High command and our oversight committee could feel the reckoning coming. It was in the air. The Retribution Fleet had just left Lantillies, heading up the Perlimian. It was like having a sandgator running at you from just within the horizon. Terrifying.

  “So, we agreed on a strategy, now we need to ensure it’s implemented correctly.” I state.

  “I’ll begin moving the 13th Battlegroup towards Caluula. It is closer to our northern fronts and only slightly further from Sy Myrth.” Benoni decides.

  “My force can begin raiding operations from our current position. Make sure the Retribution Fleet doesn’t have any local support.” Sykes offers.

  “I would move our forces from Raxus to Janodral Mizar, then make for Lianna. The world is in revolt and we could make quite the difference if we intervene.” Raddus suggests.

  “That would leave Raxus and Tion rather … vulnerable. Even with Senator Singh’s reappearance and open support for us as Exarch and Senator of Raxus, we cannot simply abandon the system.” Hatha says sternly.

  “Do we have the ships to form another squadron as a possible rapid response force to be stationed there?” Slocum asks.

  “There are quite a few impounded warships in the Raxus Prime Shipyards. Not many have been dismantled thanks to Admiral Dericote’s stewardship.” Raddus answers.

  “Yet manpower could be an issue.” Benoni states.

  “We should have enough reservists, ex-Seppy sailors and B1s to man them. I’m more worried about the officers. Unless any of you are interested in giving up bridge crew, we’ll need to scrounge up some talent, fast.” I counter mildly.

  “We have the Merchant Fleet Officer Academy.” Baraka says slowly, “But it does not have enough graduates a year to fully outfit more than our annual production of Star Cruisers.”

  “Usual annual production or current?” Senator Toora asks.

  “Usual.” Palatine Rire answers.

  “Then there must be enough to man a reservist formation.” Benoni states.

  “I’ll take a look at the graduating classes of the last few years. Hand out some commissions to senior Lieutenants and promote some promising Captains. We should be able to scrounge up a skeleton officer corps for Raxus and Tion within a few weeks by stripping the Merchant Fleet of its tertiary shift officers.” Baraka states.

  “That’s too long.” Raddus grumbles, “We do have Commodore Nammo of the Unity of Dac overseeing Ruisto’s defenses at the moment. He has shown some interest in a more forward posting, though he has also been making inroads with the Logistical Corps. We could snatch him up and reassign him and the Unity to Dac to oversee Raxus’s defenses.”

  “Another Merchant Fleet man?” Benoni asks.

  “He is.”

  “You’re certainly expanding your influence aren’t you.” Slocum states.

  “What alternative do we have? It’s not like we have Carida’s, Anaxes’s or Prefsbelt IV’s recruits available to us.” Sykes sighs.

  “We have some more recent deserters I suppose.” Luxerite offers, “Though I’d hate to place one of them in command of anything larger than a corvette.”

  “Desperate times, Rear Admiral. Desperate times.” Slocum states grimly.

  A Neimoidian Captain paces the bridge of the Sabaoth destroyer, one of the last of her kind still operable. And yet she and a taskforce of two Sabaoth frigates and three Hex Deployers were on the warpath once more. After the death of the Mercenary Company’s leader it had lost most of its already rather limited influence within the Separatist military.

  It had regained some during its escapades along the northern Hydian and the Battle for the Gizer-Contruum Gap, though it still hadn’t returned to its former heights. Yet now, they would be fighting the Empire on behalf of both former Republic and Separatist officers and worlds. A new chance to remake the glory days, though now it would be under newer, better, management. It was an interesting time, that much was certain.

  “Captain, enemy ships exiting hyperspace. It should be the 33rd Light Outer Rim Section according to the patrol logs we were given.”

  “Excellent, our first catch under new contract.” Captain Varteb says with a grin.

  Soon enough, half a dozen corvettes emerge from hyperspace alongside an Arquitens light cruiser and a duet of Acclamators.

