By Force of Arms Alone

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Palace - Coruscant


It rarely rained on Imperial Center. When the awesome forces of Nature did decide to unveil their full fury, no one was safe. From behind triple paned glass and steel-reinforced ferrocrete, Grand Admiral Desaria watched sheets of rain fall from the sky and buffet the windows along two sides of his corner office. Typically after lunch, he enjoyed a cigar on the balcony and looked out on the teeming city around the Palace.


Not today, however.


With the sigh, Desaria returned to his work. Major-General von Hotzendorff had picked almost a million people from the swelling ranks of refugees and was working them tirelessly. He amassed these first candidates for accelerated training without any conditions or mercy - they were women, children, and men and all the same, they were useless to the Empire as anything but soldiers. For two weeks they had been drilled, trained, and marched without pause. Scores died each day from rigorous physical conditioning and brutal war games. Rumor held that some had even shot themselves upon their first issue of live ammunition. Morale was nowhere near that of regular units but the point had been made clear that their only alternative was death at the hands of the ever-present COMPNOR.


The Imperial Army requested no less than four hundred-thousand to create a new Army, the One-hundred Ninteenth, for use in the assault on Fretia IV, the smallest of the nearby rebllious worlds. Major-General von Hotzendorff had rashly replied they would be ready in a week's time giving them only half the basic training of any any regular soldier. The Grand Admiral was not happy.


Their training, however, is in his hands. He has performed miracles before - all I can do is hope he does so again.


Turning from the business of the Imperial war machine, Desaria looked to a recently arrived transmission from the middle of his three sons. He had just received command of a cruiser, the Matador-class ship Bellephron. Baron Desaria's chest swelled with pride.


Soon the rebellion will be crushed. My sons are all doing well and I am at the peak of my career. Little could go wrong with my world.

[Akrabbim]

[i]Rain. Things like this always start in the rain.

After hitching a ride on a freighter with a less-than-scrupulous carrier named Sanis Prent, he had finally been able to smuggle himself on-world. And the situation here is not pretty. Thousands are being conscripted in an army, dying by scores as the merciless Empire does what it can to recover from the crushing loss of its Emporer and his right hand, Vader.

Akrabbim has been doing what he could to help those in need, but it had become clear to him all too quickly that he would have to take down this juggernaut from the inside.

After several days of sneaking around and following the local resistance, he has learned that a major assault against the Empire was soon to take place. Akrabbim plans to simply sneak in the outskirts, take out one soldier, and take his place. He could try to help the assault, and he would likely be a strong force for them. That, however, would reveal the presence of a Jedi Master on Coruscant, and that is the last thing he wants. So, he'll have to leave the resistance to its own devices.

It is almost cruel to do so, but he has no choice. The only real damage can be done on the inside. And oh, the damage he has planned.

He will cripple the Empire on Coruscant if he can. If it takes his last breath, he will break them or die.

And if the resistance is crushed in the process... so be it.

[Bandage]

Meanwhile, in the sewer system underneath the Imperial Palace, Bandage makes his way through them. It was strange that he, a one-time doctor, was now making his way carefully and quickly through the sewers. And was so quiet about it that the only sound one would hear from him was their own breaths, not his. He had heard nothing of an assault on the palace, but was merely exploring, to see just how close he could get to the Palace without detection. By himself, Bandage could do little to help the Alliance. And any use of the Force would likely be monitored by select individuals, and frankly, Bandage could take a few guards by himself, but a few guards and a Dark Sider, or members of the Inquisitorate? No, Bandage would play the game of gathering information, like he had been doing a lot of as of late.

Finding the entrance to the access tunnel, where the workers would likely enter to fix the system, Bandage noiselessly lifts the grating, easing his way out. Quickly assessing his surroundings, Bandage slipped into the shadows, making his way to a nearby terminal. He would gain at least some information from this adventure. Whether it was what death felt like, or the information he was aiming towards, Bandage would find out something.....

[Telan Desaria]

Orius - Headquarters of the Temell Sector Fleet


" Firam Desaria."


No response was forthcoming as the owner of the spoken name stood at a very precise attention. Looking over the tall, broad-shouldered boy, Admiral Lon Isoto would see he was every bit his father's son. Both men had the dark blond hair and piercing blue eyes that seemed to personify the Desaria family. Despite his junior rank, this Desaria stood almost purposefully, the air of authority pervading that he had doubtless grown up around.


" Your father is a Grand Admiral now, is he not."


" Yes, sir - he was promoted only a few weeks ago."


