The Mandalorian had hardly spoken to Joren since that night. He had felt betrayed by his friend. Although he still thought of Joren as his brother, Joren had lied to him from the day they had met. In a way, Dono understood why Joren had not told him the truth. The Empire had been actively searching out surviving Jedi since the end of the Clone Wars, and revealing his true nature could have possibly put him in danger. Yet, Joren knew that he would never betray his trust, yet decided to deceive him anyhow.

Joren sat alone in the room that Breia had given he and Dono to share while they stayed in her home. He packed the last of his belongings into his bag. Though they would have liked to stay a little longer with their new friend on Tatooine, the attack by Drast'une was a stark reminder of why they came to the desert world in the first place.

They were being hunted.

First by the Imperials on Nar Shaddaa, and then by Drast'une. The fact was, the Anzat had been hunting Joren from before they landed outside of Mos Espa. In fact, he had been after Joren from the moment they got off of the Smuggler's Moon. The Anzat may have been dead, but Joren didn't know if he had been alone, and he and the others had decided that the time to leave was now.

As Joren placed the last of his items into a bag, his hand brushed against something which caused him to wince slightly as he felt the metal object against his hand, He picked up the lightsaber and held it for a moment. Mixed emotions filled him as he stared at the silver hilt of the weapon. On one hand, this weapon had once belonged to his father, and it was all that he had left of him. On the other hand, being forced to use the weapon had caused so much strife between himself and his best friend. He contemplated attaching the weapon to his belt, however, he hesitated for a moment, and then stuffed the saber into his bag.

“So, you are really leaving, eh?” Breia's voice came from behind. He had been so focused on his father's lightsaber that he hadn't heard her enter.

“Yeah, it's time.” Joren told her.

“Too bad, I was just getting used to having you guys here. It's been a nice change.” Breia confessed.

“It has been nice. But we have to keep moving. We can't stay in one place for too long. It's not safe. For us, or for you.” Joren admitted.

“But Chandrila? What are you going to do there?” Breia asked.

“I don't know.-” Joren paused. He hated not having a plan, and for the first time in his life after both his father had died and his mother had vanished while out on a job, he truly did not know what he was doing. Back then, things had fallen into place shortly after he met Dono. They had taken care of each other, and it was together that they had survived on the streets of Nar Shaddaa. Now, he didn't know that this would still be the case. For all he knew, as unlikely as it seemed, the moment they touched down in Hanna City, Dono could for all intents and purposes walk out of his life altogether. “-I suppose find a place to stay, look for work.”

“And keep your heads down?” Breia said with a smirk.

“And keep our heads down.” Joren nodded.

“Yeah, good luck with that.” Breia said letting out a chuckle.

“Right.” Joren laughed.

“Look, you'll be going right into the heart of the New Republic. Do you think that's a good idea? How do you know they aren't just as bad as the Empire?” She asked, suddenly becoming very serious.

“We don't.” Joren admitted. “But the New Republic isn't looking for us. The Empire is.”

“Fair enough.” Breia told him. “But do me a favor, will you?”

“What's that?”

“When you're out there doing whatever it is that you're going to be doing, don't forget about us here. You guys will always have a place here.” She told him.

“Thanks Breia, that means a lot.” He said, feeling a sudden pang of guilt over their abrupt departure.

Joren reached down and picked up his bag, tossing it over his shoulder and turned to leave the room. As he reached the doorway where Breia had been standing, he stopped and met his new friend's gaze. He placed a hand on her shoulder and smiled.

“We will come back to visit, I promise.” Joren said.

“Good.-” She said. -”I'm going to hold you to that.”

“I know you will.” Joren said with a smile as he continued past her and made his way to the Twilight Dreams, which had been sitting outside Breia's home since the day before.

“Joren!-” Breia called after him as he walked up the ram to the Dreams. “-Be careful. And stay out of trouble.” She said.

“I'll do my best.” He said with a laugh as he turned back and boarded the Dreams.

As Joren entered the Dreams, Kelsa was sitting in the lounge area and Nyna and Dono were already in the pilot and co-pilot seats. Joren tried to reach out and get a reading on Dono, but he wasn't able to discern exactly where the Mandalorian's head was at in the moment.

“I half expected you to leave without me.” Joren joked.

“Another minute and we would have.” Dono said evenly. Joren couldn't tell if he was joking or not. He knew that they would have to have a conversation about what had happened soon, but he knew that Dono wasn't ready, and he wasn't entirely sure that he was, either.

“Alright, well, what do you say we get out of here.” Joren said in a jovial tone, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

“Right, let's go. Joren, you may want to take a seat.” Nyna said as she punched the coordinates to Chandrila into the navcomputer and fired up the engines.

The city of Daplona had once held a somewhat idyllic air about her. At least compared to the hustle and bustle of the Core Worlds. It had once been a favorite holiday destination for Imperial officials. And before that, it was highly popular in the Old Republic. A quaint enclave of humanity in the alien savagery of the Outer Rim, it certainly had its appeal among the followers of the New Order.

Jadal Thrax had never cared much about that. But when the Emperor died and the entire edifice he had built crumbled around his still cooling corpse, the Grand Admiral had found himself stuck there. It was supposed to be a short stop to resupply and refit before Fleet Group Thrax continued its campaign of terror through the Outer Rim.

Weeks of inactivity followed as Thrax surrendered himself to despair and hopelessness. The Emperor dead, the Starfleet humiliated once again, years of investment crashing down upon the Forest Moon and so many of his comrades in arms dying for nothing. And as the Rebel Alliance took the offensive and any semblance of central authority disappeared, Thrax had come close to simply giving up entirely

Fortunately, that did not happen. And the Grand Admiral, shamed by his earlier defeatist attitude, threw himself body, mind and soul into the crusade to save the New Order. The city of Daplona was but one of the results of these efforts.

Estates and palaces had been torn down and replaced with military compounds and installations. Entire neighborhoods torn down to make way for expanding factories. Parks, recreation centers and stadiums were seized and repurposed for COMPNOR’s purposes. An active night life of revelry and mindlessness was replaced by blockades and checkpoints. COMPForce an ever present sight as holoscreens that once blared ads and inane media now broadcasted only the messages of the Committee. And in the outskirts, the forests and rolling fields that had existed since the colony’s early days had been transformed. Labor camps and mass graves for the undesirables. Every single gram of raw material, whether it be wood, ore or wheat, that could be harnessed from the land would be. The Committee required nothing less than the total subservience of every single living being under its control and the complete exploitation of every single asset under its control.

And within the bowels of a fortress built above the ruins of a palatial estate that had once belonged to the Pestage clan, sat the main driving force behind this mad, all consuming drive.

The Grand Admiral’s quarters were large, but spartan in nature. Utterly utilitarian they were sorely lacking in the common comforts expected from the Imperial High Command. Save for the expansive and advanced workshop that Jadal Thrax used for the maintenance of his extensive cybernetics and a few scattered cabinets and bookcases, one could mistake the room for one of the communal barracks. Even the walls were also covered in propaganda posters while a large portrait of Palpatine triumphant hung above the doorway.

It was as much of a conscious choice as a personal preference. There were precious few comforts allowed to those under C-CNO’s gaze. And while the leeway increased with one’s rank within the Commitee’s hierarchy, the Grand Admiral had little taste for luxuries.

He sat in a workstation placed in one of the room’s corners. Typing away furiously at the console. The day’s work was finished and in his blessedly few hours of leisure and so Jadal Thrax threw himself entirely upon his latest personal project. A new edition of The Protocols of the Masters of Jedi. One of COMPNOR’s greatest works, penned by the late Ishin Il Raz himself in the early days of the New Order. It brought to light the corruption and treachery inherent within the Jedi Order and the full extent of their millennia-long conspiracy to take over the Galaxy.

Now, with the Galaxy the way it was and the Jedi seemingly making a comeback under the Rebellion’s banner. Jadal Thrax thought it important that he added his voice and ensured the Galaxy was properly warned about the danger posed by these rootless mystics and their vile secretive cult. And not only the Jedi, but Force worshiping cults in general. Vile fanatics one and all, the Galaxy will become a better place once it learns that the oh so high and mighty Force is but another tool, wielded for a greater cause and not for itself.

The table was covered in papers, datapads, pamphlets, reports and books. An unorganized mess that no one but Thrax would be able to work around. The Grand Admiral often got like that when in the throes of passion work.

Thrax was halfway through a fraying, moth eaten book about Gand Force traditions written in Old Neimoidian when the table’s communicator started beeping. Frowning, Thrax shoved a pile of datapads into the ground and took the call.

“Chairman Thrax here.” The robotic voice boomed.

“My Lord.” His secretary’s voice replied, sounding properly contrite. “Director Kazan and Commander Bayzin are here to see you. Th-”

“Send them in!” Thrax barked in irritation. If they were coming during his break, then they had something important to say. Or they better hope so, anyways.

The doors slid open and Director Urst Kazan strode in. White uniform spotless and red cape swishing behind as he greeted Thrax with a smile, waving a datapad above his head.

Commander Bayzin followed behind. Covered head to toe in shining nondescript black armor. Thrax noted with slight amusement she must have had worked on it on the return trip. The Commander snapped a sharp salute and remained standing at attention at a respectable distance while Kazan moved to Thrax.

“Commander here just returned from Yaga Minor. “ He grinned as he approached. “And she brings hopeful tidings.” He handed over the datapad to Thrax with a flourish and moved over behind the Grand Admiral.
Thrax wasted no time in giving a cursory glance to the report. Patrol routes, ship dispositions, garrison estimations and that was just the beginning. The Grand Admiral nodded slightly at the Director.

“Good work, Commander. You may stand at ease.”

“By the looks of it, they haven’t caught up yet to our mobilization.” Kazan said confidently. “But no point in wasting more time. This intel won’t be good for long and everyone else seems too busy with Coruscant right now. Can’t think of a better time to move than now,”

“I want you ready with a proper briefing two days from now. I will gather the relevant officers.” Thrax ordered, turning to look at the other man. ‘But yes, I believe it’s finally time.” With that he turned towards the Commander, still standing silently in the middle of the room. “You may begin you report, Commander.”

She nodded slightly, but as Bayzin was about to speak, Kazan’s own communicator went off. “Apologies.” The Director waved them off as he walked away for some privacy.. “It’s a priority call.”

The room remained silent for a beat. Thrax intently boring holes in the back of his old war comrade and Commander Bayzin silently waiting for her cue to continue.

Another moment and Thrax was about to motion for her to go on with the report before Kazan turned abruptly and all but ran back to Thrax’s side.

“My people are telling me things are happening on Coruscant. You gotta take a look at this, Jad.”

Grand Admiral Jadal Thrax
Lord Imperium Koren Ozzel

Within the bowels of Daplona, in the lower levels of Jadal Thrax’ personal fortress, dug deep into the ground, was a communications room. Customized and built with state of the art equipment. The Grand Admiral often used it to communicate with his underlings, attend briefings when he couldn’t make it in person and transmit the occasional speech. It had never, however, been used to communicate with the Imperial Center or the Core in general. By the time construction had finished, Jadal Thrax had grown too apart from the Coruscant regime to bother with. And though C-CNO never officially declared its opposition to the Grand Imperium, it was an unspoken fact that the COMPNOR-state had long cut its ties with its once overlords at Coruscant.

That is, until now. Garbled, hushed messages from the few remaining loyalists within the capital had brought news that the Grand Admiral simply couldn’t ignore. And with the Rebels crawling ever closer to the heart of the Galaxy, Jadal Thrax finally found himself forced swallow his considerable distaste and distrust towards Ozzel’s regime and tear down the unofficial walls both had erected between themselves.

And so Grand Admiral Jadal Thrax stood atop a special platform, in pristine grey-black COMPNOR uniform as aides and technicians worked in the pits around him to patch him through to his target.

Several days had passed since Admiral Kava and her considerable fleet had appeared in orbit above Coruscant, the sudden intrusion had left a bad taste in Koren Ozzel’s mouth. Kava and her fleet had caught the Imperium completely off guard, which Ozzel himself believed had been intentional. Kava had never been one for subtlety, and she had indeed made her point. Coruscant either was, or was perceived to be vulnerable. Be it from threats from the New Republic, or the fledgeling New Confederacy, or even from rogue elements from within the shattered remnants of the Empire itself. There were numerous factions that wanted what the Imperium had: A foothold in the galactic capital.

The fact was, in the days since Kava’s appearance on Coruscant, there had been talk about the Imperium’s ability to defend the Imperial capital from outside threats. Of course, the talk was just that, talk. Quieted whispers in the dark intended to make the Imperium, and by extension, Ozzel himself appear weak. Despite the fact that such talk was unfounded, and completely untrue, it was something that had to be dealt with.