  “Get me firing solutions for our Hex Deployers and launch our Sabaoth fighters and Hex Bombers.” The Captain orders, mechanical eye expanding from within its ball to get an enhanced view of the Imperial formation.

  “On it, sir.”

  “Box them in with the missiles and begin our advance. Firing solutions ready?”

  “Ready, sir.”

  “All ships, fire at will!”

  As the pirate band enters the fray, the first Imperial pickets die fiery deaths as missiles strike their flanks. The Arquitens at their enemy’s center takes a series of heavy turbolasers on its prow, then the strikecraft of the privateers begin racing along the tops of the enemy ships, hex bombs, proton bombs and concussion ordnance falling upon the enemy cruisers and leaving many different craters in their hulls. The battle ends within minutes and the Sabaoth Captain allows himself a smile.

  Hex was still a wonderfully potent weapon of war and while their reserves may only last them so long, the profit they would be making would ensure the establishment of a new plant within the year. An excellent development, the Neimoidian thinks, after all, the reserves would only last his paltry force for another year and a half. Yet now, after taking up their new contract, they should be able to have enough in production to ensure a stable shift from old reserve Hex to their new product.

  Ultimately this would be a fine paycheck to open this new contract with. An easy target with a fine bonus for its strategic importance. It was good the Fleet Admiral saw the importance in their work. After all, a blind enemy is one who can’t tell when and where they’ll be attacked next.

  Fleet Admiral Honor was being very careful in her advance. With various scouting elements on loan from Cerulean Spear disappearing at a concerning rate she had little choice. The last thing she wanted was to jump into a system to find the egress point mined to all nine hells and back and the entire Sith Cordon and 9th Irregular Fleets just beyond it.

  No, she would continue the slow advance, not matter how much Tarkin demanded she hurry and turn Mon Cala into a ball of steam. She would, of course, make an example of the former Imperial subject world, but she would do so methodically. Cutting apart Dericote’s little fiefdom piece by piece. Letting Cerulean Spear’s fleets besiege any recalcitrant worlds behind her while she continues to march on Mon Cala.

  “Ma’am, we’re about to enter the Centares system.”

  “Very good.” She replies to her Adjunct Captain.

  One step closer. Centares first, from there Lianna to stifle the revolt, from there Argai, then eventually Caluula and Dellalt. Dericote won’t be willing to lose the last three worlds. He would fight her in decisive engagements at Argai and Caluula while likely abandoning Dellalt when the time came. She would overwhelm this petty revolt with the force of her Retribution Fleet.

  She would regain the respect and prestige lost.

  She would bring order to the Outer Rim.

  She would be victorious.

  Brigadier General Green had an interesting mix of emotions swirling in his gut. On the one hand, he would finish an interrogation, not something he generally enjoyed. On the other, he had caught the first traitor to the Republic within the rebel military, which was rather nice as it confirmed a suspicion of his. On top of that, it was a traitor who had known too much to be allowed to pass on the false information they could have planted alongside any scraps of true intel he might have gathered. A pity in a sense.

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  “Evening, Captain.” He greets the bruised man, one of his eyes already swollen shut from a rather mean left hook.

  “Oh great.” The man moans.

  “Just here to finish things up.” He says with a grin as he places his toolkit on a well padded table, “Your confession and admission of some of your co-conspirators within the Navy and Army was very well received. They’re being watched now. After all, best confirm everything a traitor says before acting on it.”

  “Just … wonderful.” The man groans sarcastically, "Was hoping you’d end up killing a couple of those idiots."

  Green simply ignores the man as he carefully inspects the tools. The bloodstains on the durasteel floor hinted at what had already happened here. Perhaps use the pliers to remove a tooth? Green frowns, maybe if this dragged on, though he would prefer it didn’t: “Well we might as well finish up this interrogation. Be happy, we’re making an example of you. Public hanging with a slightly too short length of rope, Admiral Dericote insisted.”

  “Can’t you just shoot me?”