" He has a built a fine legend in the Fleet as the savior of Endor."


To this, the Grand Admiral's son remained quiet. Isoto stood and walked around his desk, seating himself atop it. " Your ship has been transferred to my command but do not think you will receive any special treatment. Your father may be a Grand Admiral but you are not. You will be treated the same as any cruiser commander. Do you understand?"


" Of course, sir - as it should be."


" Then you are dismissed. Ready your ship - you will depart as escort to my flagship in two hours."


The young Captain saluted, spun on his heel, and made a very commenadable exit. Isoto noted it well. The boy would be his to command, to mould. Soon, Desaria would notice the change in his attitude and would him to thank.


For too long I have had my eye on a better uniform. That boy is going to be my ticket to it!


Coruscant


" Admiral Pitta."


" Admiral Desaria," the hologram replied.


" Do you have a moment for a personal question?"


The thin and raged aged Grand Admiral gave a quickl chuckle but nodded in the affirmative.


" How do you deal with the boredom that came with this rank?"


Seated deep within the massive fortress around which the city of Coronet spread, the commander of the Corellian Sector Fleet laugfhed again. He was oldest member of the Twelve and generally regarded as the wisest. With that in mind, his youngest counterpart had sought his aide on a matter far from military neccissity. " Admiral, I assume you mean the meetings, the endless banquets, the almost oppressive feeling of being at the Palace?"


" By the Gods yes!"


" Grand Admiral Desaria, you are simply being initiated into your new position. Remember that it ends whenever you want. You are a Grand Admiral and have a staff attached to you for a reason. Our duty is to rid the galaxy of anarchy and the Rebellion. If you allow the bureacracy of Coruscant to oppress you, then you will become a slave to the administrative machine. Get away from the capital and ply the trade you were born to wield. Corellia out."

[Akrabbim]

Tonight, it would all go down.

According to the current plan, the raid would occur tonight. Frankly, Akrabbim isn't terribly sure which way it will go. True, the Imperials are better trained and better armed, but the resistance is fighting for a cause. With a good cause, even a poor ruffian can fight like an animal. Akrabbim could sympathize with their anger against the Imp. True, they were given a chance to survive, but at the cost of conscription into the Empire's army and near-fatal training regimen.

The plan is an ambitious one, but overall well-planned. Tonight, according to the rebellion's sources, the Imps would be transporting a load of power couplings to a base where they are desparately needed. Though the loss of a shipment of these generally wouldn't be very crippling, the base in question had recently had a major power surge, blowing out the vast majority of the couplings they had on hand. Without these, the base will stay at around 25% capacity for several more days. Presumably, the rebellion would then attack there before power could be restored.

Akrabbim moves into place above the proposed ambush location. There are still several hours until the raid, but no sense being seen slipping into location. Anyway, he's waited several years for the chance to truly hurt the Empire. A few more hours won't hurt a thing.

[Telan Desaria]

Deep Space, Near Fresian II
Temell Sector


The small world of Fresia II was visible to the naked eye only a dot upon the blanket of space that was a lit6tle more blue than the far-off stars around it. Pointed directly at that dot was the Victory-class Star Destroyer Chasm. One cruiser, a cylindrical craft with a hammer-head and boxy engine-section, sat just below it while between it and the wedge-shaped battleship was a corvette. At only a hundred-fifty meters, it appeared insignificant against the matte-grey hull of a Star Destroyer.


" There, Captain. That ship is hauling contraband to a quarantined world. Tell me, what would you do had you captured it?"


Firam Desaria stood behind the seated sector-fleet admiral and reviewed the protocol long-since committed to memory. " Directives command the vessel's cargo be confiscated and the vessel seized. Crewers are to be detained and handed over to Customs at the earliest possible time."


Though the standing officer would not see it, Admiral Isoto smiled. " By the book, Desaria. That is exactly what standard orders are. Would you say they apply here?"


The rules always apply. This must be a trick question. " Of course, Admiral."


Isoto stood and looked at the Grand Admiral's son. " In that ship are Rebels. They have defied the Empire and should be punished. If they are transferred to Customs then they stand a chance of escape. Do you know the easiest way to prevent escape?"


" No sir," the young Desaria answered honestly.


The Admiral turned to the watch commander and nodded, his orders unspoken but clear. From beneath the pointed prow of the Destroyer came the captured corvette, still caught in the invisible hold of a tractor beam. Though not visible by any bridge officer, four turbolaser cannon piveted in their casements and aimed directly at the craft. At once they fired and without shields, the corvette disintegrated into a ball of flame. Debris shot out in all directions but most was vaporized by the Destroyer's deflector shields.