Ozzel had personally ordered an increased Imperial presence on the streets. He had increased both the volume and frequency of stormtrooper patrols.There had also been an increase in the number of checkpoints throughout the city, and anyone who was so much as suspected of spreading the false narrative that the Imperium was somehow weak was to be placed under immediate arrest and held for questioning.

Ozzel had also ordered that the monitoring of Coruscant’s orbit be expanded to not only Coruscant’s immediate vicinity, but deep into the star system as well. Though such an endeavor was taxing on the Imperium’s resources, it was something that had to be done in order to ensure the safety of the Imperium.

Ozzel sat behind his desk in his office, which had served as the Emperor’s Throne Room before his death, with a glass of vintage wine at hand as he looked over the information that had been uploaded to his datapad regarding his efforts to lock down the planet.

Suddenly, the holoprojector in the office snapped to life, and standing before him was the image of a man that he had not seen in quite some time. The man’s crisp uniform looked sharp even in the dull blue light of the hologram. The man himself had changed quite a bit since he had last seen him, the cybernetic enhancements were a startling sight, and when coupled with the distinct unifor of the Committee for the Continuation of the New Order, was an indicator of the man’s fanaticism.

“Hail Palpatine!” The salute was loud, stiff and mechanical. “Grand Moff Ozzel.” Thrax finished his greeting, face morphing into a slight frown. “I will not insult your intelligence, nor do I have the time to play games with you. I have heard of the ongoing Rebel advance on the Core and the arrival, or maybe return, of a certain strike group, and I come to you with an offer.”

Ozzel got out of his chair and stiffly returned the Grand Admiral’s salute and then stepped closer to the holoprojector. He studied the man’s image as he approached, coming to a stop just before it.

“Greetings to you, Grand Admiral Thrax. It has been a long time my friend. Too long.-” Ozzel said as he returned his arm to his side. Ozzel was somewhat skeptical that the other man’s offer was not a ploy to get a foothold into the Imperium. The fact was that ever since the fall of Palpatine and the rise of the Imperium, relations between the two men had been tepid at best. However, Ozzel was not a fool, and he knew that if word of Kava’s arrival had reached
even the Grand Admiral, that he could not afford to turn away potential alliances. l“-What is it exactly that you are offering?”

“You do your duty, Grand Moff.” Thrax stressed the title. “And I shall do mine. Stop cowering behind the walls of the Palace and waiting for the Rebels to come and kill you in your bedchambers. You have squandered the resources of the Center with your apathetic and hesitant policies.” The Grand Admiral scoffed. “Now fate has delivered unto you a second chance. As we speak, I am about to bring a fiery reconing to all those who defy the Empire in the Northern Rim. But all of it will be for naught if you continue to let the Rebels advance upon the heart of the Empire. Strike back and for once prove you are the man worthy of the duty our beloved Emperor bestowed upon you. Use the might you command to safeguard the New Order.” Thrax paused for a beat. “Do that and I shall extend my hand to you as a brother in arms once I reach the Core. And make no mistake, Lord Ozzel, I will soon arrive. Either to embrace you as an ally or to avenge your death.”

Ozzel stood in a silent fury for a moment as the Grand Admiral’s words registered. It had been a long time since anyone had dared to speak to him in such a manner, and Ozzel wanted nothing more than to see him suffer for his slight. However, Ozzel could not argue with the man’s reasoning. Perhaps he had been foolish to believe that he could win the war through diplomacy. It had become clear that the New Republic was not interested in anything less than the total destruction of the Imperium and everything that it stood for. And he would certainly not allow that to happen. Perhaps it was time for him, and by extension the entire Imperium itself, to mobilize the forces of the Grand Imperium and stamp out the flame of the rebellion once and for all.

“That’s Lord Imperium, Grand Admiral. I will do what must be done. Just be sure that you and your forces are ready.”

“They are more than ready, Grand Moff. They are already on the way.” Thrax replied, smugness seeping into his tone.

Thrax’s quarters aboard the Passion were as spartan as the ones in the bowels of Daplona. Same cell-like aesthetics, bookcases, maintenance bay and the barest workstations. Still, if one were to take a more careful look, a few differences could be noticed.

Some of the propaganda plastered on the wall was older, dating back to the days of the Clone Wars even, and carefully framed. The books, datapads and recordings were messier in their storage. And here and there one could see, almost half hidden beneath piles of datapads or behind posters, holos and actual photographs. Many of them showing a younger Thrax, not as crippled or bitter. Memories of simpler, happier days of the past.

It was, without a doubt, the one place Grand Admiral Jadal Thrax could call home in this Galaxy. But even here, in his most private of heavens, the man did not detach himself from his duties. There was no time for rest, for nostalgia or dreaming of better days. Especially now that the Committee was on the verge of launching its first major offensive operation after their less than stellar performance at the Tion Cluster. The Grand Admiral had framed it as an offer, an enticing favor to the deplorable usurper at Coruscant. But the truth was that Operation Lasat was being planned and prepared for over a year. Thrax’s duty was to destroy the enemies of the New Order. And for a man like Jadal Thrax, duty was its own reward. But he had no qualms about using these same enemies.

Whether Ozzel actually managed to stop the Rebels from taking Coruscant was close to irrelevant, in the end. What really mattered was that the conflict extended as long and bloody as possible. That both sides kept funnelling blood and treasure into the Core. That the Rebels bled themselves white trying to strangle Ozzel’s ridiculous Imperium and that whatever was left of the Grand Moff’s forces learned from the errors of their superiors and became willing to accept a more ideologically sound leadership. For whenever the Committee finally marshalled the forces and resources to save the Core from treason and degeneracy.

Admiral Kava’s return threw a wrench into those plans. The influx of firepower the SubHuman brought with her was deeply concerning. But more concerning than the leverage it gave Ozzel, was the fact that she had awaited so long to return and carry out her duties. The SubHuman had a plan, some scheme dreamed up in that xeno mind of hers. And Thrax doubted her intentions were selfless. Maybe she was killing Ozzel and taking over Imperial Center this very moment

Still, nothing he could do about it right now. Now was the time to address more pressing matters. To continue laying the groundwork for the New Order’s rebirth.

And so he stood before the communicator. In the pristine white of his Grand Admiral uniform, waiting for the call to be picked. This was starting to get just a bit t-

“Hail Palpatine!” The hologram saluted as soon as it connected. “Rear Admiral Nemeton reporting, my Lord!”

“At ease, Rear Admiral. How goes the hunt?”

“They are finally catching up to us.” Came the cheery reply. “Old Wizelin had a Star Destroyer watching the Cezith system. No luck there. And another one arrived before we could finish Bisellia’s medical station.” The Rear Admiral then grinned. “But I doubt that station is staying up much longer with the state we left it in. But we lost the Stawalrt to that Destroyer. Not that big of a loss, an old Venator with a green crew. And since the Banker Boys did us the favor of shooting all escape pods, I dont think they’re recovering any good intel. At least not enough to stop us now. Considering how close it is to Muunilinst, it went as well as it could have. Other than that, we also got lucky and intercepted a rather large medical convoy halfway between Endoraan and Gelda. The Interdictor Cruiser has made things much easier on our end, My Lord.”

“I knew a man of your talents could put it to good use.” Thrax nodded. ”Have you heard anything else from Baron Starran?”

“He assures me that he and his cohorts in the garrison and the academy are ready to move the moment he receives word. Field Team K-92 vouches for their readiness.”

“Then gather your command, Rear Admiral.” Thrax ordered. “Concentrate your operations around Prefsbelt and its surrounding systems. And once Baron Starran reveals his true colors, you shall move to support him and ensure Prefsbelt IV falls before the Yaga Minor garrison can relieve the loyalists.”

“The Yaga Minor garrison remains strong, My Lord.” Nemeton stated. “Even with the redeployments to Muunlist, there remains enough force to dislodge me and my command from Prefsbelt IV. Especially if the coup does not goes as smoothly as planned.”

“Then you will withdraw and preserve your command.” Thrax replied.“Leave Baron Starran to prove his worth and allegiance by tying down Wizelin’s forces in a costly siege and leave Yaga Minor even closer to our grasp.”

“Should I evacuate the Field Team, in that case?” Nemeton asked. Thrax shook his head negative.

“Let them stay and fight too. But there’s no point in wasting you and your command fighting a lost battle in space. See to your tasks, Rear Admiral. The New Order lives.”

“And marches on!” Nemeton completed before disconnecting.

That was one more item to check off the list. Nemeton’s Kath Packs were doing their work. One step closer to bringing the downfall of Zagal Wizelin.

The very name was enough to make Thrax frown. Grand Moff Wizelin, so level headed, so constrained and competent. So eager to pledge himself to the cause. Men like him were a treasure in of themselves and his work had been invaluable in helping the Committee establish its footing in the aftermath of Endor. What led him to desert C-CNO after the failure of the Tion Assault, Thrax would never know. Or rather, understand. The Grand Admiral was well aware that the defeat at Raxus at the Rebellion’s hands had shattered his aura of invincibility and Wizelin wasn’t the only to jump ship when the going got rough. But he was by far the one that caused the most damage, taking that valuable stretch of the Entralla route and the shipyards of Yaga Minor. The most damaging and the only one left. But not for long.

The thought of righteous revenge filled Jadal Thrax with giddy anticipation and he allowed himself a moment to savor it as he sent out the next summons through his communicator.

Wizelin had been far too merciful by half after his betrayal. Hadn’t done nearly enough to purge his ranks of those who still held true to the New Order within their hearts. A mistake that will cost him his life and legacy. His “Northern Command” was a formidable force for its size on paper, but a giant with feet of clay.

The call connected, but rather than the receiver, the hologram showed only static.

“Agent Lacunae, do you read me?”

“Yes, My Lord.” The reply came warbled and distorted. “I was just about to contact you. The traitor’s flagship has just arrived in the system. With three Vic-IIs and a Star Destroyer.”

Thrax smiled. Wizelin had taken the bait. “Is your team in place?”

“Affirmative, My Lord.”

“Then ready yourself. The signal will come soon.”

Nothing more needed to be said.

The Grand Admiral stole a glance at the chrono. And as if on cue, the intercom system warned them that they were due to drop out of hyperspace within 10 minutes. Soon Thrax’s own Zealot Squadron will be arriving at the fleet staging grounds at Jaemus. And from there, Muunilinst. To bring about the end of Wizelin and his clique of traitorous revisionists and xenophiles. No doubt the Muun bankers and their deep pockets were partially responsible for turning Wizelin away from the light of the New Order. Those SubHumans would also get their just desserts. Soon, very soon.

Sweet vengeance, Thrax could barely contain his anticipation.

The crew of the Twilight Dreams had only been on the New Republic capital of Chandrila for several hours, but those hours had been productive. In that time, they had taken in in some of the sights in Hanna City. They had traveled through the city circle and visited the art display that had been installed shortly after the battle of Endor, which was made up of Imperial stormtrooper helmets which had been painted in vibrant colors, star bursts and Rebel Alliance sigils.

They walked along the bustling streets which led into the Senate Plaza taking in the sights as the plotted their next move. It was while they were in the Plaza that they found their first lead on an apartment, which was located on the city's famed Embassy Row. Though Joren and the others had been skeptical that they could afford an apartment at that address, Kelsa assured them that they could, at least for a couple of months, however, they would have to find work somewhere, and fast.

The quartet soon decided to split up in order to get more accomplished. Nyna and Kelsa went to Embassy Row to follow up on the apartment, while Joren and Dono went off to look to see if they could find work of some kind, which eventually led them to the Hannatown Cantina, which was located just a few streets over from the Old Hannatown Market.

When they entered the cantina they were genuinely impressed by the establishment, which was much more like a nightclub than a cantina, with patrons enjoying their drinks and dancing under the bright lights that flashed throughout the building like a laser show. Indeed, the cantina was a far cry from the dingy dives that the pair had grown accustomed to on the Smuggler's Moon, and Dono was even more impressed when he found that they served Ne'tra gal, or black ale, which was a favorite drink among the Mandalorians.

They had taken a seat at the back of the cantina and almost out of habit, Joren began scanning the establishment for potential threats. Fortunately, for what seemed like the first time in a lifetime, there was no sign of trouble. Nobody was hunting them, there were no Kath Hounds after them. There were no Imperials hunting them, and nobody was trying to kill them, at least not yet.



