Telan Desaria
Apr 23rd, 2002, 01:15:32 PM
OOC-Alpha, chime in any time...
IC/
The bridge was alive with activity, though it was not the same as it used to be. The officers chatted amongst themselves, a few even to enlisted men of lower ratings. Droids plodded about and did routine maintence, one, a refitted FX-model, was even serving caf to the men in the port crew pit, making the starboard'er's very jealous and even promting a few of them to make some catcalls, beckoning the droid to the'better side of the bridge.' But Military discpiline was not lost. Their uniforms were pressed, and smartly so, their boots were polished and their belts shined, and as Captain Voltairestepped onto the bridge, the Fleet troopers assigned as bridge guards came to attention and went through their ritual as if nothing had changed from four days ago.
But something had. All could, escpecially the command officers who had no other job than to watch over the welfare of their crews. The new atmsosphere was as if an immense burden had been lifted from the yoke of the Imperials' shoulders, for none was willing to give up the title or rank or discipline that went with the name.
Fleet Admiral Desaria sat in his office, aft of the bridge, and waited for the command crew he had summoned to arrive. The Commanders of the flagship-Voltaire-the Command Destroyer Escort Squadron, all the Destroyers, and a number of other officers had been called to Admiral Desaria's office-jsut large enough to accomodate the two dozen men-and women-he had planned to assemble.
First to arrive was Captain Voltaire, aged and stern of mind, but with a jocular expression on his face and his head bereft of the standard Imperial officers' cap-for Desaria had decried that all officers above the rank of Lieutenant, First-clas, that were not serving off the ship, were not required to don their caps. Following him came two men and a women of an obvious generational gap, the eldest no more than twenty-five. They were departmental commanders of the Decisive. The Fleet fighter commander, several ship Captains, and several of their aides and executives, all arrived within a span of twenty minutes. Desaria sat, unmvoing and silent behind his desk, watching the room generate from his office into a reception.
When they had all gathered, Desaria rose, and the party broke with all the room's occupants taking their seats.
" I am sure that you all think that I gathered you here to inform you of our fate, of a decision I had made. Well, you're wrong."
The room remained silent, but the Admiral could hear the wheels and cogs grinding away. " Instead, I have called you to vote-yes, vote-on a matter of a more pressing and immediate nature. The dress of our small, yet mighty, armada. I believe, in order to server the bonds of our Imperial leanings, whatever they may be, we must change our appearance. Thus, I have put together, with the help of the ship's tailor and his design staff, a review of the possibilities."
Desaria sat back into his high-backed jet-colored chair and waited until the murmurs of discussion died away. When the room was silent again, the Admiral pressed a buton on a small droid caller he had taken from the surface of his desk. " Option one:"
With the flick of his wrist, a portion of the bow-facing wall receeded to port, revealing a droid in a crimson, Imperial-cut uniform. Upon the sleeves were black cuffs, and a black stripe along the trouser hem. The droid moved into full view of the viewing audience and turned. It then stood off to the rear of Desaria's desk.
" Option two..."
The procession proceeded until five different outfits were arayed before the ranking officers of the " New Imperial Sovereingty," as Desaria had previously addressed it. There were full black, blue, white, and finally, the choosen uniform for all officers and senior enlisted personnel. It was no more than an Imperial uniform, dark, almost olive green, with a white trouser stripe and cuffs. Having chosen thta, Desaria unveiled the additions for the other soldiers and crewers. The duty overalls remained unchanged, except for a white cuff ring. The Fleet troopers would retain their black uniforms and helmets, with the provisio that they also receive the white trouser stripe and hem. Most shocking of all, though, was what the Admiral wanted to do to the stormtroopers, and specifically called up Lieutenant General Marxal Irdding, who was now commander of the fleets 'stormies.' He approved. Their white armor would be replaced with grey.
The Admiral was astonished that they had come to a decision so fast, and near unanimously, without any fight or squabble. " well, perhaps this bodes well for us."
The troupe broke into a reception once more, this time with drink and food provided by the Admiral himself, who partook of his officers' hospitality.
* * *
" The question remains, gentlemen: where do we go. Our analysts say we have consumables for, on the minimum if we supply the smaller ships from the larger ones, enough provisions for three months-that includes fuel. That does NOT include torpedoes and missiles, should we get into a scrape."