" Rebels deserve no mercy - your father taught me that. What he did not teach me, what I learned out here in the lines is that swift eradication saves time. They had the audacity to defy the Emperor and they paid the price with their lives. We are Imperials, Desaria - none can stop us. Remember that. You are dismissed."


Firam was dazed, confused. What had transpired, it was wrong. Isoto had destroyed a ship, a ship that interned could have easily been placed at the Empire's disposal. There was nothing he could say since he was only a Captain. Still mulling over the act, Desaria saluted and left the bridge, hurriedly returning to the Bellephron.

[Bandage]

Bandage took another quick glance before moving along, zipping at a rate of speed that would rival some of the galaxy's best sprinters. Each time, he would stop at a set of deep shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to continue. At one point, Bandage noted that the area became a little better lit. Changing his plans slightly, Bandage scrambled quickly up a wall about ten feet, to grip and open a ventilation shaft. Slipping in, he continued his travels, with such silence that the loudness of others' breath covered his own breathing and expedient movement.

[Telan Desaria]

A few days later...


" Captain - we are closing with the enemy gunship. We are within weapons range."


Before the cruiser, a small Corellian gunship raced as fast as itsreactor would carry it from the embattled system. The small craft bore no markings and was not listed as an active Alliance vessel - it had stumbled into a warzone, its holds filled with illegal merchandise and decided that speed was a requirement of survival.


That speed, however, was not nearly enough to outpace a Matador-class Cruiser, a moderately armed but ship much faster than any of the peers in her class. It was with that speed at his finger tips, Desaria listened as his tactical offer reported a perfect aim for the ship's tender reactor housing. Protocol demanded a tractor lock be established if the risk to boarding parties was not extreme and the reward of such a boarding would compensate for any losses.


Captain Desaria mulled as the fleeing vessel struggled to escape.


" Tractor beam - hold them and begin deceleration. When we're stopped ready two assault shuttles and commence boarding proceedures."


Bellephron wrapped its invisible fingers around the ship and for a moment she was exeeding her best possible speed - then she was yanked back and back as the Imperial warship behind her slowed to a stop. Escape was, for her crew, no longer an option. As any animal would when trapped, they fought. Shots from a dozen laser cannon registered on the shields of the warship but none posed any threat.


" Captain - they are targetting the tractor-beam projectors. Shields are holding."


Behind Desaria stood his first officer. Hands crossed over his chest, he looked at the sight of the firing gunship with disgust. He muttered," Rebel filth. What chance do they think they have?"


Rebel filth - he sounds like Isoto. This must be the way of things in this sector. This gunship poses no thread to us, but that does not speak for the whole of the Alliance. They underestimate everything. Desaria sat forward in his command chair as the words of his father rung in reply. The moment you stop thinking your enemy can defeat you and belief blinds all tactical sense, then they will defeat you.


The Rebels Desaria had enounctered in the past made him wonder, and he recalled the events closely. Not once had they ever truly given him any hard opposition - or to any ship upon which he had been stationed before his thrust to command. Maybe the Rebels are inferior. Could father be overestimating them?


" Fire," the executive officer said, nudging his captain with his Academy nickname. " What do you want to do? They're still firing?"


Desaria thought for a second and the image of his sector commander, Admiral Isoto, filled his head. At that moment, his father was not present in any thought. " Destroy them."


Six dual-turbolaser blasts signalled the acknolwedgement of the order and the gunship's reactor housing cracked. Fuel cells exploded and the plasma conduits collapsed. From stern to prow, the ship exploded from within and the contraband they had so ruthlessless chased was reduced to so much dust in the vacuum.


" Let us return to our patrol then - with some vigilance we can smash Fresia before Empire-Day."

[Akrabbim]

After hours of tedious waiting, zero hour finally comes. The hum of repulsor lifts can be heard as the small convoy comes down the narrow alleyway. The rebels were in place roughly an hour ago, and are well hidden. Akrabbim can only hope that the convoy does not get taken out entirely. If it does, he will have to find another way into the Empire.

As the convoy draws closer, his fears are put to rest. There are several Troopers scanning the buildings, blasters in hand. As well, there are two roof-mounted heavy repeaters atop the Troop carriers, both manned with alert soldiers. They'll put up a good fight.

Once the transports are around 50 meters from the attack point, Akrabbim cloaks himself in invisibility and slips down to ground level, behind the Troopers. From there, he must only wait until the fireworks begin.