Bekk Ranik made his way through the busy streets of Hanna City with his ID9 Seeker droid hovering just over his left shoulder. At one time, as a member of the Inquisitorius, Ranik had hunted down fugitive Jedi and other Force Sensitives, and either recruited them into the ranks of the Inquisitors, or eliminated them. However, times had changed. Having left the service of the Empire as soon as the Empire had decided that the service of the Inquisitors was no longer required, Ranik had lived in relative anonymity as a smuggler and a pirate.

However, that is all in the past. Bekk Ranik had found a new purpose. After a slight “misunderstanding” with the man who was trying to rebuild the Jedi Order in the wake of the Emperor and Vader's deaths, Ranik had found himself working side by side with the young Jedi, first as a student, then as a friend and fellow Jedi Master.

Now, Ranik had is own mission for Skywalker's Jedi Order, and it was one that he was all too familiar with. Although the purpose of the mission had changed, the mission itself was very much the same-

After all these years, Bekk Ranik was still hunting Jedi.

Suddenly, Ranik's droid began rattling off a series of excited chirps and whistles as its glowing red photoreceptor rotated around, looking in every direction.

“Easy Scrapper, easy. I feel it too.” Bekk told his droid, who rattled off another series of chirps and beeps.

“Oh, I don't know.-” Ranik said with a grin as he pulled his hood up over his long gray hair and looked his droid directly in the photoreceptor. “-But I think it's time we went for a drink.”

As Bekk approached the Hannatown Cantina, he saw many of the same patrons going in and out that he had seen each day in the weeks that he had been in Hanna City. However, as the doors slid open and he and Scrapper made their way inside, he noticed some new faces as well. A pair of men specifically drew his attention, a young man who looked to be in his early to mid twenties, and his Mandalorian companion. As he studied the pair from across the cantina, there was something about the young man, something that seemed familiar, although he had never laid eyes on the man before this moment. He made eye contact with the bartender, who having served Bekk a number of times in the preceeding weeks, already knew his drink of choice.

It was a feeling. The same feeling that Bekk Ranik had felt the first time he had crossed paths with Luke Skywalker.

This young man radiated the Force. Though it was not as overwhelmingly powerful as the Jedi Master's presence, it was still surprisingly strong.

The bartender had finished filling his mug with Corellian Ale and handed it to Bekk, who accepted the mug and took a drink from the beverage as he decided on what would be the best course of action to take. However, Scrapper let off a long series of beeps and whistles before taking off in a direct line toward the young man and his Mandalorian friend.

“Blast it Scrapper!” Bekk cursed aloud as he left the stool at the bar and went after the droid. Bekk watched as the droid hovered over the floor as it made its way to the pair's table, then lowered itself to the height of the table, before slamming into it, jarring the table and knocking over their drinks.

Ranik picked up his pace and made his way to the table. He first noticed the Mandalorian, who looked more than displeased as he wiped the liquor from his armor.

“I'm sorry about that. Hes been a little...off today. Please, let me get you another round.” Bekk said to the men as he smacked Scrapper on the back of the head, who responded with another long string of beeps, which almost sounded as if the droid was cursing.
“Thanks. And don't worry about it, droids can be a bit...quirky at times.” Joren said as Dono continued cleaning the Black Ale from his armor.

“Yeah, they say the best way to deal with that is a memory wipe.” Dono said evenly without looking up. Knowing that Dono was at least half kidding, Joren chuckled at the comment. However, the droid beeped at him, which gave Joren the distinct impression that it wasn't thrilled with the suggestion.

“I'm Bekk Ranik, and this-” He said, motioning to the droid, “-is Scrapper.”

“Joren Kel, and my friend here is Dono Kil'ar.” Joren said as he motioned for the man to join them at the table.

Bekk was surprised by the cordial nature of the pair. Typically, such an incident could lead to hard feelings and more times than not, a bar fight which would more than likely clear the cantina and draw the attention of the local authorities.

Moments later, the serving droid made its way to the table and began to finish cleaning up the mess, before standing back upright to await another order.

“Corellian Ale and a Black Ale.” Bekk said to the droid as it hurried off to get their order.

Several minutes after the serving droid returned to the table with Joren and Dono's new drinks, Bekk finished his Ale and not wanting to wait for the serving droid to return, went back to the bar to order another drink. As Bekk made his way back to the bar, he was still surprised to find this kid who was so strong in the Force, and he knew those he answered to would be very interesting with meeting the young man. As he reached the bar, he reached into one of the compartments on his belt and pulled out a comlink.

“It's Ranik. I think I found one you'll want to meet.” He said, then cut the communication before there could be a reply. He then took his drink and returned to the table where he engaged the two men in conversation. He had asked them about where they came from ad where they were going, and he could tell that while they weren't lying to him, there were things that they were not being completely honest, which he respected in a way.

Eventually, the cantina doors slid open and another figure entered the establishment. Joren immediately took notice of this person, though at first he didn't see the man, but much to his surprise, he felt him. In fact, it took a few moments for him to hone in on the person in the crowded cantina. The person was a relatively unassuming individual in a dark hooded cloak, who, much to Joren's surprise was making his way toward them. The man came to a stop at their table and nodded to the older man.

“Bekk.” He said as he lowered the hood on his cloak, revealing himself to be a young blond man who looked to be just a few years older than Joren himself.

“Hello, my name is Luke Skywalker. I think we have much to discuss.” The man said as he pulled up a chair and joined them at the table.
​

Luke Skywalker. The man's name resonated through Joren's entire being. He had heard tales of the great Jedi Knight, Luke Skywalker, the hero of the Rebellion. He had been the young pilot who had destroyed the first Death Star, the hero who had slain both Darth Vader and the Emperor himself. Truth be told, Joren hadn't really believed the stories. He suspected that this Luke Skywalker had been a fraud, a creation of the Rebellion intended to conjure images of the Jedi of old as a way of bringing legitimacy to its fight against the Empire.

However, now, standing in this man's presence...he knew that it was not true. This man, this...Luke Skywalker was radiating with the Force. Joren had never been in the presence of someone who had ever been as strong in the Force as this man, not even his father's presence could compare to the man who stood before him. No, something told them that all the stories about this man were indeed true.

“The Force is with you.” Luke finally said, breaking the silence at the table. The Jedi master had been surprised to find someone who appeared to be so strong in the Force.

“It is.” Joren admitted after a slight hesitation. He had spent his entire life hiding his true nature from everyone around him, including his best friends, yet for some reason he knew that he could be honest with Skywalker, which was oddly freeing. “I guess you can say it runs in my family.”

“I know what you mean.” Luke says as he averted his eyes to the floor for a split second, before a smile crossed his face. Luke stayed silent for a moment before he returned his gaze to the younger man and his Mandalorian companion.

“So tell me about yourself.” Luke said at last.

“What do you want to know?” Joren asked.

“Well, your name's a good start. Where you came from.”

“There's really not much to tell. My name is Joren Kel, I was born on Nar Shaddaa. After I lost my parents, I had to grow up fast.” Joren began.

It was a story Luke had heard before. But he could tell that the younger man was holding back. And Luke understood. He had only just met him, and the Jedi master hadn't yet earned the younger man's trust. And that was alright, Luke had hoped that there would be plenty of time for that.

“What is it that you do?” Luke asked, trying to redirect the conversation.

“A little of this, a little of that.-” Joren said. “Nothing much n particular.”

“He's a space bum.-” Dono cut into the conversation.”He's a decent hustler. And he's damn good in a fight. He's actually saved my neck more times than I'd like to admit.”

Joren was somewhat surprised by Dono's sudden praise. The Mandalorian had barely said two words to him since that night on Tatooine. He found himself wondering exactly what his friend was up to.

“Yeah, I guess when I'm not out there 'hustling and being an all around scoundrel,' I'm mostly just trying to avoid trouble.-” Joren said to the Jedi. “-So, what's your story?”

Luke looked around the crowded cantina, and though he wanted to be honest with the younger man, he wasn't sure exactly how much he could say without being eavesdropped on by someone in the bar.

“I want to talk to you about that, but not here. Why don't you come with me, I think I might have a job offer for you.” Luke said much to Joren's surprise. “Come with me.” Luke said as he motioned for them to follow him to the exit.

“Why us?” Joren said as they stepped through the doors of the cantina leading into the street. Luke just turned his head to face the younger man and smiled.

“If there's one thing I've learned over the years, it's that scoundrels usually aren't that bad.”

“So, what is this job offer?” Dono asked as they started walking down the street. Luke looked around, surveying the area to make sure that there wasn't anyone listening in. When he was satisfied that no one was, in fact, paying any attention to them, he began to speak.

“Listen, what I'm about to tell you is a...sensitive issue. However, something tells me I can trust you to keep this to yourselves for now.” Luke told them. When the men nodded in agreement, he continued. “Shortly after our victory at Endor, I had set out to rebuild the Jedi Order. I have a small number of students, however, I am looking to identify more potential students. However, with the continuing war against the remnants of the Empire, the New Republic is limited in what they can provide for support of this mission.”

“They've told you that you're on your own.” Dono said with a hint of understanding in his voice. Luke just nodded.

“I need a ship. Transportation to different worlds as I look for students. Preferably a ship that can hold its own when things get rough, yet provide enough room for training. This would be a long term mission. If you're willing to do this, the New Republic will pay you handsomely. Ten Thousand credits up front, plus expenses to get you started. The final price is negotiable, of course.” Luke paused for a moment, almost as if internally debating his next words. “And I'd be willing to train you as well.”

Joren just stands in silence for a moment after listening to Luke's proposal unsure of what to say. This was the very thing that his father had been preparing him for since he was a very young child. Since before he could walk, Joren's father had instilled in him the values of a Jedi. All the “games” that Van Kel had played with his son, which unknown to the small boy had been Jedi training exercises, to more formal training as he got older. Joren knew that this is exactly what his father would have wanted for him. Yet, Joren had seen what his father's devotion to the Jedi Order had done to him. It had left him a broken man, desperate to reignite a flame that had been extinguished in the universe or years.

After his father's death, Joren had decided to live his own life. He had no desire to follow in his father's footsteps. He didn't want his father's obsession to become his own. However, that was before he found out that there were more out there like him. That he wouldn't be doing this alone. The prospect of being with others who understood the things that he felt, the things that he experienced was very tempting.

As was the pay for the job. Ten thousand credits up front was a lot of money, and would go a long way in helping he and his friends establish their new lives.

“He's in.” Dono said suddenly, before Joren could answer for himself. Joren turned to his friend, his eyes wide in astonishment. “Vod'ika, we've known each other for a long time. You were born for this.”

Joren split his gave between his friend and the Jedi, and then nodded in agreement.

“I'm in.” Joren said finally.

“We're in.” Dono corrected as Joren turned to look at his friend and smiled in relief.

“I think we have a ship that's perfect for this job. And I already have a crew that I trust.” Joren said to Luke.

The older Jedi smiled at the pair and clapped Joren on the shoulder.

“That's good, Joren. You're about to take your first steps into a larger world.” Luke said, recalling the very words that Ben had once said to him when he had began his own journey, in what had seemed like a lifetime ago.

<The following is Part 2 of my collab with [@Heater]. The last one. I think. I don't know anymore, this collab has eaten my life.>

“Well,” Malg said, drawing one pistol and his rifle again (and feeling rather silly for putting them away), “I think we’re near the Command Center, since I know the engineers live closer to it so they can repair critical systems more easily. Of course, the Command Center is also probably where we’ll find the most resistance.” He held his engineer’s keycard in his other hand. “The Command Center is likely where the camp commandant is directing the guards from. We both know they’re probably radioing for a relief force, but if we can get there, we can give the all clear to the Imperial city nearby and call off the reinforcements, which gives us time to breathe and get everyone out of here.”

Malg walked over to the blast door, saying, “Unfortunately, the Imps aren’t stupid, and they’ve probably entrenched their position with every heavy weapon they have. The prisoners have numbers, but the Imps have autoturrets, grenades, and...well, probably stuff I haven’t seen yet.”

He turned back to Zena. “I’d imagine the prisoners want their revenge on the camp officers, so they’re probably going to push for the Command Center too. The problem is, the prisoners have numbers, but they’re only beings. Their morale will eventually break if enough of them die.”

He looked at the two organics. “You were able to get them to rebel in the first place. You’re going to be the best at keeping them from breaking. And between the three of us, we might be able to punch a hole in the defenses and end this battle.”

“You don’t have a layout of the building? We should try to find one if we can.” The New Republic commando stated as she checked her blaster rifle quickly before they headed into what was likely to be another furious firefight.