Desaria looked at Captain Voltaire, and Rear Admiral Vaalt, who had adamnatly refused to stay behind and thus taken over the CDES. " It has ben my wish to find a planet for us to live upon, with a repair yard for our ships, and homes and families for our men. And, most of all, supplies for our ships. Suggestions this far."
Vaalt, ever the eager tactician-never strategist, lest he be confused with thinking more than one battle ahead-spoke before Voltaire could open his mouth. " There's a planet near here-Dalmorra. It's small, would be out of the way, and has enough supplies for us to live off of for more than a year."
Voltaire merely snorted. " That would be fine if we were to become no better than insects, pillaging and raping every planet we came upon for the sole purpose of feeding our engines. I don't think that's what the Admiral had in mind."
" That would be correct, Dorren." Desaria did, however agreeing, shot him a look that said' shut up', as not to cause undue tension among the ranks. " I have planned something far more long term. Something far more hospitable, somewhere where we would be able to start families with the populace, and become equal masters of our domain-"
" Carida?" Vaalt asked, piquing an eyebrow.
" No. That would cause Darth Viscera and his fleet to be upon us in a matter of days. No. A little while ago, I took it upon myself to try and recruit my home planet of Centaur into the Empire. I never completed the mission due to the biddings of High Command. I am still Centaurian nobility, and do know many of the rulers of the planet. Things may work to our advantage."
" This time it was Voltaire's turn to be quizzical. " We're not going to attack?"
" Never. Diplomacy must be the best option. The Centaurians have a proud history that involves war, but that has always been expansion. No one that has ever tried to take the throne of Centaur by force has ever come close to succeeding, even on the one fleting occasion where it succeeded."
" So, what are our orders, Admiral?" Vaalt asked, some what resigned.
" The Decisive and the Eudaemon as its escort will set off for Centaur at once. The rest of the fleet will remain here. Do NOT, unless directly attacked, fight anyone. If they're moving at you, withdraw, for the Emperor's sake!!!" Desaria cursed, meaning the Empeor of the Centaur.
" Aye sir!!" The officers chorused.
" Good. Then it's off the Centaur we go..."
IC/
The bridge was alive with activity, though it was not the same as it used to be. The officers chatted amongst themselves, a few even to enlisted men of lower ratings. Droids plodded about and did routine maintence, one, a refitted FX-model, was even serving caf to the men in the port crew pit, making the starboard'er's very jealous and even promting a few of them to make some catcalls, beckoning the droid to the'better side of the bridge.' But Military discpiline was not lost. Their uniforms were pressed, and smartly so, their boots were polished and their belts shined, and as Captain Voltairestepped onto the bridge, the Fleet troopers assigned as bridge guards came to attention and went through their ritual as if nothing had changed from four days ago.
But something had. All could, escpecially the command officers who had no other job than to watch over the welfare of their crews. The new atmsosphere was as if an immense burden had been lifted from the yoke of the Imperials' shoulders, for none was willing to give up the title or rank or discipline that went with the name.
Fleet Admiral Desaria sat in his office, aft of the bridge, and waited for the command crew he had summoned to arrive. The Commanders of the flagship-Voltaire-the Command Destroyer Escort Squadron, all the Destroyers, and a number of other officers had been called to Admiral Desaria's office-jsut large enough to accomodate the two dozen men-and women-he had planned to assemble.
First to arrive was Captain Voltaire, aged and stern of mind, but with a jocular expression on his face and his head bereft of the standard Imperial officers' cap-for Desaria had decried that all officers above the rank of Lieutenant, First-clas, that were not serving off the ship, were not required to don their caps. Following him came two men and a women of an obvious generational gap, the eldest no more than twenty-five. They were departmental commanders of the Decisive. The Fleet fighter commander, several ship Captains, and several of their aides and executives, all arrived within a span of twenty minutes. Desaria sat, unmvoing and silent behind his desk, watching the room generate from his office into a reception.
When they had all gathered, Desaria rose, and the party broke with all the room's occupants taking their seats.
" I am sure that you all think that I gathered you here to inform you of our fate, of a decision I had made. Well, you're wrong."