And he doesn't have to wait long. Less than a minute after he is in position, the rebels open fire. The Troopers, well-trained as they are, immediately return fire to great effect. Several more file out from the Troop carriers, and Akrabbim prepares to make his move.

Taking out a single Trooper in this skirmish should be easy. The problem is picking the right one. Akrabbim is rather short, at least compared to Troopers. Troopers are generally a few inches above six feet, at least, but some shorter Troopers have gotten into the ranks recently. As well, he needs to grab a low-ranking soldier. An officer may have better clearances, but would also have many more responsibilities that Akrabbim would rather not have to deal with just yet. Now, if he can just find... there!

A Trooper, only 3 inches or so above his 5'6", is near the back of the fight. Akrabbim quickly covers himself in an illusion to resemble a Storm Trooper. He rushes forward, right behind his target. He creates an illusion around both of them to make it appear as if they simply moved back to better cover. In reality, Akrabbim touches the helmet of the Trooper, flooding his mind with an attack of Force Confusion. The sensory overload knocks the man out instantly. He drags him away, still covered by the illusion, and takes him to a side alleyway.

Once there, he quickly strips the man's armor and clothing and replaces it with another set he had brought with him. He first studies the man's face and body, searching for any marks that might distinguish him. Once he is satisfied that he has the man's exterior memorized, he begins the harder task of probing his mind. With both hands on the man's temples, he quickly rifles through the man's head, gleaning any information that would be necessary to impersonate him. He finds the man's name, a Private Dar Wilkins, as well as his room assignment, friends, enemies, and any security codes and passwords that would be useful. He removes his hands and rests for a moment before beginning the final task.

Akrabbim has procured a job, as well as a small apartment, etc. He has created an identity to give to the Trooper so that he does not show up back at base and cause a major ruckus. Akrabbim is powerful enough to shift the man's memories to make him think that he is the false identity instead of a Trooper. The suggestion will wear off in a few months, max, but it should buy Akrabbim more than enough time to worm his way into the Empire. The created persona's name is Jakson Evermoor, and works as a clerk at a local shipping office. Hopefully, nothing will jog this young man's memory too soon. He concentrates once more and asserts the new memories over the man's current ones.

That task completed, he now moves to putting on the Trooper's armor. He had planned on the fact that the Trooper would likely be taller than himself, so he uses some heel lifts to make himself the correct height. He peeks around the corner to see how the battle is faring. The Troopers are more than holding their own, but he can see that the rebels are about to accomplish what they came for.

The plan was for the rebels to distract the Troopers while one man with a shoulder rocket snuck behind them. The rocket man is now in place, and wastes no time launching his shot. It hits true, destroying the shipment of couplings entirely. Now's Akrabbim's chance.

He quickly rushes in to where the rest of the Troopers are, falling in line as the rebels scatter. After a few moments, the Troopers realize that the rebels are gone, and prepare to return to base. Akrabbim, swords and saber masked by illusion, files into the Troop carrier with the rest, ready to return to base.

[Bandage]

A few days before...

After an hour or so of moving along the ventilation shafts, checking each grating to find a terminal that he could use, he finally finds one. It was manned by a single, small man in uniform. Closing his eyes and meditating, Bandage tried using the Force to determine if the man was alone in the room. Bandage felt no other signatures in the Force, though that did not mean that the gentleman in uniform was alone. For all Bandage knew, he had not enough experience or ability to detect the presences of the other personnel in the room. As quietly as possible, Bandage opened the grating. It made not a sound. Lowering himself from the opening, Bandage lightly dropped to the ground. His feet made a slight sound, but Bandage was prepared. As the man in uniform turned his head, Bandage quietly and quickly ducked and rolled behind a nearby desk terminal, listening intently. He could hear the chair creak, as if the man was shifting in his seat. After a second, he heard the man speak, but to himself.

"Jeez, I must be sleepier than I though. I'll have to get a stim-cafe after I complete my work....."