“If we move quick enough we can hopefully call off the reinforcements. But yes, they’ll likely have a perimeter around the command center. It will be hell to breach through it but we will. We just have to hope the chaos outside aids us. Absolute worst case scenario I can radio Republic forces above and request air support.” Zena added, hoping she wouldn’t have to do the latter. This operation was supposed to be more on the secretive side, she didn’t want to potentially disrupt the main assault from the bulk of the New Republic forces.

“Let's move, any prisoners we see we’ll do our best to assist.” The sergeant stated assertively with a nod then stepped through the door nearest to them. As she peaked around the doorway she noted a lack of stormtroopers on the end of the hallway. Though she heard a near deafening amount of blaster fire reverberate through the halls. “Move slowly, call out any plastics you see.”

As the trio shifted out of the room on their way through the building the sounds of combat drew nearer. Zena posted herself against a wall, then peeked around it swiftly. Another hallway split to the side where a small group of prisoners were desperately trying to push down. They were dropping like flies as the encamped stormtroopers on the other end had set up several metal crates as makeshift cover. As she turned around the corner one of the prisoners, a Gran in prisoner rags stared at them, then spoke.

“Its suicide. We can't break through. Thank Mother Doellin you’re here.” The alien spoke, his words filled with nervousness. He tightly held a discarded Imperial E-11 blaster in his six fingered hands as he saluted. “Private Uleen Bieduss of you’re a lifesaver for breaking us out.”

“Sergeant Vale of the Vorn Tiger squad. The job isn’t done yet, stop throwing bodies down that hallway. We’ll try to lead the charge through.” The rugged Aldeerani commando stated, glad to have ran into a former Republic soldier. Who knew how long the poor Gran had been there. “We could probably blow right through it, any suggestions Malg?”

Malg pointed to the Stormtrooper utility belt he was wearing like a bandolier, and the white cylinder in front of his left shoulder. “All Stormtrooper utility belts come with a single thermal detonator. Thanks to my shields and armor, I’m the best here at taking blaster shots, so I’m gonna be the droid to throw it. If they somehow survive, it’ll probably blow up their cover in the process. Then, before the smoke clears, I want at least five of us to shoot down the hallway at full-auto. I’ve used E-11s before, and they’re best at close-quarters fights inside confined spaces, like this hallway here. If we fire them on minimum settings, they’ve got 500 shots each. 100 on max. We won’t give them time to think. By the time the smoke is gone, they should all be dead. And if not, our job will be a lot easier.”

He rifled through the pouches of the utility belt. “One, two, three--huh. Four spare packs each. Yeah, we won’t run out of ammo if we can find more of these. Anyway,” he said, putting it back on, “In a confined space like this, we can’t miss. And every one of those plastics is going to be carrying another detonator. We can repeat this trick as many times as we want as long as one grenade survives each time.”

He looked to the others. “Thoughts, everyone?”

“Sounds perfect. The only way we’re going to be able to get through their defenses is by blowing right through them. Using their own grenades is a smart move as well.” Zena replied with a smirk and a nod as she took in the droid’s entire plan. Next to her Dakkar seemed to be in agreement as well, a mischievous smile on Yuzzem’s face at the thought of blowing up even more Imperials.

“My men and I will be right behind you three, all of us are itching to show those plastic boys what we can do.” Private Bieduss spoke with passion. A half dozen prisoners turned insurgents sat at the ready, each clinging onto E-11s. The light of the Rebellion never died within the prisoners, even as the Imperium mistreated and beat them in the labor camps. They were all craving some proper revenge.

“On your move Malg, once those detonators go off we will lay into those plastics.” Sergeant Vale added as she glanced at the Republic aligned droid. She was very glad to have stumbled upon him.

“Alright,” Malg said, steeling himself. “Here goes nothing.” He ripped the cylinder off of the belt, moved over to the corner, peeked over (getting a blaster bolt to his shield for his trouble), and rolled the stormtrooper thermal detonator into the corridor with significant force given the awkward angle. Then, slipping his blaster pistol around the corner, he fired one heavy shot at the baradium-core code-key detonator.

Stormtrooper detonators were different from normal detonators. They were designed not to go off unless a very specific code was entered by the trooper carrying them, and the buttons were unlabeled to make it even harder for an enemy to guess the code and use it against the Imperials.

Unfortunately, some crazy Imperial weapons designer put goddamn thermite in the casing. And to his credit, this was a rather insane trend throughout the thermal detonator’s history. Thermal detonators were either made of thermite or axinite. Thermite was, in essence, a black sand-like material traditionally made of metal powder and iron oxide. In other words, metal and rust. It didn’t matter what metal you used, the result would be the same. A devastatingly-powerful incendiary mixture that, when exposed to a spark, burned at half the temperature of a yellow star, at about 2500 degrees centigrade. And, as iron oxide had oxygen in it, thermite effectively had its own oxygen supply, meaning that it would burn in any conceivable environment as long as there was enough heat to keep the combustion reaction going, even underwater. It could even burn in a hard vacuum if it was warm enough, which was probably the thought process behind using it in grenades that would be brought onto spaceships.

Unfortunately, this was the baradium-core code-key thermal detonator’s fatal flaw. Thermal detonators worked much like hydrogen bombs, putting a core of radioactive material in intense enough conditions to induce a fusion reaction and cause a small-scale thermonuclear explosion. However, they did this by bathing a baradium core in energy. A blaster bolt could partially emulate that effect, and when coupled with the thermite in the casing igniting after being shot with a bolt of extremely-hot plasma contained in a magnetic field (the magnetic field itself probably doing a number on the internal electronics)...well, the results weren’t pretty.

And “not pretty” was an apt way of describing what happened when Malg shot the white cylinder directly in its center of mass. As the stormtroopers behind the metal crates began to realize what happened and ran for it, a sharp-eyed observer could see the white core being pierced for a fraction of an instant as red-hot flames began to spread across its surface, the white coating of plastoid over the thermite-infused casing bubbling and melting under the heat. And then, a microsecond later, a blinding white flash lit up the room and a deafening explosion was heard as the baradium core inside went to fusion, blowing the metal crates outwards behind it and killing a few stormtroopers from the impact alone. The corridor walls buckled under the force of what was effectively a tiny hydrogen bomb, and dust and metal blew everywhere as everything nearby was coated in droplets of burning thermite and molten plastoid hot enough to char bone as the hallway fizzled and smoke billowed out under the withering heat and explosive force of a dangerous fusion reaction. Malg’s shields withered and died under the sheer heat of the explosion, but thankfully, the miniscule quantities of baradium used in a thermal detonator didn’t tend to leave dangerous levels of fallout due to some accident of baradium’s atomic structure, and the droid’s tough armor helped protect the unarmored prisoners behind him. The explosion had also blown a sizable hole in the ceiling, resulting in a convenient outlet for the smoke, but it still wouldn’t be healthy to go through that without protection of some kind.

“Damn Malg, that was beautiful.” Sergeant Vale stated in a tone which conveyed extreme delight at the result of the explosive ‘experiment’. She had her helmet on snuggly but still felt her ears ring for a few moments as she peaked around the corner of the hall at the aftermath. “Thank you! I’ll be happy to do a repeat performance if I find another!” the droid replied.

The armored New Republic commando led the charge down the smoking corridor after the retreating stormtroopers. She raised her A280 upwards as she darted forward then unleashed multiple blaster bolts down the mutilated corridor towards the fleeing plastics. Dakkar followed behind her, having ripped some cloth from a deceased prisoner to use as a makeshift face cover. His fiercely thick fur would be able to withstand the quick trek through the brutalized hallway. The rebellious prisoners would be the last ones to follow down the hallway, several of them holding their hands over their ears for a few more moments as the corridor stopped shaking. Thankfully, Malg could simply shut off the microphones in his ears, and the smoke wouldn’t be much of a problem for a being that didn’t breathe. His medical computer, however, calculated the likelihood of the breathing ones in the room getting asthma or miner’s lung, and it wouldn’t be healthy to keep doing that.

“Keep up the pressure! Give them no quarter.” Zena hollered as she stepped carefully over some of the fallen stormtroopers unlucky enough to be caught directly in the explosion. She squeezed the trigger of her blaster a few more times, doing her damndest to allow her makeshift team to get enough of the way down the hallway.

Malg had drawn his two blasters and his E-11, and the combination of two pistols and a full-auto rifle meant that he could throw an absurd quantity of bolts at anything that moved. His E-11 blew three holes in a trooper’s chestplate as his left pistol shot out another’s helmet lens and his right pistol mangled yet another trooper’s arm, subsequent shots from a nearby prisoner putting him down. Of course, most of the shots simply missed, but in a tight corridor and this many guns, he didn’t even really need to aim, and filling the air with that many bolts had a use all the same: It made for a great distraction!

As the team moved down the corridor, blasters raised, they came to a very, very heavy blast door, with a second door on the right side of the hallway.

“We’ll have to breach it--” was all Malg was able to say before the door on the right burst open, and the biggest, most terrifying battle droid he’d ever seen charged straight for him, quickly body-slamming him into the wall and applying a pile driver’s worth of pressure to his chest. He heard a cracking sound, and his processor was filled with damage reports that he wasn’t even in the state of mind to analyze. The heavy wall behind him actually sported a new spiderweb crack as the dark-gray, twelve-foot-tall, stormtrooper-headed droid reared its fist back to punch him right in the face, rattling his photoreceptors and temporarily blinding him as his “eyes” shut down for a brief moment.

When he could see again, from the Imperial droid’s right wrist now extended a sinister energy blade that went straight for his head, but Malg grabbed its forearm with his labor droid arm and held it back, putting all of his modified mechanical muscle behind it. However, it was clear that even the sheer brute force of a labor droid’s arm wouldn’t be enough to hold back the battle droid for long, and the shock had made Malg drop all of the blasters he was carrying. In response, Malg tried to gouge out the battle droid’s left photoreceptor with one of his claw-like medical droid hands, but it responded by snapping the spindly 2-1B arm like a twig. Malg screamed, a horrible noise that sounded like an astromech droid being crushed to death by an industrial press.

To make matters worse, Stormtrooper boots could be heard clomping down the halls. A relief squad was rapidly moving in from the rear in a pincer tactic. They’d be here quickly, and while a squad of Stormtroopers wasn’t an issue on their own, their positioning could give the Imperials a decisive advantage.

“What the fuck?” The Rebel commando had hollered as she watched the menacing, powerful droid slam into Malg and begin to pummel him. She and her team had been fortunate enough to not encounter this type of wicked Imperial creation before but they had heard tales of their ferocity. They were damn Jedi killers.

“Light that thing up Dak, get it the hell off Malg!” Zena hollered as she raised her own blaster, then unleashed a volley of blaster bolts into the machine’s side.

She aimed carefully to avoid hitting their new droid friend. Private Dakkar did the same, as he crouched then fired his heavy blaster rifle at the Imperial mechanical monstrosity’s legs. Their objective was less to kill the imposing machine but rather to get it off the New Republic droid. From the other side of the hallway she heard the distinct sound of Stormtrooper boots clanking down the hallway towards their position. Their main objective at the moment was to bring down the massive droid but they couldn’t let the other Imperial forces flank them.

“Bieduss, you and your men have to cover our asses. Take care of those plastics, private!” She barked as she stepped backwards, to position herself out of the line of fire from the approaching trooper while Dakkar did the same. Their combined shots slammed into the enemy droid with furiosity.

“Ay ay sergeant! Let’s get those bastards!” The Gran replied with passion as he called out to his six man team of escaped prisoners, armed with stolen Imperial arms. She had faith in them, having fought through the true brutality of the Grand Imperium.

The Purge Trooper battle droid was an early result of the Dark Trooper program. It was heavily-armored, and could resist lightsaber slashes. It would take more than a barrage of blaster bolts to bring it offline.

But that didn’t mean it was invincible.

The barrage of blaster bolts slammed home, the sizzling plasma causing pockmarked burns on its leg joints. Not enough to pierce the thick armor plating, but enough for the extreme ambient heat to play merry hell with its leg motors.

It stumbled back from Malg, and was forced to its knees as the affected motors temporarily overheated, muttering a curse in Binary that Malg understood all too well.

Wincing in pain as his mangled arm flopped uselessly at his side, Malg grabbed one of the pistols he’d dropped off of the ground and leapt onto the Purge Trooper’s back, wrapping his stronger lower arms around its neck.

Droids didn’t need to breathe, but that didn’t mean that going for the neck was useless, a fact Malg knew from his time in the wastes. He wrenched the Purge Trooper’s neck as far to the right as he could, the Imperial machine shouting in a synthesized voice as it reached for its neck to try and pry off Malg’s hands.