  “Afraid not, the Admiral insisted after all. Something about Fondorian law only allowing the execution of traitors via noose. I rather liked the sound of it, so I was more than happy to acquiesce.” Green says with a tired smile, he clearly had underestimated how exhausting rebuilding an intelligence department would be, especially if he was still looking over a couple peoples’ shoulders.

  “Stars dammit.”

  “Well you’ll be with them soon enough. Enjoy your last meal. It’s old army rations.” Green says with an evil smile that disappears as soon as he reveals some needles he planned to place under the man’s remaining toenails before eventually tearing them off, “Now, let’s make sure you aren’t double dealing us.”

  I watch the map closely as the lesser systems are secured. Sure, many of them, even within the storied Tion Cluster, only had a population of a few million or a couple hundred thousand, but that didn’t mean they weren’t important. Especially to ensure we would be able to attack the Imperial supply lines when they inevitably arrived.

  Some worlds were more prickly than others. A Confederate holdout, for example, refused to be subservient to Republic officers and needed to be persuaded by our Free Dac and ex-Separatist officers and shown the determination we wielded. Hyperspace lanes on approach to the worlds we had to defend were prepared. Be it through mines, asteroids or by placing interdiction mines in a certain way to have the enemy formation spat out in bad terrain, if they got really unlucky in their timing said terrain would include ending up in a meteor shower. I had even moved a hyperspace relay beacon to spit out ships within a sun’s near orbit where her radiation would either cook the ships’ insides or drain their ships’ shields to null while they attempted to escape.

  The last one unnerved me, after all, those markers were made to ensure traveling faster than the speed of light was relatively safe. Sure, any solid navigator and their navigation computers would prepare their own adjustments to ensure they didn’t take up too much space or simply skirted the egress point, but a large formation usually needed such a marker to ensure they all made it out in the same area.

  At least I managed to convince my fellow members of high command that it was our moral duty to inform the locals of the change in safety. Last thing I wanted was a civilian transport or a sympathetic smuggler to fly straight into a star.

  “Sir, are you sure this will work?” Mi-Kus asks as we inspect the final jump point between Argai and Jaminere.

  “No, but I still want to try it.” I reply.

  “Sir, I can understand the previous actions, but this just seems … ridiculous.” My Adjunct says as he gestures at the emergency transponder buoy that was sending a warning in every direction about the large minefield here. A minefield which did not exist.

  “Exactly. Either Honor will slow, find nothing and then disregard our later messages around Argai, or she does slow and gives us more time to prep fields and grind down her forces in skirmishes and convoy raids.” I say with an evil smile.

  “Sir, this is still insane.”

  “Exactly why she won’t expect it.” I reply happily, “Now hurry up, we have another decoy minefield an actual minefield and a brand new asteroid field to set up.”

  “We’re turning the Tion cluster into a damn maze.” Commander Hursk mutters, staring up at the Maker as he does.

  “Damn right, Commander.” I reply into the room.

  The half Meerian Captain marches alongside his fellow members of the 4th Bandomeerian Volunteer Brigade as they head to join the men from Argai in one of the myriad of fortresses and bunker complexes which dotted the hills and mountains of the ancient world. The oldest fortresses had long ago turned to dust or been memorialized. It was one of the new fortresses the battalion had been assigned to.

  One with an anti-orbital battery built within its very foundations. One with deep bunkers and equally deep warehouses, water purifiers and aqua-farms the Quarren had brought here with their ships and industry. Brigadier Robotnik had been very specific on how they should respect the former Separatists for their industriousness if nothing else.

  Eventually the battalion and their armored support, consisting of a dozen Sabers, enough Reconnaissance Troop Transports to make their force fully mechanized and the three AT-TE tanks of the battalion, make it to the theater shield of the fortress. The Captain marches ahead of the men until he stands a few inches away from the shield’s barrier. Before her stands a Tionese man, about two heads taller than her, wearing the uniform of a Confederate Major. She quickly salutes the man, who returns it quickly and precisely.