The man went back to keying away on his terminal. Bandage slowly looked around the corner of the desk. The room was quite dark, but it would be at this time of night. Most night personnel liked operating in the dark. Bandage could see the reason, for after all, he himself operated better when the lights were low. He could see the man sitting at the desk, illuminated by the screen. The darkness would cover him. Because of the lack of light, his silhouette would not appear on any of the nearby windows placed at the doorways, nor would his reflection appear on the techie's screen. Bandage moved as silently as possible, closing the twenty feet in a matter of seconds. Apparently, Bandage was silent enough, for the techie never stirred or deviated from his work once. Bandage, directly behind the techie, and within arms reach, knew he had to act quickly. After taking a split second to once more determine the layout of the lab, the position of the techie, and the relations of that point to the exits, Bandage struck. Quickly cupping the techie's mouth and nose to stifle any noise with his left hand, Bandage chopped at his neck with the right hand. The hit landed hard yet for the uniform, it made little sound. The man groaned quietly, and Bandage knew that only he could hear him. Bandage suddenly found himself whispering into the man's ear, his hand waving over his face. The words, almost silent as they were, had an impact on both Bandage and the techie. Bandage could feel the Force rippling ever so slightly, clouding the man's thoughts as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"You fell asleep at your terminal. Your neck is sore because you slept on it wrong."

Bandage felt the techie's head loll, and almost nod, before slowly slumping forward. Bandage quickly placed the man's hands so as to appear resting, putting his neck into what Bandage would believe to be an uncomfortable position. Reaching over the man, Bandage's fingers began typing quickly at the keys, searching the system under the techie's user account, attempting to find any useful information.

[Telan Desaria]

Twelve days later...


The attack began without prelude and without subterfuge. No time had been allowed Intelligence to do its job, no ships ordered into reconnaissance of the target. Scarcely had any sort of tactical formulae been created when three Imperial battlecruisers entered the system.


Shots rang out in all directions before the droid-controlled range finders could finish their calculations - rather the battery commanders had been ordered to fire off a few salvos in any general direction. The ships' commander was anticipating the shock value of three Titan-class Battlecruisers appearing from nothingness at the edge of a planetary gravity well.


" We're registering hits across the board, sir."


" Excellent. Target report?"


" A dozen armed merchantmen and three Mon Calamari Cruisers, making best speed around the planet."


Captain Firam Desaria smiled to himself. The Rebels were fleeing before him, just as Admiral Isoto had said they would. Firam was realizing more and more that his commander had a great deal of wisdom regarding the enemies in this theatre - and he had learned a great deal. The young man's chest swelled with pride when he was offered a higher position and gave no thought to the heavy cruiser he left behind. He concentrated only on dispatching the pitiful elements arrayed before him.


" Plot a course to take us within range of the most number of those freightors but intercept those cruisers. Fire at will."


The Titans pushed on, losing little speed from their sudden reversion to realspace, all guns spitting neon energy at anything daring to move. They continued, steady on, until their forward guns could bear on the Mon Cal ships, seven freightors adrift and battered in their wake.


" They're launching snub-fighters. X-wings and a few B-wings, sir. Shall we counter with TIEs?"


" Negative - train all quad-lasers on them. We need not waste TIE fuel-"


A gasp was heard round the bridge. Desaria turned to his ship's executive officer whose skin was a ghastly white. Narrowing his eyes, the Grand Admiral's son tracked the man's view through the viewport and around the horizon of Fresia III...


...where another dozen Rebel cruisers sat, waiting. Before any man could bark out an order, they fired.

[Bandage]

Eleven days before...


Around thirty-five minutes after midnight, Bandage was at the console, his wrapped features bathed in a greenish hue from the origin of the computer screen. By this time, he had a fair familiarity with the system, and had little difficulty accessing several files that were not encrypted. Upon graizing at the subject material for each and every file, one caught his interest immediately. It was a datafile for the location of the now-destroyed Jedi Order here on Coruscant. This information was not so valuable to most, for the grounds itself were most likely devoid of any interesting materials due to the passage of a little over two decades. But to Bandage, this information presented an opportunity. Perhaps he could find something there. This prospect, Bandage knew, was quite unrealistic. With such a passage of time, datafiles would become rusted and corrupted far beyond salvage. Items would most likely be destoyed with the passage of time, or would be aquired by either patrol units or scavengers. But Bandage simply had this feeling. It tugged at him, to check the file, to find that location. But why?