But Malg had leverage, and the Purge Trooper knew this. As its legs recovered, it tried to back up into the wall to slam Malg into it again. The impact caused yet more damage to his torso, but Malg held firm. The Purge Droid tried to activate its energy blade, but Malg shoved his blaster pistol right into its temple and pulled the trigger three times, stunning it.

Then, with a sickening noise that would make any droid who heard it understandably wince, Malg snapped the Purge Droid’s neck servos, causing its head to hang limply. It was still active--all Malg had done was damage a non-essential part--but now even getting its bearings would be difficult as the droid could only look at the floor.

It staggered drunkenly as Malg then used his more claw-like hands to go for its photoreceptors, just as he’d done previously. His modified claws, however, couldn’t quite pierce the high-end materials used in the construction of the droid’s photoreceptors.

While their droid friend wrestled with the hulking Purge Trooper the two New Republic commandos watched intently with their blasters leveled. They had to cease their firing on it so they didn’t hit Malg by accident. Behind them the prisoner team handled the backup stormtrooper squad sent after all of them. Each of the freed prisoners were former New Republic personnel, they could fight damn well even clad in dirty prison jumpsuits and armed with ‘seized’ Imperial blasters.

As Zena watched the two machines wrestle before them she silently cursed, partly worried about the brave New Republic droid as he clawed at the Imperial war machine. As Malg snapped at the Purge Trooper’s neck the two soldiers found their opening. Sargeant Vale narrowed her eyes then squeezed the trigger as bolts sprayed off to slam into the shoulder mounted rocket rocket launcher. Meanwhile Private Dakkar unleashed a volley at the enemy’s legs, hoping to help knock it down a step.

“Keep at it, Dak! Once its down for the count his fight becomes way easier!” Zena exclaimed as she continued to fire off bolts at the droid’s shoulder. The well trained commando’s marksmanship skills came in very handy for this very moment.

“Don’t let them through!” Private Bieduss hollered on the other side of the hall as the prisoner force’s battle intensified. He tucked behind a crate in the hallway right after dropping a stormtrooper, adrenaline surging through the Gran’s veins. The prisoner team was doing well, having entrenched themselves to provide cover for the others.

It was time to end this. As Malg’s vision stuttered and his systems let out alert after alert, he knew he couldn’t keep this up much longer, But he was a hardware modification genius, and every system had its weaknesses. When he’d shattered its neck servos, he’d pushed a piece of armor plating in the back of its neck out of alignment, leaving a fatal chink in the armor. It was all he could do to hold on, though, as the Purge Droid tried everything it could to shake him off...but Dak had damaged its legs, sending it to its knees again. This gave Malg the opening he needed. He jammed his B-1 arm into the thing’s neck and started ripping at its vulnerable wiring and circuitry. The Purge Droid began to spasm and jerk, yelling electronic gibberish as Malg quickly began causing severe damage, and it culminated in the medical droid ripping out the main power cable in its spine, instantly bringing it offline. Malg held up the sparking cable like a macabre trophy as the purge droid, with a final shudder, collapsed to the ground, an inert hunk of metal.

The prisoner squad, by this point, mopped up the remaining stormtroopers, save one who, with a rather improper declaration of “HOLY SHIT!” got to his knees, put his hands on his head, and quickly stammered out a surrender after seeing what just happened to the base’s resident superweapon.

Malg got off the disabled purge droid’s back, and shot it in the head one more time for good measure, before he himself almost collapsed, barely supporting himself by grabbing the wall. “Fucking...hell…” he said, “...That bastard did a number on me. I think I’ll live--I don’t bleed like you guys do--but I need to be the one to call off whatever reinforcements they send.”

He pressed a hand to his chin, as if confirming what his systems check already told him. “Thankfully, my vocabulator’s intact. I think I can mimic the commander’s voice.…” He looked to the blast door leading to the command center, still sealed. “We’ll need to do something about this. Got any explosives?”

“Of course I do.” The lead commando stated with a wide smirk. The impressive display from the droid had earned him Zena’s respect. She wasn’t sure how they would’ve gotten by that mechanical monstrosity if not for Malg.

She shifted towards the door, then reached into a metal case on her back contained several explosives, triggerable by a remote detonator. As the ragtag prisoner squad across the hallway finished off the marauding stormtroopers she diligently set up to blow the door right off its hinges. There was no telling how many more troopers would be awaiting them behind this blast door but she did not expect too many, it seemed most of the plastic boys had been sent out to quell the prison riots. After one quick final check another smile onto the Alderaani’s face as she stepped back.

“Here we go!” Sergeant Vale added clearly, her gloved thumb hovering over the switch as she gave one more look towards her two companions.

Having back far enough away she set off the explosives. A resounding boom echoed through the corridor as the blast door ignited in a mix of flame and smoke. As the aftermath of the detonation cleared the team could see a small, surprised group of Imperials reacting to defend the command center. The blast door sat several meters away from the doorway on the floor, pulverized as she had knocked it right off the hinges.

“Let's finish this!” Zena exclaimed as she charged into the room, blaster raised towards the small group of Imperials. Three officers clenching blaster pistols while two more stormtroopers scrambled to get behind cover. It was child’s play compared to the Purge Droid.

Malg half-stumbled into the room, once again loaded for bear, with his rifle and his remaining pistol (what with only having three working arms left) tracking two separate targets.

Malg may have been horribly injured--hIs prized diagnostics computer (the most important component of a 2-1B for doing its job) might never be the same again without replacing it with a brand-new one (all those annotations in its memory banks, potentially down the drain!), and the shield generator was out of commission until he could seriously get to work on it for a week or two, not to mention his broken arm--but he could still track a moving target just as well as he could originally. There was a reason he survived on Tatooine for so long, and it was because his reflexes were ungodly fast with the modifications he sported.

In a smooth motion, he aimed for the unarmored Imperial officer on the left with his pistol, blowing a sizzling hole in his chest and sending him to the floor with a single well-placed shot. The E-11 aimed for the Stormtrooper on the same side, a flurry of blaster bolts piercing his helmet before he could get to cover. Malg had done this as he was moving, crouching behind a computer console, but not before a lucky shot from the camp’s commandant hit his leg. Thankfully, the durasteel held, but durasteel wasn’t Beskar iron, and it was a miracle he didn’t suffer serious damage.

As the damaged droid attacked so did both the New Republic commandos, with rapid precision Zena raised her blaster rifle at one of the other stormtroopers then squeezed the trigger. A trio of shots rang out and slammed center mass into the soldier. Private Dakkar steadied his own heavy blaster rifle as he aimed at one of the officers. He grunted and unleashed a volley of laser bolts towards the Imperial. A moment later the officer fell to the floor with a bang, a wound burn through his collar and chest.

As Zena turned towards the last standing Imperial in the room, another officer, drastically unfit to be taking on a trio of trained soldiers. The squad leader’s finger hovered over the trigger, about to end the man’s life before he dropped his blaster pistol and his hands shot upwards in surrender.

“Stop, please!” The officer nearly begged, fear of death evident on his clean shaven facial features. He was younger than the others, likely a newly promoted officer stuck overseeing this prison camp. Another sentence desperately spewed from his mouth. ”I give up, let me live and I’ll tell you anything.”

The sergeant paused for a second, then shook her helmet head. As the officer was about to mouth another plea for mercy the sound of her blaster firing filled the room. A second later the final Imperial hit the floor with a fierce hole burnt into his chest.

“That’s all of them.” She then stated as she tucked her rifle back into the holster on her back. She approached the center of the room where several consoles were located, in front of them was a large glass window which gave them a glimpse of the entire prison camp. Fires and destruction filled it.

“I think the breakout was a success,” She said to the other two in the room, a bit of relief in her words even though she knew this was not the last step in their operations today. She then turned her helmeted gaze towards her damaged droid companion. “Can you get anything from the command console, Malg? Information? Plans?”

Malg was a bit disquieted at what Zena did, seeing as she’d technically committed perfidy, but, on the other hand, well, even that junior officer had been complicit in his torment. The Imperials certainly didn’t care about any rules of war, so it could be argued that the Republic didn’t need to either. He’d have preferred it if Zena had been the bigger woman, but there was nothing he could do about that now. Either way, not the time to bring it up.

Without a word, he produced a scomp link from his chest, thanking whatever god was listening that it survived the fight with the purge droid, and plugged into the computer console.
“Slicing Isn't my specialty, but let’s see what I can find,” Malg said as he got to work. Thankfully, he did have a few slicing programs stored in his memory banks at all times, and an Imperial prison camp wasn’t as important as, say, an Imperial data center. The cybersecurity here wasn’t as strict as it could have been. It took a while, but the military-grade slicing programs helpfully provided by the Republic eventually broke into the commandant’s account. He now had complete control over everything in the base. He almost felt like a god among droids. But first, business.

“Well, they sent out a distress signal about fifteen minutes ago and troops are en route to the camp as we speak. Let me fix that real quick.” Malg knew the camp commandant’s voice patterns well. After all, the commandant loved to ‘inspect’ the mine and make sure that ‘discipline’ was applied ‘appropriately.’ For the prisoners, that usually involved a brutal punishment, summary execution, or worse. He’d heard the bastard’s voice at least once a day for the last few weeks. Mimicking him would be easy.

Malg opened a comm channel to the commander of the incoming relief force, saying in the commandant’s voice, “This is Commandant Kren Ryloth. Fortunately, we were able to contain the uprising and have successfully maintained control of the mining facility. We have eliminated the Republic team responsible for the insurrection and quelled the remaining prisoners. We won’t be needing the relief force, Commander. We have it from here.”

“Are you sure?” came the reply of the Imperial on the other end. “You had a complement of Republic droids, didn’t you? If I had taken control of an Imperial camp partially staffed with captured droids, I’d have one of them mimic your voice and call off the relief force.”

“I--” was all Malg managed to say before the commander cut him off.

“Kren, you know full well how much it costs to mobilize a force to save your incompetent hide,” the Imp snapped. “These gunships don’t fuel themselves. Why should I not at least verify that your camp is safe before I call off all of the troops and assets I dragged out of the base to fix your mistake, and let the general know you almost failed to contain a bunch of unarmed Republic prisoners and then tried to waste Imperial resources by preventing me from making sure I’m not talking to a goddamn droid!”

“First of all, they’re all memory-wiped and have had their masters changed. They serve us now--”

“YOU HAD A JUNK DROID WITH YOU, AND YOU EXPLICITLY TOLD THE HIGHER-UPS THAT YOU REFUSED TO MEMORY-WIPE IT BECAUSE OF HOW UNSTABLE YOU FEARED IT WOULD BECOME!”

“--and the junk droid was destroyed in the fighting, you idiot! He was taken out by the purge droid I kept in case of a situation like this. Did you really think I didn’t have an insurance policy?”

“Oh. You had a secret purge droid. Of course. So why were you so desperate on the comms?”

“...It’s one droid,” Malg said, irritation creeping into ‘Kren’s’ voice. “It might have been powerful, but there’s only so much an old battle droid can do against an entire camp of angry prisoners armed with our own weaponry. I wasn’t sure it would work. The team responsible got all the way up to my command center blast door before the purge droid managed to kill them all, including the junk droid, who had followed them, probably to do what you’re so worried about! From there, the rest of the prisoners lost their will to fight, what with the entrails of their special-forces stooges decorating the corridor walls. So will you stop this conspiracist madness and just GO HOME ALREADY?!”

“Fine,” the voice on the other end said bitterly. “Just one little question and I’ll turn around and fly back to base, ‘Kren.’ What’s. My. Name?”

Malg thanked his lucky stars he’d already sliced the console and wasn’t relying on simply talking into the radio without any information. It took him only a fraction of a second to search the comm logs to see who Kren had been talking to previously, which clearly the commander hadn’t accounted for.

“Phato Kyralis,” Malg said.

“Very well,” Phato said, clearly mortified. “I guess you’re Kren after all. I’ll return to base. Goodbye.”

The line went dead.

Malg whistled. “Well, that was stressful. Glad that’s over. In any event, they’re bracing for a New Republic assault on the planet. This camp is pretty unimportant in the grand scheme of things, and they already sent over their reinforcements in preparation. Not like it did them any good,” Malg said with a sardonic snicker. “However, they were concerned about the prisoners kept on the planet being turned into additional manpower for the invasion, so...oh. Oh Maker.” All the mirth he had earlier was gone.

