A Tale of Two Fates(Intro Complete)

[Telan Desaria]

Flame leapt from deck to deck as slowly, gracefully, the Cirrus-class Light Cruiser Maxton embraced its end. All power gone from her conduits, she drifted from formation coated in tongues of fire and trailing debris. It was not long before all fuel sources on the three-hundred meter ship had been expended and the light winked out in the vacuum of space - she was a now a hulk and a tomb for a thousand sailors of the Imperial Navy.


Another one. Admiral Lon Isoto pounded his hand onto the arm of his command chair, furious at the loss of yet another vessel to the enemy's guns. He quickly searched for an outlet to his rage and looked down to the fleet-liaison officer seated at a nearby console in the crewpit. Isoto snapped his fingers and two stormtroopers descended into the crewpit. " You are defeatist with your remarks! Be gone!"


Stunned, the officer wearing an ensign's plaque stood and felt his lip tremble. " Admiral - I have done nothing. I merely reported that the Max - ."


Isoto would hear nothing and sent the man to the brig. Battle raged around the Victory-class Star Destroyer Chasm but still the ensign was drug from the bridge screaming and pleading. Others dared say nothing lest they be next, each one regretting having to report the bad news that was pouring in from across the field. The attack was not going as planned - then again, the plan had been deviated from before battle was joined. Instead of flanking the fortress-world's defenses as ordered, two full task forces had been sent in wave after wave to force a breech at the strongest point on the line. Of thirty ships sent into action, only twelve remained: only the Chasm remained undamaged since it was located behind those formations pushed forward.


" These are rebels and aliens, people - forward!" the Admiral screamed, at no one in particular. Whomever had replaced the ensign as the fleet-communications console issued orders for a sixth assault and so the ships that were limping away from the murderous fire of platforms mounting turbolasers and bouys armed with missile launchers turned and faced the fray once more.


Barely had they turned when the Fretians, a race of bipedal humanoids not amenable to remaining with the Empire, fired anew. Concentrating their volley on a Nebulon-B Frigate they succeeded in tearing her apart as the shields counted down to zero. The attack broke off without orders and Isoto was furious.


" To all ships - why are you coming about? The order to attack stands!"


Crossing himself in the five-pointed way of the Church of Commenor, a middle-aged Lieutenant moved over to the communications terminal and relayed the transmissions coming in. " Their Captains say their ships are too badly damaged to stand up to another assault - they are requesting relief."


" Sons of whores!" Isoto stood and stormed aft to draft a list of of execution recommendations - a list that would affix the names of his task force's surviving captains. The battle still raged outside. With his presence no longer hampering the Fleet, Commander Sarraus gave the order to fall back to their siege positions. He hoped with all hope he would not be next.

[Telan Desaria]

Memorandae
Office of the Director of Intelligence

Flag Officers - High Command

Reliable sources have informed us that the pirate activity in the Dorin Sector is being orhcestrated by the Rebellion. Informants have told us also that such activity was not slated to commence for another three months but success of the Fretian worlds in holding up our table of re-conquest has boosted their morale. The Fretians, grateful for the relaxing of pressure and hopeful of aide, have granted Alliance ships docking rights and supply berths on their worlds. The seven Fretian systems lay dangerously close to Imperial Center. Reduction of Fretian holdings is thusly to receive the highest priority lest more Rebel groups grow bold.


A scowl creased the features of Grand Admiral Desaria's face when his eyes reached the end of the text message. Imperial Intelligence had a rather brusque way of relaying the information it so adroitly attained that irritated most officers. That its methods were ruthless and its success significant none coul deny, but a very few officers cared for their black-clad counterparts. Grand Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria counted himself among them. Antipathy aside, he could not deny the truth of the words he read. In the week since the last series of assaults concluded against Fretia, Rebel activity had skyrocketed almost two hundred percent in an area that was too close to Coruscant for the comfort of any. Their attacks against military installations and warships had cost them dearly and met with successive failures but they had been relentless in preying upon lone freightors and private vessels.


