The Hollow Sound of Victory

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial High Command
Xucphra City, Thyferra


OOC NOTE: This thread takes place after the Battle/Victory of Bestine


“…as a result of what would be sound tactical redeployments, we will have to reduce Gijo and Mrlsst before any assault can be made.” The Chief of the General Staff finished what had begun as the answer to a brief question standing before a nearby table, pouring himself a glass of sherry.


Behind his desk, Grand Admiral Desaria sat ram-rod straight, hands steepled and set against pursed lips. His eyes may have gazed forward into his spacious office but behind them his mind was well at work, putting every scenario the gradually-thinning Marshal Prem had stated into a clear picture. One thing that had aided in his rise through the ranks was a superb if not over-active imagination.


Tall and lean, Field-Marshal Fieri von Laang turned from his own mental reverie in which he had been so engrossed while staring out the Admiral’s office window into the growing metropolis of Xucphra City. “ Against Mrlsst, you can count on little help from the Fighter Corps. They have employed a type of pulse mine that is rather useless against anything larger than a blastboat. However, against fighters they are deadly, each one nothing more than a massive fragmentation grenade; to boot, they are programmed to mass detonate allowing the tripping of just one to shred an entire squadron. They have several dozen belts of those mines throughout the system. Thankfully, they are hideously expensive hence why we don’t encounter them that often.”


“ No point in risking the fighters then,” replied the ever-sensible Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army, Field-Marshal Archduke Jarek T’chort. “ Couldn’t Lancers or Rapier Gunships be sent in first to eliminate the minefields so the fighters could deploy safely?”


“ They could, but casualties among they would be catastrophic. Mrlsst’s primary moon has four old Taim&Bakk LD Nines. They are near antiques but still deadly: long-range and rapid fire – our frigates would be cut to ribbon,” Vice-Admiral Voss remarked, accepting a glass Prem had brought. Though the shortest man in a room of rather tall officers, Voss stood out by wearing the dark-blue uniform of the Fighter Corps with his General Staff trouser stripe attached: as a commander of carrier forces, he had become renowned and was both Prem’s and von Laang’s aide on Fleet operations.


“ Perhaps a small infiltration team could disable the cannon at the key moment our forces arrive.” Vinjent Desaria, arrived as a representative of the Imperial Guard, puffed calmly on a fine cigar after his suggestion had been made.


All ears perked at this suggestion and the room listened attentively to Lieutenant-General Desaria. Grand Admiral Desaria, however, motioned in an orderly carrying a pad for which he quickly signed off on. The aide departed, leaving the assemblage to its musings.


“ What do you think, Telan?”


The Grand Admiral had averted his eyes from the room to his desk. His hands, formerly held up in quiet introspection, sat askew, the left balled into a fist the right shaking visibly.


“ Telan?” asked the Admiral’s younger brother, instinctive familial compassion overriding military decorum.


Desaria the elder shuddered, saying nothing for several tense seconds. He uttered one word, barely loud enough for the approaching Vinjent to hear. “ Phoenix.”


“ What?” the younger querried, his eyes going wide with disbelief. He hard heard such a code only in conjecture – never used and never intended to be. His brother repeated the phrase, his normally powerful voice trembling. The standing Desaria nodded, solemn, and turned to the other officers. “ Gentlemen, we must leave the room.”


Alexi Prem stood, glass in hand. “ Telan, what’s – “


Grand Admiral Desaria interrupted, his tone low but stern. “ Out.”


Placing his glass on a nearby table, the Chief of the General Staff exited brusquely. He had been Telan Desaria’s friend for years and had never been kept in the dark about something – until now. Voss, T’chort, and von Laang exited next followed by the younger Desaria who closed the doors behind him then stood like a sentinel before them, deterring all from entering. Conversation began immediately among the senior officers in all the Empire – no one knew what had stirred their commander into such a rage.


Nor would they.

[Telan Desaria]

Alone in the space of his office, Telan Desaria wept. Inside him he held a rage unlike any other he had ever felt. With the force only a scorned lover could muster, he slammed a balled fist into one of his display cases. Glass shattered and wood-paining splintered. The statuette inside was unmolested though it very nearly met a similar fate. Anger gave way to sadness which in turn birthed rage. All thoughts of duty, honour, and the Empire had disappeared. On his mind was only one thought, one name – one face.


Through his brain raced a recounting of history, facts and places the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy had long sought to forget. For over fifteen years he had pushed all memories from his mind; for those fifteen years he had replaced any hope with a sterile and unwavering dedication to duty. While the Empire had gotten him into the predicament in the first place, it had also gotten him out.


One day passed, then two. From dusk until dawn, the Grand Admiral was not disturbed. No questions were asked, no replies given. Silence and pain had become intimate companions. In a vain attempt to relieve himself of one, music had been played from the office speakers, but the resonating strains of an Agnerian canon served only to remind Desaria of the hurt. Tears came and went but the sadness remained.