  “4th Bandommerian Brigade, 8th Regiment, Zabrak Battalion, ready and willing to assist, sir.” She says.

  “It is a pleasure to have you here. We will lower the shields to allow your repulser craft to pass without issue momentarily. Perhaps your men would like to mount up for this?” The Major suggests.

  “Very well. Zabrak, mount up!” She barks at her men who fall into line quickly enough. The only exception being the Pioneers, who need a bit longer on account of their lobster armor and heavier weapons and the Engineers, who are similarly armored and carry around their heavy duty entrenching equipment and explosives by themselves as a matter of pride.

  The shield lowers for a moment and the Captain allows herself to be the first Republic soldier to enter within the fortress’s fortifications. After all, she had been assigned to the Argai campaign before her brigade had been reassigned to garrison duty to defend the Empire they all despised.

  I was back at Argai, overseeing the final adjustments of the Golan I platforms that had been moved here from Hutt Space where Golan Armswas headquartered. They had cost a pretty penny, but a Golan I could hold off a two, if not four, Dreadnoughts as long as it had frigate and fighter support. Though my presence at Argai had more reason than just overseeing its final defenses. The Mercs hired to train the Commando Company of the Intelligence Brigade would be arriving imminently and I wished to christen the first ship to come out of the drydocks here since our alliance.

  The christening had gone well, the new Providence class battleship named Maker’s Duewould serve Argai’s defenders well. She would do well as a flagship of a squadron or battlegroup, though I feared that would never happen as Honor’s forces arrived at Lianna and began suppressing the rebels and Separatists on world.

  I sigh as I look out from the viewport. Just us against the galaxy.

  “Sir,” Mi-Kus interrupts my imminent spiral of philosophizing, “Detecting Cronau radiation for a shuttle. Exit imminent.”

  “Very good. Must be our mercs.” I reply as I glance at the de-activated minefield.

  Just as predicted, a small shuttle, too far out to really make out with the naked eye of most humans, appears and deftly flies through the relatively small cordon within the minefield. That didn’t mean it was small, only that a single Providence battleship or Venator could fit through at a time. I nod to myself as I glance at Mi-Kus.

  “Hail the shuttle and request their clearance codes.” My Adjunct orders.

  “Connection established.” Commander Slas reports.

  “Inbound shuttle. This is a restricted area under the control of Rebel Coalition forces. Transfer clearance codes and state your purpose or be prepared to be shot from the void.” Mi-Kus says.

  “Our purpose is to interview for the possible post of training future special forces troops. Transferring codes now.” The almost nasal voice replies.

  “We didn’t say they would be training our specops.” I mutter.

  “Sir?” Mi-Kus asks.

  “Officially they’re here to get the intel needed for a sabotage mission. We never told them they had the opportunity to train our specops.” I reaffirm.

  “I’ll inform Commander Chain and have a mixed group of arms-men and Clones prepare the hangar bay.”

  “No.” I countermand, I was curious now, “Put them on standby and ready Door Platoon for emergency boarding protocol Grek-Besh-Aurek. I’ll meet with them and test their metal.”

  “I advise against this.”

  “Noted and disregarded in favor of levity.” I reply with a smirk.

  “Risking your life is not a solid idea, sir.” Mi-Kus presses.

  “Seconded.” Commander Hursk adds.

  “Don’t worry. I’m the most well armed man on this ship. And if that isn’t enough, I’ll have R4 with me.” I say as I exit the bridge for my office.

  I watched R4’s hologram feed carefully as the shuttle landed within the hangar bay, Colonel Solo coming to greet them with a bored expression on her face and the knowledge that she had an entire hangar bay filled with hardened arms-men, mechanics and fighter pilots at her back if anything went awry. And yet, as the first soldier in modified Clone Armor descends the ramp, nothing happens.

  It’s calm, there’s the usual polite exchange and I only start frowning when I catch sight of some familiar markings on two of them. Were these the mercs that had sprung Singh about a year ago? That would explain quite a bit and make the whole testing phase easier.