“They were going to execute the Republic prisoner population of the entire planet and scrap the Republic droids to boot. However, the executions were to happen only after the Imperials had shipped out this month’s supply quota, since killing all the prisoners would cripple the planet’s ability to get it into Remnant hands. That gives us about...28 hours of leeway. We need to get everyone off of this rock yesterday.”

“That's not much time. But luckily the Republic fleet isn’t far, I just hope the uprising didn’t trash all of the transports. We could stow as many prisoners in those vehicles then drive away from the camp and call down evac for everyone.” The lead New Republic commando stated as she glanced out the window behind them, the exchanges of blaster fire having stopped outside on the grounds.

“That’s not the best thing that they were predicting an assault from the Republic. Means they’ve likely enforced the city and their territory even more than before,” Zena added with a headshake, though she was not that concerned considering the sheer strength of the New Republic attacking force that’d rain hell down on the Imperium here. “But there is still the other camp we have to liberate. Its likely the Imperium has put extra eyes on that one, despite your convincing chat with that Imperial. Also when we blow this labor camp to the sky.”

“Sarge? Are you there?” She heard a familiar voice slip through her in helmet communicator, it was the second in command of her commando team, Corporal Keeg.

“This is Sergeant Vale, I’m glad as can be to hear your voice. How are things on your end?” She replied as Dakkar looked at her with a long blink.

“We’re all accounted for, Vebb took a shot to the arm but he patched himself up. We cleared out every plastic in the camp and planted the bombs. Took some prisoner casualties sadly, but we still freed a lot of them.” The Duros replied firmly.

“I’m glad we could save as many of them as we could. Are those Imperial transports still in working shape?” She posed the question, hoping for an affirmative answer else they’d have to get creative.

“I believe so, might have taken a few stray shots but didn’t go through the plating. Why, do you we need them?”

“Oh yes we do. Get every freed prisoner you can on them, put some on the transport we took in too if you have to. Then once we’re far enough away I’m going to light this place up. Gonna call in evac for every man we rescued and continue our operation on.” The veteran soldier said, fire sparking in her brown shaded eyes as she thought of watching this camp go up in flames.

Malg had been silent. Many droids lacked the facial motors necessary to emote the same way organics did...but the gloom was evident just from looking at the way his shoulders slumped.

“...We...won’t be helping the other camp,” Malg said. He sounded like he was struggling to even say those words. “The other prison camp already tried an uprising, and failed. They--they were slaughtered. 1,538 Republic soldiers and 296 civilian personnel whose only crime was helping to keep our lights on, all dead.”

“Those damn Imperials! We weren’t quick enough.” The special operations commando exclaimed, her voice filled with rage. A gloved fist smashed into the large glass window in the front of the command center. While it did not shatter through the impact left a sizeable mark on the glass.

She then leaned forward against the window, inhaling deeply as she rapidly processed all of those lost souls. Failure was a rarity for the highly talented Alderaani, when it happened it hit her like the crushing jaws of a Krayt Dragon. The soldier figured the other camp must have gotten word of the uprising conducted here, it was enough to light the flame in their hearts and rise up. Even without the aid of a team of Republic insurgents. They were all brave souls, she’d make sure those Imperials responsible paid when the New Republic wrestled control of this world back.

He unplugged the scomp link, letting it retract into his chest. “I got everything I could off of their servers. I’ve unlocked all the doors, opened all the cells, and disabled all the security systems. We can move freely, and so can the prisoners.”

He turned around, still limping, but walking with a renewed purpose. “I’ve taken the records of everyone who was imprisoned here, everyone who died here, and where people who used to be here were transferred to. I know what they went through, what they were killed for, and their last whereabouts. I can’t bring them back, but with these records, I can at least give some closure to their loved ones and help find those who got moved somewhere else. Now let’s get everyone the hell out of here and burn this godforsaken camp to the ground.”

“Thank you Malg, at least we can give their families something. They’ll know they went out as true heroes of the New Republic. We did what we could here and at least we freed some of them. It's gonna be beautiful watching this place go down in flames.” Zena replied as she walked towards her new droid friend, then patted him on the back thankfully.

“Keeg, get everyone onto those transports. We’re out of here. The missions changed, something happened at the other Imperial camp. We’re going to get out of here, burn this camp down and contact the fleet.” The squad leader exclaimed through her commlink before the trio made their way out of the command center. Bodies of slain Imperials filled the prisoner camp, accompanied by some New Republic personnel who fought fiercely in the uprising. With the fate of the other camp Sargent Vale didn’t feel like this operation was a victory.

Admiral Kava sat alone in the darkness of her personal quarters. Her eyes were closed as she focused on her breathing, she had long since cleared her mind of any thoughts that may distract her from the taskat hand. She had long heard stories of how the Jedi had used meditation to clear their minds and regain focus, and though when she was younger, she thought the idea was silly, she eventually learned that the technique was indeed useful.

She found that after clearing her mind, and focusing solely on the task at hand, she was able to visualize that task in great detail. She was able to determine the optimal placement of both ships and troops, and as she developed her skills, she learned that she could anticipate what her opponent may do as well. It had become a useful tool over time, and it had proven to be more reliable than ego, or sheer luck, which unfortunately, some of her contemporaries had become far too reliant on in recent years.

“zzztk Mistress Kava, the Lord Imperius is waiting for you on the secure com channel.” Beeone's voice crackled through her personal com. Kava's crimson eyes opened in slits as she released a deep breath in frustration. She hated being interrupted while she was planning an operation, particularly when that interruption came from a bureaucrat who served more as a figurehead and with any luck, would soon outlive his usefulness.

“Very well. I'll take it here.” She said as she got to her feet and turned on the lights within the room. She then went over to a table in the center of the room and activated the holo projector. As the holo projector turned on, a blue-white image of Koren Ozzel filled the spacein front of her.

“Lord Imperius.” Kava greeted her superior.

“Admiral.-” The image of Ozzel regarded her with a slight bow of his head. “Do you have an update on our little problem?”

“Indeed, Lord Imperius. Thrax will no longer threaten our alliance. He and his forces have been returned to the scrap heap from which they came. Kava assured Ozzel.

“Very good.” Ozzel said, his face betraying his surprise if only for an instant. “However, unexpected.”

“Lord Ozzel, perhaps it is time to begin preparations for a more...significant operation.” Kava said, ignoring Ozzel's comment.

“Ah yes, of course. With the threat of Thrax eliminated, I suppose now is as good a time as ready. You may begin preparations to retake the Kuat shipyards. Keep me informed of your progress.”

“As you wish, Lord Ozzel.” Kava said as the image of the Lord Imperius vanished from before her.

Kava stood alone in her quarters for a moment, a smile began to cross her face as she reached into her pocket and pulled out her com.

“Captain Bryce, get me the Blackstar, tell Jade that now is the time.”

ISD-Blackstar (Pilot's Briefing Room)

The sounds of idle chatter and gear rustling about filled the air of the pilot's briefing room. Normally, the room was spacious and empty, providing a giant echo chamber to anyone with free time. However, after dozens of squads started filling in the seats, the room started to feel cramped instead.

"I can't believe it, we're finally taking the fight there. You guys think I'll see one?" Liam asked absentmindedly as his finger flicked back and forth across his datapad repeatedly. Each time his finger danced across the holographic display switched the projection between two starfighters. The Delta-7 Aethersprite, or the Eta-2 Actis, both were jedi interceptors.

"You'd have better luck with a museum." A voice from behind him replied, a slender arm came down over his head, and forcefully closed down his datapad. "Which happens to not be what we're attacking!" The voice playfully continued to tease at him.

Liam turned around. "Come on, Maran, what'd you go and do that for? I can dream, can't I?"

Maran smiled at him. "Dreaming about ships, at your age? We're both twenty something, we've got better things to dream about, you'know?" Maran said, shifting his eyes lecherously toward some of the female pilots in the room. A couple of whom, sent some form of expletive's, or violent gesture, Maran's way.

"Maybe some dreams should just stay dreams." Liam taunted back.

"Enough, you knuckleheads!" A hand came crashing down on both their heads, drawing out a grunt from both of the pilots. "The ship's captain is coming all the way down from the bridge, so shut it already!" Jarael shouted in their ears.

"Ach, come on, don't be such a scuff eater." Maran rubbed the top of their head gently. "Every other squad is doing the same."

"Wait, the captain is coming down?" Liam turned his head towards Jarael, still nursing his own wound, and sent a puzzled look her way. "Doesn't the tactical officer usually brief us?"

"Yeah." Blanche added from behind Liam, startling the man, but said nothing else.

The squad captain, Ben, took this moment to chime in. "It's rare, but there are times when the ship's captain comes down to talk to the troops. So to speak. During the height of the rebellion a few of my old captains came to speak with me a-"

"No offense, sir, but can we skip the story and get to the point?" Maran interjected, and received a swift elbow from Jarael. "Ach.."

Ben eyed him, then the rest of the squad, and gave a short cough. "Yes, well, in short. Expect to hear some bad news. You all heard how we're going on a major offensive to retake Kuat? Expect to hear something like 'no reinforcements' or 'focus on this sector'."

"Not the first time we've been given hard orders." Blanche said flatly, staring off into the ceiling.

"Yes, but I don't like following them." Maran retorted, and Liam nodded on his own.

A loud whistling filled the room, and suddenly everyone shut up. Seats turned, clothes rustled one last time as every pilot in the room filled into their proper seats with the efficiency of a machine.

The Blackstar's tactical officer walked in, a clean-shaven man with blonde hair, and an aura that seemed to cut off any last bit of unnecessary chatter. Behind him, the ship's captain, a rare sighting among the pilots. Several eyes darted to her, then back to the tactical officer. The both of them stepped behind a podium, with a giant wall-embeded screen behind it.

"Pilots, as soon as final checks complete with the fleet, and Admiral Kava's ship, we will undergo an operation to retake the Kuat Driveyards for the Empire."

Several approving nods and mumbles escaped various pilots, but they continued to stay silent, and the officer continued. Details such as their Blackstar's position among the assault fleet popped up onto the viewscreen, their plan of attack, details behind the actual Kuat shipyards, and one last detail.

'Limited mothership support'.

Of course, that was expected, as the rebels begin pulling in reinforcements to face their fleet, the fighting between capital ships would get heavier. Fighter screens and support would have to change appropriately during the fight. With the normal briefing over, and all important questions answered, the tactical officer saluted, then dismissed everyone in the room.

After staying quiet during the briefing, the captain finally spoke up. "Everyone, except Obisidan squad." The entirety of Obsidian looked at each other peripherally, something weird was about to happen, they had never been singled out like this before. A few of the pilots leaving sent pitying glances, or pats on the back, before they left. Even the tactical officer gave them one last salute, before quietly exiting the room.

Ben quickly took a position closer to the podium. "Ma'am, Obsidian, reporting."

The captain motioned for him to stop. "At ease." She sighed after rubber her forehead. "I really pity your squad, Captain. I have no idea why the Emperor's Hand picked you out, but you have additional orders. I thought it would be best if I briefed you personally." She tapped at the podium controls, and new details painted the screen. Obsidian locked eyes with each other after viewing the screen, instead of deployment plans or ship specs, it was a personnel dossier.

"Mara Jade has ordered you to exact an engineer, key member of rebel R&D. From what she's told me, he's a former Imperial, a traitor. Our spies say he's at the driveyard to personally offload advanced technical documents, and then will be departing with a medical frigate. If we time it right, you will disable this frigate, preventing his escape, and then board the station."

"Will all due respect, sir, we're pilots. You can't expect us to lead a boarding action." Ben suddenly objected, his brows were furrowed, and his voice sounded like he was on the verge of shouting.

The Captain smiled thinly, it seemed like she was sympathetic, maybe she didn't appreciate her own soldiers being randomly appropriated. "Most rebel attention should be focused on the capital ships, but to account for station security, an additional lower fleet will be providing support in the form of stormtrooper transports, which will also invade the station. Their random positioning should help screen you, along with serving as a decoy. They should finish deployment once you disable the frigate." The screen switched to display the 'lower' fleet, composed of five Arquitens.

"Don't expect much from them, I doubt you'll see them unless you look for them. They have orders to rejoin the battle once they offload their troops." The Captain tapped at the podium, switching the screen back, and then continued. "One of you will fly a TIE Reaper, you will need the extra cargo space to extract the engineer, along with a small squad of stormtroopers to help you fight your way inside. Any questions?"

Ben immediately spoke up. "Sir, why are we doing this in the middle of a battle, wouldn't disabling the frigate be enough?"

"The Emperor's Hand, is worried our engineer may be killed during the fighting."

"Sir, he's just one man, a single engineer? Why employ such an awkward plan for a single person?" Jarael followed up, her own face showing concern.