Over and over again he had read the received report on the activities of one man and his tierach of the last seventeen years. Using access codes and a direct textual connection with the Citadel, home of Imperial Intelligence, he recalled even more facts he had ordered attained but sealed. He chided himself to no end for using the mechanism of the Empire for a personal gain but could not undo what had been done, secure only in the knowledge that the attainment of that information had caused no harm, hurt, danger, or casualties.


The third day dawned like the two that had preceeded it. Officers that were close to the Grand Admiral, that knew of his abrupt seclusion happened by in the vain hope that he would emerge. Members of the General Staff brought by unimportant reports hoping to hear some revelation but were greeted only by the same negative nod the Supreme Commander’s younger brother had given them every time since.


Thyferra rotated on its axis, turning day to night. Outside, the lights of Xucphra city beamed in all their brilliance, happy in their ignorance. Though darkness had overcome light not all was black.


“ Malek,” called the usually strong voice over an intercom at the Grand Admiral’s personal guard’s desk. The loyal Lieutenant who had not left that seat for seventy hours felt his eyes widen.


“ Yes, sir!!!”


“ Send in my brother and Marshal T’chort.”

[Jarek T'chort]

Hushed voices and whispered rumors had been uttered non-stop since the curious and utterly out of character self-imposed confinement of the Supreme Commander. Those who knew Desaria best had advised against any attempt to get the man out of his quarters and to leave him be for at least a while after it became clear he was not emerging from his quarters on the second day. T'chort therefore, was slightly suprised when he ha received word that his old friend had wanted to see him.

Now, waiting in the antechamber with his hands clasped behind his back, watching the door to Desaria's apartments, he mused over what could have made the Navy dynamo change so radically in so short a time. Jarek worried about his friend, though usually he was not one to partake in worrying. He had seen the look upon Desaria's face, as had Prem and the others. The matter was one of intense private discussion between the highest ranking officers in the Empire.


Footsteps - hurried footsteps - approached. Vinjent appeared, his face drawn. Jarek smiled at him, a smile that conveyed his own apprehension.

" We are expected. "

The pair entered through the double doors, past a quiet Malek, who nodded solemnly at the pair as they passed into the darkened chambers of Grand Admiral Telan Desaria.

[Telan Desaria]

The fading strains of a Wagernian symphony greeted the entering pair. The Thyferran sun had long since set, lights from a livened Xucphra City casting shadows all about the office. Grand Admiral Desaria sat behind his expansive wooden desk pouring over an antique bound copy of some military reference manual. His sole companion was a tiny desk lamp made of brass and a green glass shade covering it.


“ Be seated.” The voice of the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy was low and subdued, but to the tempered ears of a close friend and relative, the authoritative firmness that had been present three days before then so unexpectedly disappeared had returned.


Desaria inhaled sharply, looking at some full-page image neither visitor could see clearly, then brought a black-leather gloved hand to its cover and shut it. A whiff of stale air wafted forth and though faint in the room’s purification system none could escape the conclusion that the work had not been opened in the Admiral’s lifetime. Moving it to one side, he lifted his head and made eye contact with one man, then another. Straightening himself, he took a new measure of each man.


“ I want to thank you both for being here.”


The mood was somber, no hint of emotion on the faces of the three men, each one seated, each one tense. Grand Admiral Desaria turned to his right where the taller of the two men had sat.


“ Jarek, I have know you three years as a friend, and for a third of that time you have been my right hand. Without you the ground forces of the Empire would be nowhere near the standard of excellence you set for them. I have placed unparalleled trust and faith in you on countless occasions and not once have you disappointed or failed me.


“ Thusly, now I must place upon your shoulders a burden greater than any you have ever to date borne. Effective at midnight tonight you will become Acting Supreme Commander of the whole of the Empire. At that time I will also be suspending myself from active service.”


Vinjent Desaria, who had an inkling of what had turned the most prominent figure in High Command to a recluse, felt all colour drain from his face. Jarek T’chort, remained impassive though his brow had furrowed, doubtless unconsciously.


“ You are next in the line of succession should anything happen to me. Now I must embark on a journey that may cost me my life and the last thing I plan to do is abuse my power or position. I will not give orders or place others in a situation that may cost men their lives for a purely personal matter. I have done nothing other than pound into the Empire a sense of honour and for me to do so would be to undo all that has been accomplished.


“ The reigns of the Imperial war machine if not the very Empire itself are now in your hands, Jarek. If I do not return, they will remain there. I trust you to do what is right and to lead all we have worked for into the light of success and victory.”

[Jarek T'chort]

If Jarek had been a lesser man, he would have allowed his suprise to pour from his mouth in a series of profanities, such was his suprise. But he remained quiet for a moment, brow furrowed. Snatching a quick look at Vinjent, who was silent and still as a statue, he gave thought to the words of his friend and moved a hand to his brow, caressing his right hand temple. It was not the responsibility that had shaken him, rather that Telan, the epitome of duty and honor, was now seemingly abandoning the Empire.