Desaria stood and moved from behind his desk onto the balcony. Imperial City stretched on around him, a rising and falling mass of buildings and titannic halls: there was no wider array of architectural wonders than on the capital. Sienar Fleet Systems had its headquarters only two kilometers from the Palace, a rising structure that ranked as the fourth tallest of all. Conversely there was the Senate Hall where the Imperial Chancellor and his cadre of Ministers and other politicians gathered; it was a sprawling construct that was as large and squat as most towers were high. Looking out, Desaria wondered as to the fate of his beloved Empire.


The wind gusted past the ninety-seventh floor office. Desaria closed his eyes. The Empire existed in a paradox of sorts. A month had passed since the Battle of Endor and the death of the Emperor but still power was uncertain. The Rebellion had been hurt at several key places and had suffered several grevious defeats, yet across the galaxy new caches of ships and men were appearing. The combat strength of the Empire was swelling as more and more soldiers enlisted and newer ships came off the line - as they were fed into battle oh so many were killed and destroyed. The Empire was stretched very thin trying to hunt down the Rebels while maintaining its security. Raltiir, home of the Academy site where Desaria himself had graduated was in the throes of a famine even though galactic food production was at an alltime high - it was transportation that was suffering. Things were good, but things were also bad.


" Admiral." Desaria looked down at his blinking comlink and snatched it up from his belt. " Desaria."


" Grand Admiral," replied Moff Axus, military representative on the Council of Ministers. " Minister Brathis of the Interior proposed something today you may not like. He wants to end the famine on Raltiir."


The Admiral furrowed his brow and immediately wondered if senility had set in on the aged Moff. " This is bad how?"


" He wants to end it by reducing the number of mouths he has to feed."

[Tiberius Anar]

The plan had arisen from a meeting held at the Interior Ministry three days earlier…

The conference table was covered with data sheets and cards. Arrayed around it were twelve men and three women, their appearances suggested that they had been there a long time. At a point halfway down the table of the right, one of the group was speaking with considerable passion.

“This is monstrous! You cannot do this,” protested Lanius Barken, “Imperial citizens are entitled to our protection…”

“Not these citizens,” snapped a woman sitting across from him, an Under-Secretary in the Internal Affairs Ministry, “They squandered their resources.”

“We squandered their resources,” retorted Barken, “The Sector Command drained the reserves to support the campaign against the rebels.”

“The Sector Command was acting on orders from a higher authority,” interjected a Deputy Secretary from the Interior Ministry.

“Orders that were incredibly short sighted!”

“Gentlemen, ladies please!” barked the man at the head of the table, “Let us leave aside the apportioning of blame for the current situation. We are here to address the situation itself and find a solution.”

The Minister commanded calm and he received it. Heads turned towards him, fists were unclenched and anger stifled.

“We have to come to terms with the fact that the reserves currently available on the planet are insufficient to support the current population.”

“They are sufficient to support eight billion, Minister, no more.” The new speaker was the Chief Commissioner for the Sector in which the planet lay. “Five billion will starve.”

“And if we enforce the plan?”

“Those in the poorest sections, those in the rural areas farthest from the storehouses will still suffer. But the casualties will be fewer. Say- half a billion. At most a billion."

"Many people will have to survive on a reduce food supply which will weaken them," explained a member of the Ministry of Welfare, "but these deaths will be among those who are least able. The old, the sick and the young."

“It is not perfect,” sighed the Deputy Secretary of the Interior, “But it is better.”

“Better?” Barken looked ropund at his colleagues, “Better? The deaths of three billion, from famine?”

“No,” the Deputy Secretary explained matter of factly, “the deaths of one billion from famine. The other two will die from... other means.”

“That’s sheer pedantry!”

“No. That’s reality. Which is what we have to face here.”

“Is there no way to supply the planet?” asked the Minister for the third time, knowing full well what the answer would be.

“I am afraid not,” said the sorrowful representative of the Resource Ministry, “We cannot get the food through. We haven’t enough ships to fend off rebel attacks. We often lose more than we carry through.”