The room remained silent, but the Admiral could hear the wheels and cogs grinding away. " Instead, I have called you to vote-yes, vote-on a matter of a more pressing and immediate nature. The dress of our small, yet mighty, armada. I believe, in order to server the bonds of our Imperial leanings, whatever they may be, we must change our appearance. Thus, I have put together, with the help of the ship's tailor and his design staff, a review of the possibilities."
Desaria sat back into his high-backed jet-colored chair and waited until the murmurs of discussion died away. When the room was silent again, the Admiral pressed a buton on a small droid caller he had taken from the surface of his desk. " Option one:"
With the flick of his wrist, a portion of the bow-facing wall receeded to port, revealing a droid in a crimson, Imperial-cut uniform. Upon the sleeves were black cuffs, and a black stripe along the trouser hem. The droid moved into full view of the viewing audience and turned. It then stood off to the rear of Desaria's desk.
" Option two..."
The procession proceeded until five different outfits were arayed before the ranking officers of the " New Imperial Sovereingty," as Desaria had previously addressed it. There were full black, blue, white, and finally, the choosen uniform for all officers and senior enlisted personnel. It was no more than an Imperial uniform, dark, almost olive green, with a white trouser stripe and cuffs. Having chosen thta, Desaria unveiled the additions for the other soldiers and crewers. The duty overalls remained unchanged, except for a white cuff ring. The Fleet troopers would retain their black uniforms and helmets, with the provisio that they also receive the white trouser stripe and hem. Most shocking of all, though, was what the Admiral wanted to do to the stormtroopers, and specifically called up Lieutenant General Marxal Irdding, who was now commander of the fleets 'stormies.' He approved. Their white armor would be replaced with grey.
The Admiral was astonished that they had come to a decision so fast, and near unanimously, without any fight or squabble. " well, perhaps this bodes well for us."
The troupe broke into a reception once more, this time with drink and food provided by the Admiral himself, who partook of his officers' hospitality.
* * *
" The question remains, gentlemen: where do we go. Our analysts say we have consumables for, on the minimum if we supply the smaller ships from the larger ones, enough provisions for three months-that includes fuel. That does NOT include torpedoes and missiles, should we get into a scrape."
Desaria looked at Captain Voltaire, and Rear Admiral Vaalt, who had adamnatly refused to stay behind and thus taken over the CDES. " It has ben my wish to find a planet for us to live upon, with a repair yard for our ships, and homes and families for our men. And, most of all, supplies for our ships. Suggestions this far."
Vaalt, ever the eager tactician-never strategist, lest he be confused with thinking more than one battle ahead-spoke before Voltaire could open his mouth. " There's a planet near here-Dalmorra. It's small, would be out of the way, and has enough supplies for us to live off of for more than a year."
Voltaire merely snorted. " That would be fine if we were to become no better than insects, pillaging and raping every planet we came upon for the sole purpose of feeding our engines. I don't think that's what the Admiral had in mind."
" That would be correct, Dorren." Desaria did, however agreeing, shot him a look that said' shut up', as not to cause undue tension among the ranks. " I have planned something far more long term. Something far more hospitable, somewhere where we would be able to start families with the populace, and become equal masters of our domain-"
" Carida?" Vaalt asked, piquing an eyebrow.
" No. That would cause Darth Viscera and his fleet to be upon us in a matter of days. No. A little while ago, I took it upon myself to try and recruit my home planet of Centaur into the Empire. I never completed the mission due to the biddings of High Command. I am still Centaurian nobility, and do know many of the rulers of the planet. Things may work to our advantage."
" This time it was Voltaire's turn to be quizzical. " We're not going to attack?"
" Never. Diplomacy must be the best option. The Centaurians have a proud history that involves war, but that has always been expansion. No one that has ever tried to take the throne of Centaur by force has ever come close to succeeding, even on the one fleting occasion where it succeeded."
" So, what are our orders, Admiral?" Vaalt asked, some what resigned.
" The Decisive and the Eudaemon as its escort will set off for Centaur at once. The rest of the fleet will remain here. Do NOT, unless directly attacked, fight anyone. If they're moving at you, withdraw, for the Emperor's sake!!!" Desaria cursed, meaning the Empeor of the Centaur.
" Aye sir!!" The officers chorused.
" Good. Then it's off the Centaur we go..."