" You'll forgive me if this is somewhat out of the blue for me. " Jarek said slowly. " I of course accept the position. "

Bringing his hand back to his side, he breathed out and spoke once more. He could almost hear the inner workings of Tiberius Anar's mind clicking once the Chancellor had heard of this.

" I must ask that you tell me what has happened to bring such a drastic change in yourself, Telan. "

Forgetting rank and position for a moment, he leant forward and looked at the white clad Admiral with searching eyes.

" I will be frank with you, this is not the man I have come to know and respect, thusly I implore you, as a friend, to tell me what has happened. "

[Telan Desaria]

Inhaling slowly, Baron Telan Desaria nodded his head. “ To keep it from you would be a disservice I will not render. You have been a loyal officer and a proven friend. You deserve to know.”


A gloved hand moved towards a dark-stained box atop the Admiral’s desk from which he removed a long, slender hand-wrapped cigar. Slicing off the tip with a silver-clipper took a second; Desaria’s free hand brought aloft a crystalline igniter. He paused as if to regard the flame before bringing it to the cigar’s end, then shook off his momentary reverie and replaced the igniter. He offered the box to his brother and the Field-Marshal before relaxing into his chair.


“ Before being transferred into the ranks of the Imperial Military, I served the Centuarian Navy. My first command was the Archduke Vallinn, a Star Destroyer. In her corridors walked the ghosts of my past; I had requested a transfer after the death of my first lover, Arian. It was denied by High Command and instead I was given a squadron, but the Vallinn was to carry my flag.


“ For almost five years I commanded that unit, winning medals and victories against pirates, raiders, and rebels. Then one day, we put in to Kiraanat Prime for provisions. It was an Imperial world but, as you know, since Centuar itself was too, we had no problems. The governor, a shot and plump toad obsessed with the importance of his out-of-the-way colony held a grand ball for the glory of the Empire and invited the senior officers of my squadron to attend. The planet’s social elite arrived and, asked by the garrison commander to attend on behalf of the Fleet, I too went. The ball was lavish and wonderful but I had a miserable time. Since Arian’s death, happiness had eluded me.”


None of the seated officers could tell with any certainty, but a tinge of pain seemed to wash over the Grand Admiral’s face as he recounted events of nearly two-decades prior.


“ One of my officers, the Vallinn’s fighter commander, brought to me a budding young artist whose canvasses were, he told me, all the rage on Coruscant. Suggesting I buy one, he made a discreet exit. I mingled for a few before I realized that against my very specific orders, he had tried to introduce me to someone in hopes of a romance. His name was Azrael, and to be honest he was gorgeous. But I could not bring myself to even hint that I was interested. I had already lost one lover, I could not bear the thought of losing another.


“ Over the course of the next six months, we were actually stationed back to that world as a base of operations against a band of pirates that had moved into the area. Needless to say, my officers would not stop trying to ‘hook me up’ as the phrase went and eventually, my own defense gave way. I fell for him without any hope of recovery.”


A tear, small and reflective of the room’s sole source of light, twinkling as it emerged from a sunken duct, made a silent and lonely journey down the side of the Grand Admiral’s face.


“ We began to date, and eventually I asked him to marry me. He accepted and we were engaged. By that point, we had been together almost a year and we had won our victory over the pirates. Shortly thereafter, word of my career had reached Imperial High Command who offered me a commission in the Imperial Navy-proper. An offensive was in the works against a Rebel base and they wanted me to lead it. Azrael did not take the news well.


“ He cried of course, and asked me to resign. He said we could move in together back on Centuar and spend our days together. The prospect was promising, but I could not abandon my duty or my men. I departed with the Vallinn and did battle with the enemy.


“ The Rebel base crumbled like a Belduvian sand sculpture and I returned, a Line Captain in the Imperial Navy. When I returned, however, the apartment I had shared with Azrael was empty. I heard from the garrison commander, an older gentlemen in my confidence, that the governor’s chief aide had wooed and then spirited away my lover. At last report, the scheming wretch was sent towards Bastion.


“ I was crestfallen and I threw myself into my work. With only vague orders for a reconnaissance in force, I wiped out all seven Rebel bases in the Kritany Sector for which I was promoted Commodore. Before departing, I vowed to find Azrael and win him back. What’s more, I vowed to find this meddler and kill him.


The Field-Marshal, silent as the Grand Admiral recounted the story, asked his question. “ And you found him?”


Desaria nodded. “ He was promoted to Governor-General of Surus, a colony on the edge of Imperial Space near the Braxant Sector. Azrael is his lover. I plan to go to Surus, find this meddler, Rivel Nizarene, and kill him. And to do that, I will not drag the Empire with me. I will go, alone, and do what I promised I would do. I may die in the process. There is no assurance I will succeed, only the guarantee that I will die trying.”