People nodded. This was a case of the lesser of two evils. Sacrifice the (relative) few in order to save the (relative) many or sacrifice them all.

“Clearly we cannot indulge in any moral squeamishness,” said the Minister, “We must apply cold hard logic. Do we implement the plan?”

Nods all around, with the exception of Braken, whose voice seemed to have deserted him- drowned by the tide of opinion that washed through the room.

The Minister nodded slowly, “Very well then. The population of Raltiir will have to be compulsorily reduced. I’ll take it to Council. Thank you, ladies and gentlemen, for your advice.”

[Telan Desaria]

" He wants to end it by reducing the number of mouths he has to feed."


Shock made itself known on the Grand Admiral's face but it became a look quickly replaced with anger. For a very long moment Baron Desaria wished some very cruel things on the Interior Minister until logic conquered once more. As heinous as the act would have been, it was based on military reality.


" Chancellor Anar forbade the move and chastized Brathis for even considering it."


" Good for him," the Grand Admiral replied, thankful there was at least one politician near the top with some sense of duty and right.


Desaria felt reason return and thought hard. Raltiir lay in the Colonies region where it had grown to be one of the most successful worlds therein. As a result, the Sector Moff had ordered its military sent away to hunt down a Rebel base near Devaron, leaving the entire sector underprotected and rife with pirate activity. Indeed, without exception every food convoy had been attacked and no matter how well defended, the pirates destroyed what they could not commandeer. While supplies were being transported by warships such as cruisers and frigates, there were neither enough ships available nor enough storage capacity to even lessen the need for supplies.


" Admiral?' interrupted the voice of Moff Axus whom the Admiral had kept on the other end of the comlink.


An idea worked its way into the Grand Admiral's mind as his eyes fixed themselves on the report ahead of him. " Moff Axus, inform Chancellor Anar that the problem with Raltiir will be solved by the Imperial Navy effective immediately."


" Admiral - you don't mean.." The aged Moff's voice trailed off as he no doubt pictured Star Destroyers laying waste to a dozen cities to make good the shortfall.


Desaria laughed coldly. " Of course I do not. But we will lessen the drain on Raltiir's food supply by moving the excess from Raltiir...


...and into the ranks of the Imperial Armed Services."

[Telan Desaria]

Two days later...


Debris floated before the prow of the Imperial II-class Star Destroyer Relentless, expanding as inertia compelled the eventual disintegration of what was once a Tarus-class frigate. Many commanders would have been quite taken with themselves at so speedy a victory over an enemy combatant but in this instance, he was not. He knew the odds had been stacked in the Empire's favor: the attacking vessel had been a battleship and the defender barely two hundred-meters. The battleship also had a Grand Admiral on the bridge - the fight had been far from fair.


" Captain Voltaire," Baron-Desaria beckoned the newest captain of his flagship. " See that we complete the delivery without further complications."


Tall and thin, the Balmorran Captain was the consummate Imperial officer: he wore his cair cropped close to his head with the typical forage cap atop. His uniform was pressed and the lines on his face showed every portion of his thirty-years' service. The Grand Admiral was quite glad to receive a captain who was loyal and competent, a far cry from Captain Kierant who had been dragged away by the ISB kicking and screaming for his attempted mutiny. Desaria, weary at the whole affair, had chosen to keep this man at arms length until his worth was proven, and so disappeared from the bridge without another word.


Alone as he moved through the corridors, Desaria let his mind wander. He had not been to see his other-half in the month since Endor, to say nothing of his sons. The burden of command played heavily on him and more than once he entertained the thought of ordering the Personnel Office to pronounce him dead and so inform his family, allowing them to move on. The strength to do so have evaded him, and so they all awaited the day when they might sit and dine together once more.


A turbolift halted and after a series of salutes, the occupants moved off. Desaria relaxed against the wall. In two days, a force of four Destroyers and twenty small gunboats had ferried ten million people from Raltiir to the rather barren but not inhospitable world of Borleias. Few were permitted to bring more than they could carry, but they were not prisoners. Garrison bases had been left behind and a sprawling complex of tents huts and temporary structures was growing fast. None were happy but none dared complain for walking alongside the Imperial soldiers of the garrisons were the black-clad officers of COMPNOR, which had been all-too happy to participate.