  I give R4 the nod to only alert me if anything drastic happened as I pull out a half empty bottle of Derellium wine and an appropriate glass. I was planning on leaning into some of my more … concerning traits to see how they’d react. As I take a sip and double check my slugs the door chimes.

  “Come in.” I order as R4 gives me the all clear from Chain and Bugs. Everyone was in position. Good.

  The man with the Mark II Clone armor and a painted on half skull on his helmet is first, followed by a fellow man missing an arm, a calm man with goggles and unique helmet and the brute of their squad, a bull of a man, though he at least still fit through my door easily enough. I glance them up and down before taking another sip of the wine, placing the glass down in tandem with my swallow and jump from my chair.

  “Evening.” I greet the bunch, “You’re here to be hired on a sabotage mission for my motley group of rebels. Your target is a tibana storage station at Centares. Mind you, I’d prefer to keep it for whenever we assault Centares again, but I’d rather deny the Imps a strategic asset of such importance.”

  “And our payment?” The Clone in front asks.

  “The only thing ever worth a damn in our field of work. Munitions, fuel, explosives and information.” I reply.

  “This would be the test for the teaching position?” Goggles asks.

  I tilt my head slightly before grabbing the hilt of my glass near the base and swirling the liquid near face level: “I don’t recall ever saying anything about a teaching gig. Which means you either broke into our security or you’re spies.”

  “I broke into your security.” Goggles says, “I am willing to assist in furthering your cyber security in return for fifty thousand additional Republic credits and an intelligence package on cloning research labs within Imperial space.”

  “Alongside doing the little test Brigadier General Green came up with?” I ask.

  “Sure, sounds like fun.” The big one says.

  “Thirty thousand and the prearranged supplies.” I counter.

  “And the intel?” My fellow maimed person asks.

  “Wasn’t my department, but I have some things one of my old sponsors dug up. Not sure how much it’ll be worth for you, though.” I reply.

  “Deal.” The lead Clone says.

  “Wonderful. R4, datapad seven, give them everything we have on Clone labs.” I request and R4 hands over said datapad, “That should have all the intel you need for the mission as well as the up front payment for your tech support.”

  “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Admiral.” The big one says.

  “I’m sure it is.” I reply and the group turn to leave, “Do tell Captain Rex I say hi.”

  That stops three fourths of the group, goggles simply replying with a: “Will do.”

  I look over the report with a grim determination. The holographic depictions of my fellow members of High Command looking similar. Lianna returned to the Imperial fold, her people pacified through teargas and the threat of orbital bombardment and the dismantling of their shipyards. Honor knew exactly how to threaten a shipyard world and now … now she was finally heading for us.

  “How long can you delay, Dericote?” Benoni asks.

  “Three weeks at best.” I reply.

  “Not enough.” Raddus says, “Ackbar might, emphasis on might, be able to get you the newest three Star Cruisers in that time, but you won’t be able to pull anything from further south than Byss to help you.”

  “I will hold for as long as possible.” I reply coldly, “We promised that much.”

  “My forces are entrenched upon Argai. Anti-orbital batteries have their marks and the planetary shields should be able to hold for a week long bombardment from this force.” Krugwolt says from the world below.

  “I will attempt to send my faster ships your way as soon as practical, but you will have to wait on the Inexpugnables and our older Hammerheads to catch up.” Benoni says.

  “We cannot forget the other fronts.” Kota reminds us.

  “And we haven’t.” Slocum says, “But we all agreed our best bet was to rally the 1st and the 13th together and slow the enemy advance for as long as possible while our raiders of various quality attempt to destroy the enemy’s supply lines.”

  “And I am not disagreeing with that.” Kota replies, “Simply reminding you all of the facts.”

  “Will the forces assigned buy us enough time, is the real question here.” Baraka says, his forces would arrive within the week to join us here.

  “We will endure. No matter the cost.” Krugwolt says before muttering the ancient Anaxsi saying, “They shall not pass.”