[Jarek T'chort]

The epitome of duty and honor...

Jarek let those words he had thought flitter back through his mind. This whole affair seemed to be fairly fitting, now that Jarek knew the full story. But decidedly foolhardy.

" Telan, this matter could be settled far more easily. Despatch a special forces team to bring the men back here. Then do with them as you will. "

T'chort argued, but he knew deep down that his opposite had made up his mind, the look in the man's eyes was detached, distant. Jarek could see the Grand Admiral thinking carefully, planning, even as he talked.

"The ghosts of the past must be laid to rest, that I understand. " Jarek continued calmly, " But things must not be so drastic as for you to risk your life. "

Vinjent spoke for the first time since entering the room as his brother steepled his hands.

" He must do this himself, Marshal. It is a matter of honor. "

Jarek grimaced to himself as he thought of Telan's broken corpse left to rot by some jumped up administrator. Looking at the crestfallen warrior, Jarek let an edge slip into his voice.

" You are too valuable to the Empire to abandon it. "

[Telan Desaria]

A loyal friend as ever, Jarek.


The Grand Admiral gave a hearty puff on his cigar, letting the musky yet sweet aroma waft into the room’s stale air. The cloud expanded, dancing through the empty expanse before drifting apart into insignificance.


“ Marshal T’chort, it is the very dedication to the Glory and Life of the Empire that makes you the perfect person to succeed me. There is no doubt in my mind that you will do what is required of the man who sits in this office.


“ As for me, if I do not go, honour will be worthless. I took an oath of vengeance and to turn my back on it now would preclude me ever mentioning honour again. If I sent a commando unit to do my bidding in this matter, lives would be lost for a dubious cause as you said. I cannot order someone to do this as it is a personal matter and in no way benefits the Empire. I cannot be selfish, I cannot abuse this office and this rank or all we have done is for nothing.


“ I do not doubt the risk involved. I honestly do not see victory on my horizon this time. Either way, honour will be satisfied. Perhaps the Empire will be better off without me, who’s to say. Either way, you will have my brother to aide you.”


The Grand Admiral could see a retort about to spill forth from his younger sibling’s mouth but he halted it with a pointed finger.


“ You are an officer of the Guards and this does not directly affect you, Vinjent. You will stay and perform your duties. I would love for my brother to fight at my side once more, but there need not be two dead Desaria’s this trip.”


The Supreme Commander looked again at the Field-Marshal.


“ My value to the Empire would be less if I did not do this. How can I salute a flag whose ideals I am not ready to die for myself?”

[Jarek T'chort]

T'chort raised his arms and let them fall to his sides in a decidedly human gesture of defeat. Further debate on this subject was useless, he could see. Beside him, Vinjent's back was up over being ordered to stay. The younger man let a fire burn in his eyes, which Jarek noted - such fire could become dangerous in future. He recalled the words of Inquisitor Xulian on Bestine about Vinjent Desaria;

"His honor supercedes his love of the Empire. That could become a problem, but is of no bearing. "

The Falleen was correct in that assessment, Jarek knew.

Raising from his seat, Jarek stood and let the creases fall from his uniform, just as his brow did the same.

" Grand Admiral, your faith is not misplaced. I am honored to recieve this position. " Jarek raised his hand in salute - saluting both a superior officer and a friend.

" I can only wish you luck in your quest. The Empire will miss your presence, as shall I. "

[Telan Desaria]

Grand Admiral Desaria was relieved that his friend finally had acquiesced. He had honestly anticipated much more resistance from the proud Army commander. In that though, he had to admit he considered not the value both men placed on their friendship. Jarek T’chort was the perfect man to lead the Empire in Desaria’s absence, of that he could be sure - - no matter how long the sojourn lasted.


Rising to his feet, a solitary ray of light glistened off the twin medals dangling at the Admiral’s neck. With immaculate precision, Desaria raised a gloved hand to his temple. “ No, Field Marshal – I salute you. I could never have beseeched the Gods for a better friend.”


Telan Desaria, Baron of Raenoria, let his hand fall back to his side, the half smoked cigar burning silently in an elegant marble ashtray. He nodded solemnly and moved from around the desk. A gloved hand was placed in a knowing as well as forgiving grip on the younger Desaria’s shoulders. Moving on, he regarded the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Army and extended his hand. Both men shared an unspoken moment that only warriors could.


Grand Admiral Desaria departed the office, leaving a stunned personal guard and throng of relieved onlookers in his wake.

[Telan Desaria]

Propelled as much by teranite fuel as by the ubiquitous grace surrounding every crafy in the Lambda-class, Grand Admiral Desaria’s shuttle grew smaller and smaller to the gaze of those watching. For almost ever citizen, it was another departure thought to possess one high-ranking officer or another. To a pair of watching soldiers, one the brother and the other a friend of the departing man, no speculation was necessary. Both men knew the purpose of the crusade the now-former Supreme Commander undertook.