"I asked that too, apparently he's that important. As it was explained to me, if he continues his work for the rebels, he could advance their technology by decades." The squad stayed quiet for a few more moments, giving each other looks. "If that's all, I want you on standby, I imagine you have preparations to make."

"Sir!" Obsidian stood at attention, returned a salute, and briskly left the room. Halfway to their locker rooms, with the Captain far behind them, they began to talk amongst themselves.

"Hey, Ben, have you ever led a ground assault?" Liam asked nervously, Ben put a reassuring hand on Liam's shoulder. "We won't be leading, remember, let those stormtroopers march off first, we'll follow them out."

"There's one last question then, who's gonna fly the Reaper?"

"Liam, you just volunteered." Ben turned to him with a smug smile. "I'll fly co-pilot with you." He gave a loud chuckle.

Just harking, great.

.

Kuat

The shadow of the Imperial Super Star Destroyer Lazarus stretched across a section of the Kuat shipyards as the massive ship came between the space station and the planet's sun, sending the drive yard's defenses into a flurry of activity. For years, the shipyards had served the Empire, churning out some of the greatest war machines in the Imperial arsenal. However, following the death of the Emperor and the destruction of the Second Death Star, the New Republic “liberated” the planet and the ship yards that encircled the world. Shortly afterward, the shipyards began producing weapons for the fledgling government.

One such weapon was an experimental capital ship, similar in design to the famed MC80 Star Cruiser, only much larger in scale. The ship was rumored to be larger than a super star destroyer, and was armed with weapons that had the potential do decimate an enemy fleet on its own. Though those rumors were unsubstantiated, Admiral Kava and the Grand Imperium could not risk allowing the terrorists within the Rebel Alliance to acquire such a formidable weapon. Kava's goals were simple, first she would destroy the Rebel's new toy, and then her fleet would secure the shipyards for the Grand Imperium. Taking an asset such as these shipyards would give the Imperium a vital tool in rebuilding its arsenal while potentially delivering a crippling blow to the Rebels.

From her position at the view port on the command deck, Admiral Kava watched as her forces struck key defense positions on the deck of the shipyards. Once the defense were inoperable, a contingent of walkers would be deployed on the surface to lend aid to the ground forces that would be sent in to secure the facilities. Of course, she was well aware that the Rebels would surely mount a counter attack, however, if her forces did their job, any resistance from the Rebels would be too little, too late. Thus far, Kava was pleased with the efficiency in which her forces struck, and was confident that the Rebels' new ship would be rubble, and the shipyards would be once again in the service of the Empire in no time.

As Kava scanned the besieged ship yard, she spotted the target, the Super Mon Calamari capitol ship. A thin smile stretched across her face as she studied the vessel. She had to admit, it was an impressive ship, however, it mattered little, as she would see to it, that the craft would soon be little more than scrap.

“There.-” Kava said as she pointed at the ship. “Send a detachment of bombers to that ship. I want it destroyed.” Kava ordered. Moments later, a half a dozen TIE Bombers veered off from the rest of the fighters that were laying waste to the shipyards' defenses and made their way toward the New Republic's newest capitol ship.



The Twilight Dreams

“Good, reach out from within. Let the Force guide you.-” Luke's voice called to Joren.”-Feel your surroundings.”

Without opening his eyes, Joren did as his master instructed. He felt a hydrospanner as it floated past his head, Reaching out around him, he also felt the training remote that Luke had practically tortured him with for days after Joren had agreed to join Luke on his crusade. Though the remote hadn't been powered on in weeks, the memories of the stinging blasts that the pesky machine had almost seemed to have enjoyed inflicting upon him were fresh in his memories, and if Joren were being honest, he hoped to never have to come face to face with it again. He could also feel other things, spare parts, a blaster, a chance cube, all floating around him as he remained there, deep in meditation.

He had gone through this exercise numerous times since Skywalker had boarded the Dreams with the promise of finishing the training that his father had begun all those years ago. However, this time something felt...different. He felt different. He felt less grounded, almost weightless, as if the Force itself had taken a hold of him and set him adrift in the cargo hold of The Dreams.

“zzzzzkt Luke Old Buddy!” a voice cut through the silence of the cargo hold, interrupting Joren's peaceful meditation. Joren opened his eyes and found that he had indeed been floating several meters off of the floor of the cargo hold, however, with his concentration broken, he could not maintain the levitation, and landed hard, in a heap on the floor. An instant later, there was a thud and a rush of pain as the training remote bounced off his head, and rolled along the floor.

“Ouch.” Joren said as he rubbed his head, unsure as to what had caused the interruption.

He looked to Luke, who was already halfway across the cargo hold to a remote communications array along the far wall. Luke was smiling, and Joren could feel that it was not because of his sudden fall. It was something else, something far more personal. And for an instant, and only an instant Joren could feel a sense of longing from his master, almost as if Luke wished he were somewhere else.

“Lando, it's good to see you.” Luke said to the handsome dark skinned man who's image he could see on the holodisplay.

“Likewise. Unfortunately this isn't a social call.” Lando replied.

“What's Wrong?” Luke said, his demeanor suddenly taking a darker tone.

“The Empire.-” Lando said. “-Or at least one of their factions are attacking the Kuat Shipyards. It's a full invasion force, we really could use all the help we can get.”

“We'll go there now, but surely someone's closer. Han? Wedge?” Luke said.

“Wedge is already here with the rest of Rogue Squadron, Han's halfway across the galaxy near Bakura. He'd never make it in time.” Lando told him.

“We'll be there.” Luke said, trying to reassure his friend.

“Hurry, I don't know how long we can hold out.” Lando said before killing the transmission.

Luke stood there for a moment as he processed what Lando had just told him. If the Imperials retook Kuat, they'd be one step closer to retaking the entire galaxy. He took a deep breath and reactivated the com, calling out to the cockpit of the Dreams.

“Nyna, did you catch all that?” He ask.

“Yeah, we got it Luke.” Nyna replied.

“Set a course for Kuat, we can't lose that shipyard.” Luke said with resolve.

“Coordinates already set, you might want to get strapped in, we're about to make the jump.”

Location: ISD-Blackstar (Hangar)

The giant ship’s sprawling hangar was lined with rows of starfighters,
transport craft, and other support machinery. They made up most of the Blackstar’s main arsenal, and all of them were on standby. Various officers and technicians briskly moved about the hangar as the fleet neared its destination; the Kuat drive yards. A former Imperial shipyard now claimed by the New Republic.

"All hands, man your battle stations! Repeat. All hands, man your battle stations!" A voice announced on the intercom, followed by an alarm. The crew didn't have far to go, everyone knew the mission and where already on standby, having only needed to finish their final preparations. For Liam and his team, they didn't have far to go. Pilot operations where all within the same area, close to the hangars.

It was a strange feeling to ignore his TIE fighter, leaving it stored within the ship's fighter racks, and it was even stranger to be climbing into the seat of a TIE Reaper. It was much more spacious, and held far more technical controls than he was used to. But he was a trained pilot of the Empire, he remembered what to do, and what he will need to do.

His squad commander, Ben Janson aka Obsidian-1, climbed up next to him, taking the co-pilots' seat. "How about it, kid, ready for some fleet action?"

"Heh. I'd rather do it from the outside." Liam threw a smirk back.

"Maybe next time. Engine check." Ben gestured to the console in-between them. It was a quick process, but necessary. As they went down the list, Ben took the time to explain the quirks of the Reapers' engines, how sometimes it dragged further than a TIEs', along with its obvious differences.

There was a moment of quiet after they finished, and Ben began to speak up again.

"Ah, reminds me of my first fighter action. Going out to sink a pirate outpost." Ben said, wistfully.

"Boss, I doubt this is going to be anywhere near as easy. Just keep an eye on on those subsystems."

"Leave it to me!"

A moment later, their escort troopers began to pile into the back, the loud rustling of their gear following them in as they settled in. They had their own chatter much like the pilots, but they suddenly shut it down as another pair of footsteps made it up the ramp, and a chilly atmosphere crawled up Liam's spine.

He turned to look, and it was someone he was far from glad to see. In fact, it was a sight only Maran, the squad womanizer, would enjoy. But even then he might have been a little more reserved.

"Emperor's Hand, you're joining us?" Ben asked calmly. Liam glanced quickly at him in admiration. The calm he exuded instead of the rage, confusion, and fear Liam himself felt was nowhere to be seen.

'That's the boss for you.' He briefly thought.

"Yes, this is a critical mission, and it's a risky one. I won't ask you to undertake a risk if I wouldn't."

Liam glanced once again at his commander, their eyes met, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. She just needed to keep an eye on them, failure would not be tolerated.

The intercom chirped up from one of the side consoles. "Exiting Hyperspace in five cycles."

"We're going to sortie soon, please take a seat, Hand." Ben offered, and as soon as she left they closed the soundproof cabin door. Leaving the stormtroopers to suffer her presence alone.

"This mission is getting better all the time..." Liam muttered.



Liam felt the ship leave hyperspace, a sense one could only develop in space as a pilot, the slight jerking of the spaceframe as the engines cut off. As soon as it did the hangar doors opened giving them a view of the rest of the fleet. Despite how uncomfortable he was with the objectives, he had to admit, he was in awe. It wasn't often he got to fight with a fleet. Dozens of Star Destroyers flew around the Blackstar, along with several other frigate and light cruiser wings flying alongside their capital class allies.

But the time to admire ships was over, fighter control signaled green, he jerked the engine lever to full, and blasted them into space. Burning a clear ion trail behind them as dozens, hundreds of starfighters made the same exit, taking up formations behind their own squad leaders. The impression of a full fleet of capital ships and their support wings no doubt struck a chord of fear within the stations workers, but seeing their complete compliment of strike craft would multiply that. Station defenses were slow to react, but when they did, there were simply too many to handle.

Scattered about space were the rebels own patrol fighters, and the light turbolaser cannons, of which were currently engaging the main fleet. It really looked like they were caught by surprise. But Liam's eyes darted towards a large figure, still held in one of the dry docks. It held the shape and the coloration of a mon-cala ship, but even from the other side of the facility, he could tell it was no normal ship.

"Hey boss, could you run the targeting computer over that, what are we looking at?" Liam asked, but his commander was already tapping away at the screen in-between them. The silhouette of the new ship was overlaid dozens, hundreds, of ships in a matter of seconds, and they all came back negative.

"Kid, that's a new ship!" Ben shouted in disbelief, still tapping away, trying to match it to something.

Liam slid a hand over the engine lever to halfway, putting the Reaper at half speed, giving him more agility as Kuats' laser defenses began to look his way. Dozens of red bolts washed past, and under his view as he took the ship into a spiraling dive. His hand slid over the lever again, blasting them into another direction, discouraging those same turrets from staying on him. He took a glance at the computer again.

"Look at the size of that thing! It's bigger than our Super Destroyers!" Liam said, half panicked, half surprised.

"Guess that's why we're here." Ben said. Then the computer switched ships on them, to a Nebulon-B. "Let the fleet tackle it, we're going to hit this. Obsidian, I'm sending target data, form up on us."

"About time!"

"Understood!"

"Forming up!"

The rest of the squad replied eagerly, their IFFs coming into range behind them on sensors.

A Bar on Taris.

Things did not go well.

The plan was thorough enough, let's be clear here, but even the best-laid of operations can't account for everything. The fact is that it stopped before it even started, because unfortunately Moff Drak's paranoia spiked, and he thought he'd get attacked by - and we're not even kidding here - an overgrown Zabrak who badly-damaged an Imperial Star Destroyer...alone. Honestly, that sort of thing would've given Singe the willies, but for the fact that it was little more than a rumor. Maybe Drak knew something more, like maybe certain mutterings about the infamous Lord Vader, who was now dead. Nobody could tell, but the point was that he'd ordered his Star Destroyers on patrol, TIE Fighters all over the place. It was impossible to get into the Mandalore System without being stopped, checked, and possibly blasted out of the stars. A normal team couldn't do this, right now. Or rather, not just ONE team. Singe called in one of her contacts. She hadn't contacted 'im lately, so she figured he could use the money. Thing is, what she got...was not what she expected at all.



People heard a rhythmic sort of pounding from far off, coming closer. What took a little too long to register soon became clear that these were footsteps, and the figure was through the door as the realization dawned. Many eyes stared at what came through the door, there. It was tall, heavyset, and armored. Black-and-orange from head to toe, with a large pack on its back, as well as a big gun. The figure was armed to the teeth, which at least that much wasn't a surprise to Singe, but she was expecting a big ole' shaggy Ranth, not a heavy Mandalorian! She sat there at her table alone, with Morgas and Goggles essentially watching from other parts of the room, and not one of them knew what the hell was going on! At least...not until the figure spoke.