Maybe it was for sheer curiosity. It could have been to find some trace of what it meant to be Jedi a quarter of a century ago. Or maybe it was the Force guiding him. In any instances, Bandage attempted to access the file. It was encrypted. Not surprising. Such a file would no doubt have a measure of security on it. Bandage took a cleansing breath, focusing himself. Shortly after, Bandage's fingers, to his surprise, began to deftly key away on the access panel. With a short amount of time, the screen was filed with several system protocols. Only two of these did Bandage recognize. The remainder must've been influenced from some other source within himself. Finally, after one final line, the files password was revealed and then recanted into the proper entry. The file opened, revealing not only a written report on the area, but maps and scematics for the area. The information was a recent detail, well within a year of the current date. Retrieving his datapad, Bandage deftly wired in and connected the datapad to the computer system. A quick duplication and extraction of the copied file, and Bandage disconnected his datapad, putting it away. Bandage was just about to leave, when something compelled him to go back. He did so, and followed his compulsion. He found himself back at the terminal, clearing out the history of the files he access. It was like as if the terminal simply sat there, untouched save by the unconscious techie. With easy moves, Bandage reshifted the man, opening his mouth. A bit of spittle dripped from the techie's mouth, hitting the table where his head rested. The result of an hour or more of 'hard' sleep. Retracing his steps lightly, Bandage quickly scampered up the wall, slipping noiselessly into the open ventilation shaft, silently shutting it behind him. The techie awakened seconds later, suddenly becoming alert. He looked around rapidly several times. He was alone. Completely alone. Wiping the drool from his cheek, he got up, rubbing his sore neck as he made his way to the stim-cafe machine. He spoke quietly to himself, grumbling.

"Damned neck. Must've slept on it wrong..."

[Akrabbim]

Several days had passed, Akrabbim playing the role of "Dar Wilkins" the whole time. He has gained a good overall layout of the base, but has been unable to do any serious reconaissance work. Troopers are kept rather busy with training, chores, grunt work, and the like. It's time to stage a disappearance to free himself from being trapped in this role as a Private.

The following night, Akrabbim slips out of his bunk and makes his way to a restricted supply closet, containing several packets of drugs, painkillers, and the like. He covers himself with Dar's image, made of light. That way, should any cameras (hopefully) see him, Dar will be the one to take the blame. He steals several handfulls of painkillers and other drugs that would sell well in the back alleys of Coruscant. He quickly slips to another locker, grabbing a few blasters, also a hot black market commodity. Now, for the getaway.

He stows the pilfered goods into a rucksack and tosses it over his back, rushing for one of the side exits. Just as he reaches the door, an alarm sounds. Apparently, the night watchmen were not completely asleep at the terminals. He bashes his way through the side exit, and quickly slips to the side of the door. He creates an image, however, of Dar Wilkins running away for the streets of Coruscant, covering his true form with an invisibility illusion. Several Troopers and guards rush by Akrabbim, chasing the phantom of his own creation. Once the image is out of sight of everyone, he dispels it. The guards should be on a wild goose chase for hours. He slips back inside, dropping the stash of goods into the trash chute. He works his way into a maintenance closet, and then into the bases' ventilation system. From his previous scouting, he has discovered several areas that he should be able to sleep undisturbed. He makes his way to one of these hiding places and prepares to bed down. If his plan works, he should be able to perform espionage more easily now. As well, if they do find the real Dar Wilkins, he will be accused of being a deserter. His continued assertions that his real name is Jakson Evermoor will only add to the perception that he's trying to hide and is guilty of desertion.

As Akrabbim slips into unconsciousness, he smiles, knowing that tomorrow his campaign against the Empire can truly begin.

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Palace - Coruscant


General Maxim whistled as he strolled into work on a day like every other. Long before the sun had peaked its pesky head above the horizon he had finished his morning work out, ingested a quick but nutritious breakfast, and boarded the tram for Imperial City. Light reflected on every surface when the tram came before the gates of the Palace and off he had gone at a trot. His routine remained unbroken and today, he had news that his wife, ever the irrepresible gossip-peddler, had contracted a rare cancer that brought great pains to her lips.


And now she can say nothing of me whether be I near or far. What a glorious day to be alive!


Salutes were rendered here and there as the Brigadier General made the long journey many levels up and so many sections over. The walk often tired younger men but Maxim was in excellent shape - sneering as he went at the peers of his age who took full advantage of the lift system.


" Good morning, Valiesce," Maxim said, smiling as he went at the female civilian secretary guarding the inner sanctum of Grand Admiral Desaria's office complex. He moved by quickly but not too quick that the voluptuous woman could not notice the exaggerated wink he had cast in her direction. Down the hall from Desaria's office itself, Maxim settled into his desk and had barely adjusted his chair when his eyes caught a all-too standard missive from the Office of Personnel Management.


Maxim pursed his lips and placed his thumb on the reader. He felt his mood drop beyond the sub-basement of the Palace as the text scrolled before him.



Baron Desaria, we regret to inform you that your son, Firam Desaria, a Captain in the Imperial Navy, has fallen in battle...