Watching as Xucphra City grew smaller, Baron Desaria turned away from Thyferra, thinking he would never see her again. Many memories and a great deal of glory had been attained while he sat at the Empire’s head. As he turned, however, Desaria thought not of the Empire, of the Fleet, nor even of glory. His sole purpose now was the fulfillment of his obligation to an oath long ago sworn…


“…I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about, Captain.” The Archduke Vallinn’s first officer enunciated the final word and title with a playful edge to his voice.


The Captain shot a chiding glance the way of the short, fair-haired Viscount from Almaz. “ Play innocent all you want, Tomas, but I know you. If you try; nay, if you even think of trying, you will go down in Centaurian history as the first Commander keel-hauled in a millennia.”


Placing a hand on his chest, Commander Kierant mocked hurt; had he extended his lower lip any more, it could have mopped the floor of the shuttle. “ Relax, my friend – I’m sure you will have a suitable rotten time.”…


Grand Admiral Desaria felt the shuttle buck slightly as it landed on the Imperial Liner Mouritan. Nodding only to the salutes of standing crewmen, he retreated into his stateroom. Two small cases were brought in after him, the orderlies departing only after a handsome tip had been offered with the assurance the Baron of Raenoria would not be disturbed. Sitting near a viewport, he opened a bottle of cognac that had been sent as a gift from the vessel’s captain and got lost in memories.


“…Captain?”


He slammed his plate down onto the buffet table, startled by the shrill voice of his friend. Commander Kierant waited until the good aristocrat turned to doubtless sail into him to offer up a glass of fine brandy. The gesture elicited a smile and no string of eloquent though just as biting rapprochement.


“ Oops! Excuse me, Captain – my comm is beeping.”


The smile turned to a quizzical expression when Captain Desaria’s first officer bolted away. The smile faded to impassivity when he saw what the Commander had been hiding. Shielded from view until the last minute was a tall man who was crouching behind Kierant to avoid visual detection. Lanky but not unpleasing he had an unmistakable boyish charm, a hint of playful innocence gleaming in pure blue eyes. His hair was longer than that standard in the Centaurian Navy – in fact, it drooped down over his ears and into his eyes. Dressed in a shirt of very thin almost transparent fabric, it was all the Baron could do to keep his gaze level.


“ I, um…”


“ You are Telan Desaria, commander of our newest arrival?”


“ Yes..ho-how did you know?”


The young man blushed. “ We don’t get many Destroyers here. We keep an eye out on those that do.”


“ I see…”


The Captain was fumbling with his words and took a swig of brandy so that he had an extra second to compose his typically stern features. Out of the corner of his eye, Desaria could see Commander Kierant and several other senior officers wave. He shot them daggers with his eyes but that look softened when he found his free hand being touched by the silky-smooth feel of unworked flesh.


“ My comm-channel.”


The man departed, leaving the captain speechless.

[Jarek T'chort]

The hours since Desaria's departure had left Jarek mulling over his new position. Looking about him as he stood in the office of the Supreme Commander, he let out a long, drawn out sigh.

Memories made themselves known to him, as an young Infantry Officer in the days of the Diktat, his brief and unsuccessful stint as a married man, his battles - victory and defeat.

He now held the entirety of the Imperial Sovereignty in his hands, the largest portion of the resurgent Empire. Below him, the ninety-seven floors of the Imperial High Command complex carried on as normal, there had been no official word of a change as of yet. Jarek turned his mulling to the thought of having to make the public announcement sometime that evening. There was also the matter of now controlling the entirety of the Imperial military, not just the Army. He had little experience with the Naval combat, though he knew Naval tactics and strategy, it was something he had learnt through private study as well as experience, spending long periods of his life on first troop transports, Officer quarters, then the command decks of Capitol ships. This of course included the mighty Super Star Destroyer, Intimidator, which lay in orbit above Thyferra.

Looking out toward the distant mountains, which bordered the Xucphra province and city, the solemn faced Marshal tightened his fists as he thought of the responsibilities ahead of him. He gave a thought to Anar, whose own Chancellery lay not seven miles east of the High Command complex, in Xucphra City, proper. That man would undoubtably make some play for power in Desaria's absence. Jarek was no fool however, he would play his cards close to his chest.

For a moment, Jarek wondered just how he was now able to command such vast power as he did at this moment, yet had failed in his marriage to Nina, his estranged wife. He wondered if she was even alive, he had not seen her, let alone heard from her in over twelve years. At least there were no children to think about, he consoled himself.

He cast his eyes across the office and finally down his own olive green, black trimmed uniform. A cuff band ran across his right arm, on it was inscribed; " 1st Storm Corps " in gothic script. That was why, he knew, why any casual life had and was destined to fail. He had given his life to the Empire. Everything he had. Nothing else mattered to him now, besides the continuation of the political and military doctrine of the Empire. Unclenching his fist, T'chort smiled to himself. He had served for so long, yet even as Supreme Commander, T'chort still served a higher ideal.