"Meeting in person? That's new."

"So's the armor...Devero?"

The armored figure sat across from her. The build seemed right for a Ranth, but last she checked...he didn't have anything like this. It was only after someone came to ask if he had a drink to order - "Something hard. If it's got blood in it, make it a double." - that Singe actually calmed down. That was Devero Ruffalough, alright. Violent pyromaniac with ordinance for days...and apparently now a new set of armor? The Sephi took a swig of her own drink, processing this. She sent silent messages for the others to stand down. They didn't have anything that could penetrate that armor, anyway...

"It's been a while. Apparently, long enough for this to occur. How did you get that way, anyway? It's clearly built for you, so I doubt it's stolen."

"That's kind of a long story, aaand I don't know if I'm allowed to talk about it. Short version: The Mandos saw some promise. I made the cut. They didn't think I would, but my natural affinity for all things violence and destruction kinda' helped."

"Alright...this actually helps me alot. I'm putting together a pair of teams to assassinate the dictator of Mandalore, which I was originally hired to do with a much more subtle plan that involved infiltration, trickery, brainwashed droids, explosives, and a swift exit."

"What went wrong?"

"A bigger, badder blockade."

Devero just went "Heh." as he got his drink, then activated the drinking tube in his helmet for it. There was a pause here...as Singe was still taking this all in. A Mando! Him, of all people! Yeah, his skill at blowing things up WAS impressive, and the Mandalorians appeared to favor something a bit more low-key than him, so what did he DO to make them recognize him?

"I take it there's a new plan that involves something a bit more direct?"

"A bit more. I was going to have you show up as new hired muscle, maybe even fool Drak into believing there was a section of your kind still loyal enough to the Empire to serve. I don't think that part's gonna work right now. Don't you...never take that off again?"

"That you or anyone else is aware of. Is this going to be a problem? Because I'd think this would make the troopers evacuate their polycarbide armor."

"I agree, which is why I'll make sure the people I assign to you are all well-armed, while the distraction team is mainly meant to get the blockade's attention enough for you to slip through."

"A good plan, but don't worry about the team. I've got one."

He hit the side of his helmet and said "Come on in. Job's waiting for us.". A few seconds later, the bar received a second heart attack...as three more Mandos walked in, took chairs, and sat at the table. One of them was part green, made to accommodate a Rodian, with some impressive dual blaster pistols and a couple weapons on his ba- Was that a Disruptor? Oh geez... Another was skinnier and wore a light armor that had blue on it. Seemed mesh under metal plate. He had only a sidearm. The last one was a definitey black and gray that... For some reason, she was getting an Imperial vibe from him, especially with that convertible rifle on his back. That looked Imperial issue, which bothered Singe alot. Shit and sons of bitches... She was staring down four goddamn Mandos, all of them with some sort of serpent marking on their armor.

"This isn't what I expected."

"We know! Isn't it great?"

"You four want to be the assault team, to push through Mandalore, no subtlety at all."

"There might be some subtlety. Maybe."

"With those suits?! I mean, I guess the parts that are Beskar helps, but if it were that easy to take down the government, someone would've done it, by now. It takes more than a four-man team."

"There will be a plan, once we touch down, don't worry. We've attacked Imperial-controlled areas before, and done alot worse, even before we joined."

"What's the big deal? I once killed an invincible man."

"No one is invulnerable."

"We know. He's dead. But he was covered head-to-toe in Beskar skin, and he was one of the Empire's Inquisitors, so imagine how tough that was. Trust me, we know our stuff."

Given the artillery that she'd seen on their person here, Singe decided to just let that go. Maybe they had a point. Maybe it was just about fucking time for the Mandos to take back Mandalore. She could make a bigger distraction team, send these guys in. If they were that confident, and the others let them be in a clan, then...what the hell, right?

"Okay, so here is the revised plan... And don't worry. If you guys pull this off, you'll be sitting pretty on credits for a good while."



He was just getting the Cleaving Tusk refitted with a new droid brain - just a simple one to make life easier - when he received the call. It was from Diabolus. He must've had new orders. Looking around and silencing the nearest person, he opened up communications.

-Ah, Mr. Tarak... You are on...Corellia, yes?-

"Yes. I was taking the time to secure the suppliers and lean on some of the manufacturers, so they send that which we need to the locations we desire. The Dread Adversary will be busy for quite some time..."

-Good, good... But now, I would like you to take your attention away from there...and head towards Kuat. It should take you no time at all. The Imperials are trying to take it, and since they would not embrace your presence, they can burn, and we will make sure the frail Republic keeps their foothold. But as you do, REMIND the denizens of that world that they are to be open to ALL business, to continue to supply us, no matter what.-

"Very well. I'll leave immediately."

-Do that, and...do keep your senses about you. I feel the Force on the move. There may be a Jedi...-

"Not...for long."

Not if he tries to interfere... Tarak snarled as he jumped into his Sith Fighter, and launched! To Kuat, he woud go, and arrive very soon. After all, it was only a stone's throw away, as far as hyperspace was concerned...

Kuat Drive Yards - Space Battle

Despite the ship's inertial dampeners keeping them from jostling around as the pilots no doubt were sending the craft every which way, a certain stormtrooper couldn't help but feel as if things were going badly. In fact, he felt like he could feel the ship wildly scrambling side to side. This trooper undid his safety harness and rose to his feet, personally intent on seeing just how their trip was going.

Despite not being a pilot herself, Mara had enough experience to know better, and stayed seated. But she did make the effort to grab his arm.

Suddenly the engines cut, and the retro maneuvering thrusters cut in, reverberating loudly throughout the frame. The hull made a strained groaning from the sudden redirection of inertia, of which had proved to be too much for the internal dampeners.

Mara hung onto her harness with one hand; the other she used to keep the trooper from flying across the cabin.

The intercom suddenly came alive. "Hang on, Hang on!" A man's voice shouted as several muted alarms bleeped in the background.


Kuat Drive Yards - Space Battle
5 Minutes earlier

Liam pulled on the yoke to get the Reaper climbing and banked hard to his side to evade an oncoming wave of laser fire. The bolts of hyper-accelerated energy brushed against the underside of their belly as he tried to put them in a spin. The energy of their shields flared as it clashed against the lasers.

"Getting real hot up here.." Liam muttered as his eyes danced across his window and computer displays. The Kuat Drive Yards had formerly been an important Imperial shipyard and had been assigned appropriate defenses. Defenses which were to be used against the rebels were now aimed at him and his comrades, and just numbers alone were not going to stop them forever.

"You're doing good, keep it up." Ben said from the co-pilots seat. The sooner they got this little jaunt over with the sooner he could be back in an interceptor. The hospital ship was lightly defended, only a few laser cannons designed for asteroid defense were mounted on its ventral and dorsal sides.

Meaning it was easy prey for a squad of pilots. Liam thumbed off the safety on his missiles and synced them to his squad. A blossoming trail of ions left them as a sphere of missiles launched simultaneously from all five of their ships. A fiery explosion burst out as the exhaust from the engines quickly died out, sending out bursts of dying energy and bits of nearly vaporized durasteel shooting out.

"It's disabled, that's one." Blanche added in a cold tone.

"Guys, I spotted Rogue Squadron!~" Maran suddenly shouted over the squad comm, setting off Liams' nerves, putting him into a small sweat. "Sector C-24, looks like business is good for them."

Liam entertained the information and sent an eye over his computer display. Yeah, the Rogues had plenty of other TIE pilots to duke it out with. But his squad bombing a hospital ship had caught their attention, and they had all performed a sudden turn-around.

Rogue squadron was coming for them.

"Boss, lets hit'em!" Maran happily suggested, and before their squad captain could even reply Liam angrily spoke up.

"Not on a Bantha's backside we are! Me and the cap are flying a support ship, if they get serious about nailing me I'm dead weight!"

"Ahh, he's right, and he's got that weirdo agent in his back." Jarael said. "Let's try and not get our teammates dusted."

"Whether you like it or not, Rogue is going to be on us soon." Maran said flatly, loosing the flippant attitude from before. "O-7, think you can make it?"

Liam's eyes went wide, Rogue-1 was going to be on him in just a few more moments. The dip he did to avoid a missile only shortened that time. Ben flipped a switch to his side, deploying some kind of flare, intercepting a proton torpedo from a certain X-Wing, as Liam spiraled upwards. Their original mission of invading Kuat via Hangar 5, the same one the hospital ship was docked in front of, was looking harder all the time.

"The Hangar's defenses are still up, we can try to lose Rogue in the chaos with other pilots." Liam offered. "Maybe get some help. Everybody wants a kill after all."

"Could take a while. Rogue has a better kill ratio than all of us." Blanche stated a fact they all would have done without hearing.

"We still have most of our missiles, if we really try we could blow our way in. We'd still take a lot of fire going in though." Jarael offered over the crackling of her radio.

"Your call O-1." Liam said as the ship shook from incoming fire. Missile alarms were constantly blaring now, despite Liam shuffling the ship around as best he could.

"We're going in." Ben said, making a forward motion with his arm. Their ships all dipped, climbed, or blasted to their respective sides, creating a wide flower-like pattern with their Ion trails.

Liam banked again and opened fire, holding down his trigger as hard as he could, as if the pressure would make his lasers hit harder. The rest of his squad did the same, and a river of fire streamed toward the anti-air towers. Liam hit the firing stud for his missiles, sending a volley towards the shield generator on the side of the hangar doors.

The defense towers answered their sudden offensive with their own wave of lasers, sudden movements and quick strafing kept most of the squad more or less safe. Though nobody made it without a scratch. Missile alarms continued to blare, but with their objective being so obvious, not even the defense flares would be enough.

Liam realized, he wasn't going to make it if he didn't change his vector. He sent the engines into as hard a burn as he could, then cut them and smashed his hand on the maneuvering thrusters. The Reaper suddenly spun 180 degrees. Inertia continued to carry the ship on its old vector, but now the bow was pointed 'backwards'. Ben quickly caught on and started adjusting the navigation display. He split the screen into fore and aft.

Using his finger he clamped the trigger down and rapidly hammered his thumb on the missile stub, quickly leaving a volley of laser and an unpredictable wave of dumb fired missiles in their 'wake'. The X-Wings following them weaved and waved off to avoid his attacks. Liam guessed they probably left without a scratch. The wave of missiles and lasers already on their way crashed violently into his ship, creating a corona of fire and destruction in front of the cockpit window that made it impossible to see through, forcing him to rely on his computers cameras.

The towers continued to barrage them, the ship rocked heavily as Liam attempted steer appropriately, adjusting their approach, with the hangar opening swiftly growing larger on his screen.

"Hang on, Hang on!" He shouted into his radio. They entered the hangar at what felt like lightspeed. The force of their entrance shot a concussive wave throughout the hangar, blowing over technicians as they desperately attempted to scramble out of the way, spare fuel containers flew and detonated somewhere on the edges of the hangar, several maintenance machines were completely crushed as the rear of the TIE Reaper bowled right through.

Liam tried the rear thrusters, the ship slowed, but not as much as he wanted. The Reaper slammed into the far wall, both he and Ben jerked heavily in their seats, the force of the G's nearly blacking them out for a second, held only in place by their safety harnesses. His thoughts dwelled on his passengers for a moment, he assumed they went through exactly the same thing, but with their armor and harnesses they'd be fine.

After regaining his senses, Liam took a glance around the cockpit. Smoke spewed out from behind loose panels, and sparks shot out from half the consoles. Apparently the shields had collapsed at some point, the engines were blown out from the laser fire, at some point they had lost a wing, and the cockpit window had more than a few cracks in it.

Ben coughed a few times as he recomposed himself and performed the same checks. "Looks like we'll need a new ride out of here."

Liam adjusted himself and looked out into the hangar itself. Several rebel security personnel, or soldiers, approached the ship with their pistols drawn. Damage control personnel struggled to put out fires or carry out injured.

"They're reenergizing a shield over the hangar. Atmosphere is stable." Ben said as he tapped at the flickering computer.

Liam stood up and opened the door into the cabin. "Feel free to get up and move around the cabin." The sight of a stormtrooper already on the ground, struggling to get up sent a worry through his mind. While the others quickly stood up, eagerly shouting, their commander wasting no time in ordering them around. A certain dark figure approached him.

"We survived, good work." The Hand said, standing. She readied a blaster pistol. "But that was just the easy part."