The lift ended its short journey and the Grand Admiral walked off - his quarters and sleep awaited him. When he awoke, another shipment of refugees would be landed on the small world and he would address them - and make their fate known.

[Telan Desaria]

Four weeks after Endor...


They were a pathetic looking lot, to use the word literally. Who could blame them, having been up-rooted from their homes and their very world. The core of their being, their culture, had been shaken and none of them knew what was to come.


" Sad, isn't it?"


Grand Admiral-Baron Telan Desaria looked up from the flimsiplast file he had been thumbing through. Donning the uniform of a Major-General in the Imperial Army, Count Karl von Hotzendorff did not appear to be the utterer of those words. He had to have been for there were no other occupants of the shuttle cabin. Desaria was confused - was this not one of the most cold and calculating officers the Empire had seen, able to order battalion after battalion to their deaths to so the Rebels would not notice his flank-march?


" General?"


The Count turned from the viewport and removed his monacle. " These aren't soldiers, Admiral. They are civilians, frightened and hungry. They are Imperial citizens."


Desaria nodded his agreement as the shuttle's wings flipped up and its struts extended. " True, but they will be. I would rather see half die charging the ramparts while the other half live on as honoured veterans then COMPNOR slaughter them all only to end a famine."


The shuttle landed, the General's argument was silenced, and the pair, flanked by some Fleet-Assault Corps troops from the garrison-base, strode out into the morning air.


From across this particular camp, people had begun to conglomerate around a small tower quickly constructed by a few Army engineers. The number swelled when word that a Grand Admiral had arrived and was headed in their direction. He mounted the tower amid shouts of derision and pleas of mercy and aide. Some just cried, babies clung tightly to the chest, distraught and alone.


" Citizens of the Empire, Fate has dealt you a cruel hand. Your home has not the resources to support you and many have died to bring you the aide you require, but all has been to naught. There are simply too many of you living on Raltiir's bossum to flourish any longer. Many have fallen from want, and many more surely would have.


" Now, though, a plan has been put into action which guarantees the survival of Raltiir as a world and a home. Your culture will live on."


The crowd seemed to be held in the sway as the amplified voice of Grand Admiral Desaria boomed across the plains to every refugee brought there.


" You, however, may not. You are here for one reason, and one reason alone - you were not essential to the Empire. Those of you here are petty criminals, jobless, unemployable, destitute, or simply deemed unnessarry for the betterment of the Empire or capable of doing so. Your lives are, in a word, superfluous."


As was expected, the crowd around Desaria himself roared with indignation. Across the world, they pulsed and chanted and screamed but dare not turn violent - every soldier and officer that day bore an arm and had orders to use it if neccessary. A volley came from the Admiral's escorts over the heads of his listeners and they quieted as best a mob could quiet.


" The Empire, however, has found a use for you. Each one of you will wear the uniform of an Imperial soldier. You will be taught to fight, how to live - you will learn how to die. Those unable to cope with the rigors of training will fall, those who flourish will be rewarded. You will complete your assigned tours of duty and then seek a life wherever you see fit. You will be paid as all of our soldiers are paid, and you will fight like all of our soldiers fight. There will nothing separating you from these men around me.


" Be warned here and now and harbor no illusions - you will be sent into combat as soon as your training is complete. Those who run the gauntlet and live will find honour, glory, and redemption for whatever sins you have comitted. Those who die will be remembered with pride. You, the sons and daughters of Raltiir, will find yourselves the largest contribution of a single world to the Empire's Armed Services.


" Know that your time will be spent bettering the Empire - but remember every time you awake and with every step you take this is the better of your options. Any man, woman, or child who wishes to chose the solution posed by the Ministry of the Interior may do so and will be placed at the tender mercies of the COMPNOR.


" Gloria Imperium citizens - enjoy your days of civilian life while they last. A new destiny awaits you all!!!"