His was loyalty, his was honor, his was victory. His now, was the Empire.

[Telan Desaria]

“ Excellency, the Captain has invited you to dine with him.”


“ I must decline. I have much to do. Perhaps another day.”


“ Your Excellency, the Captain…”


A biting reply rang out bereft of the pleasant tone that covered the first decline. “ I said no. If you are unable to understand a simple command then you are not fir to wear that uniform!”


Shocked and amazed, the orderly retreated as quickly as he had entered, swearing no doubt under his breath. The Baron of Raenoria waved off any thought of the intrusion and returned to his work. Upon the small desk he had made a home for the last twelve hours was spread the schematics of a palace as well-defended as it was lavish. Piles of datacards littered about reflected little light from their plasticine casing. Several snapped or empty stylus’ lay wherever they had been thrown. Working was a man possessed.


Another chime at the door, ignored at first. An analysis of the obvious was not the visitor’s forte, unable to understand the Baron’s wish to remain secluded for he rang again.


“ Go away!” the man ordered, terse.


The chime rang anew. Fists clenched at Desaria’s side before one was unfurled to unclasp his holster. An angered but steady hand wrapped itself around the grip of a MerrSonn blaster-pistol. Baron Desaria stood with great force, sending the chair he had sat into a quick descent to the carpet-laden decking. He moved to the door, ready to draw his weapon and frighten the daft orderly on the side when the door parted of its own accord.


“ You won’t need that – yet.”


Desaria was confused, unable to believe his eyes. Taller than he, the intruder possessed a sheer physical bulk the Baron had never been able to achieve in years of rigorous physical training.


“ Malek?”


“ At your service, my Admiral.” The man bowed as if Desaria was still Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy.


“ What are you doing here?” Desaria asked, calmly but visibly confused. “ You are neglecting your duties!”


The large brute smiled, showing a mouth full of pristine teeth – the Empire stressed dental hygiene as disgusting mouths make for poor propaganda. “ Not anymore. I resigned.”


“ You cant!” Desaria almost shouted, force in his voice. “ You have no business being here.”


“ No, this is not my fight. But I swore an oath to defend you and if I was remiss and something happened, how would I be able to live with myself? Besides – you taught me loyalty. How loyal could I be if I picked and chose who I am loyal to?”


The former Grand Admiral wanted to shout, to scream, to range and rant at the dereliction of duty that was taking place before his eyes. He could not, though for doing so would make a hypocrite out of him. Like it or not, the not overly intelligent Fleet Assault Corps officer had a point. Desaria of all people could not order someone to forget an oath he had taken – especially in his present circumstance. He relented and extended a hand. Malek grasped it, grinning.


“ You know, I can call you Telan know since neither of us is in the ranks anymore.”


Laughter lightened the mood of a room that was far too close to darkness…

- -

” You ferassat!”

“ What?” innocent asked Commander Kierant as the shuttle bounced through the thin atmosphere of the world below. Hard as he tried, a grin slipped through the hurt exterior of the boyish first-officer.

“ You know damned well what! You set me up!”

Kierant lost his battle with himself and smiled widely. “ Yes I did. You’ve been brooding for the last two years. But there is only so much you can do to forget before you cease to be a person.”

Captain Desaria pointed a finger at his friend across the passenger cabin. “ You knew my orders! I am not ready for anything like this!”

Commander Kierant lost his smile as he unbuckled his restraint. Moving as best he could across a moving deck, he plopped down next to the Archduke Vallin’s master. “ Think Telan! Do you think Arian wants you to spend the rest of your life miserable? He doesn’t and I don’t. You’ve lost one, so listen to the one that is still here – it will be hard but you need to move on. How long do you think you can devote yourself to duty before you go mad?”

The Captain wanted to rail at his friend but he knew, beyond the armored exterior he had worked so tirelessly to project, that the ship’s comic was only doing what he could to make a friend happy. He balled a fist and mock punched the Commander on his arm. “ Keep disobeying orders, no matter your intentions, and you’ll be the longest serving Commander in history.”

Kierant smiled and gave Desaria a warm pat on the back. The atmosphere had been penetrated, their Destroyer looming larger and larger in the viewport…

[Jarek T'chort]

Captain Voltaire of the Imperial Super Star Destroyer Intimidator stood, feet slightly apart, in the Command quarters of the Supreme Commander of the massive warship, his aging features belied his sharp mind and quick reflexes. Now, he had his eyes on this man who stood, hands clasped behind his back, staring out of the pitch black view ports, which were dotted with endless numbers of stars.

His warbling comlink disturbed him.

" Lieutenant Bern here, the last shuttle from Thyferra has disembarked aboard, the parties are making their way to you now, Captain. "

Voltaire nodded to himself, " Thank you, Lieutenant, I remind you we are not to be disturbed. "

The disembodied voice spoke an affirmative and the Captain took a step toward the man at the other end of the room. The man had remained in the same position for some time since his arrival and inspection tour. Voltaire cleared his throat and addressed the black uniformed figure.

" Marshall? "

Jarek T'chort turned slowly from the observation windows, placing his hands on the highest backed chair at the end of a long table that ran down the center of the room. Ashtrays and data pads were dotted about the table at each seat, for each Imperial commander that would be arriving shortly for this important meeting of the brass.

" Yes, I heard, " Jarek said, his voice low, but a small smile on his lips. " There was something you wanted to ask me? "

Voltaire was a little taken aback at the soldier's forthrightness, though really he was used to openness with commanding officers in the period he had served with Desaria.

" There was. We have five minutes before the others arrive, I would like to ask why the Grand Admiral has left. His last communications to me were not clear besides my new orders. "

The gray haired Naval officer tugged at his uniform as he spoke, he was uncomfortable about speaking of such personal matters with a man he knew none too well, even if Desaria did trust him.

Jarek's face remained neutral as he replied. " He left to avenge a lost love. I am unaware of what he told you, Captain, but I know he valued you as an excellent officer and a friend.

Therefore I feel only right telling you the reasons for his departure. You know as well as I do, that for Telan, honor is something not forgotten, rather it is a core element of his being. It was something he had to do, by himself. He has left for an Outer Rim system with the intent on righting past wrongs."

Voltaire grimaced at the thought of the Grand Admiral alone, without aid, in some backward system, murdered by brigands. Much the same as his counterpart had, when he had learnt of Desaria's intentions. Shaking his head, the commanding officer of the Destroyer spoke slowly, his mind far away.

" I don't like it. Not one bit. "


" Neither do I. " Replied Jarek bluntly, but I understand why he did it. Now, however, we must return our attentions to our duties. "

Captain Voltaire straightened his back and nodded his affirmation as the door chimed with the arrival of the heads of the Imperial forces.


T'chort, meanwhile, prepared himself for the hardest test of his life.

[Telan Desaria]

“ Centaur Orbital Control to Liner Xinifan: you are clear for lane 87-Gamma. When you have fallen in, you may launch you shuttle.”


Long and elegant, the lozenge-shaped cruise ship made its way into a lazy pattern high above the massive forested world of Centaur. Visible between white cloud drifts were broad swaths of green and brown that were the planet’s twenty-nine continents, separated and surrounded by majestic but often violent oceans of blue.


Baron Telan Desaria was hit with a wealth of memories, most good, as a small craft bearing himself and his unexpected quest made a rapid descent into the planet’s atmosphere. Wasting no time, the shuttle penetrated the gaseous sphere protecting the planet below and descended rapidly to a palace on the Raeorian peninsula. As altitude ticked away on the pilot’s digital display, the brick façade of the sprawling complex came into view, along with the lush gardens and towering trees the Centaurians so revered.


“ Shall I put her down there, Admiral?” asked the pilot who had refused to believe the tall gentleman in his passenger compartment had separated himself from Imperial Service.


“ That’s fine,” Desaria replied, having given up trying to convince the man of the truth. Perhaps ignorance was bliss, he thought.


Ceasing its forward momentum, the shuttle’s repulsorlifts screamed as they battled gravity to land the craft slowly. The occupants could hear the landing struts strain when concrete was finally firm underfoot, both passengers exiting as quickly as they had come. The former Grand Admiral had already paid the man a generous thousand credits for his trouble and saw little reason for pleasantry - - a month prior, he might have. Now, he was driven and niceties were a luxury a man possessed could ill afford.


A party awaited the Baron of Raenoria as his sun was once more accosted by the bright Centaurian sun each member clothed in an Imperial-style uniform of blood-red, black breeches, and the Crest of the Royal Guard on their shoulders.


“ Your Excellency! Is it really you? We were told you were coming but…we didn’t believe it!”


Though his mood had been somber, Desaria smiled as he enfolded the head of his House Guard in a hug. Stepping back, the aristocrat regarded the man who had once taken a blaster-bolt for him. He was losing the battle with time but was putting up a gallant struggle nevertheless; though his hair had turned a dark grey, his chest was broad and arms firm, every bit the Centaurian male. He did not look a day over fifty for a standard human, though as he was one-hundred twelve.


“ I have come to call on your service to my family.”


The man, Colonel Lovak, straightened himself. “ We serve the House of Desaria.”


“ Volunteers only - - I am going after Azrael.”


The old man’s face went white. “ You’ve found him? We are with you, Your Excellency.”


Desaria clasped the man’s shoulder. “ Allow me to introduce Malek, the man who has guarded me while I was Supreme Commander.”


The two men shook hands, each offering a bow as professional courtesy, both men trained and tried bodyguards.


“ Come, I’ll brief you.”

[Telan Desaria]

It was with regality rather than speed that the Marauder-class Corvette bearing the Crest of the House of Desaria departed the Centaur System. Stars that formed great constellations for all to view as the titanic world revolved elongated into streaks past viewports and hatches as a terrific whine filled the corridors. For the first time in nearly five years, the Raptor’s once ultra-modern hyperdrive engines hummed to life, propelling the talon-ed craft at unimaginable speeds. Whites and blacks of varying shades were traded for blues, the bonds of one dimension violently cut as the vessel traversed the celestial plane into another. Turbulence ceased and the crew gave a sigh of relief – they were at cruising speed and to the credit of dedicated maintenance technicians, they had survived.


Retiring from the bridge, Baron Desaria roamed the halls of the last present his mother had bestowed upon him before leaving to the Centaurian Martial Academy. Granted the vessel rising up from the deck plates under the Admiral’s jackboots was nearly twenty-five years old, she had been retrofitted and refitted more times than any ship of the line, keeping her as modern as was possible. Extended to two hundred meters and armed with a dozen turbolasers and twice as many warhead launches, she was more than a match for any ship of her class - - and most from that above.


Desaria entered the ammunition locker of the port-forward turbolaser turret and inhaled. The smell of burnt casings and scorched atmosphere greeted his lungs a clear sign that all the weapons had been test fired before departure. The aroma was refreshing, bringing his mind away from the pain of the times. The surroundings brought them back.


- -


” Congratulations, Line Captain.”


The latest officer to make his way from the Centaurian Navy into the ranks of the Imperial Fleet smiled at the call of his rank, positively beaming in his new olive-green tunic and breeches, jackboots polished and reflecting the brilliant glow from the night moon. On his chest sat four red pips over four more, two of blue and two of amber. His colleagues donning dark blue broke rank from the honor-guard and inundated the tall gentleman with handshakes and pats on the back.


Captain Desaria moved amongst those men who had been left behind on Kiraant Prime for medical treatment and now recovered, thanking them. These had been the men who had bled upon the last mission and had to sit out the last call to glory, his friend Commander Kierant among them. When he reached the Vallinn’s fighter leader, the two embraced as brothers.


An entire company had been drawn up on the permacrete, Imperial stromtroopers looking especially fierce as the darkness of the night revealed only the white armored carapace protecting their bodies. An Imperial Lieutenant walked into the throng and saluted respectfully. “ Captain, Colonel Jatra requests your presence in his office.”


“ Drink responsibly, Telan!” Kierant shouted as the officers dismissed themselves, watching the staff car glide effortlessly away.


“ Line Captain-Baron Telan Desaria,” the orderly announced, departing when the tall man was through the office door. Colonel Jatra stood and offered his hand as he swatted a lone bug from the shiny-flesh of his bald head.


“ Congratulations, Captain. Line Captain, pardon me.”


“ Just like the Army,” Desaria playfully chided as he accepted a glass of emerald liquor. “ Always trying to down-play the Navy.”


Colonel Jatra grew somber, his smile vanishing without warning. “ I have known you since you arrived on this rock. You need to know what you have missed.”


One thought flashed across the Captain’s mind. Azrael. Slamming the glass upon the edge of the desk, Desaria felt himself tremble. “ What happened?”


“ He’s gone. Spirited away by that politician-fellow I know you weren’t too fond of.”


“ What?!?!?”


“ I know only this – they departed for the Mercian transport an hour ago. He has been reassigned and I guess your other half is tagging along. I’ve been trying to contact you for three weeks, but Command said you were under a blackout. He drained his account, sold your apartment, and has been doing everything needed to move. What did you tell him, Telan?”


Desaria was stunned and speechless. It made no sense – he was engaged to be married, after all! All was going well when he left. Azrael was not happy with the mission, but to assuage his anguish, he had requested a transfer to a low-action sector. They could be happy – it was what Azrael wanted.


“ No - - no.” He repeated it over and over again, before standing. His eyes had watered and his face had paled. The gloved hands at his sides clenched and released furiously. As his past flashed across his mind, Desaria could think of only one thing: his future was bleak. Rage eclipsing reason, he stood and stormed from the office. Rushing down the steps and out of the command complex, he elbowed aside a hapless young Naval ensign who looked on in confusion as his staff car rushed away with an errant driver. Colonel Jatra was upon him next, screaming futilely to the speeding vehicle. Fists balled, he reached for a comlink and soon after, sirens could be heard screaming in the distance, the Military Police in-bound at high speed.


The Kubelwagon bounced as Captain Desaria turned over curbs, ignored signs, and pushed the wheeled craft to its limits. At nearly one-hundred kilometers an hour, the small car arrived at its destination in a matter of moments. Leaving the engine on, he hoped out and bounded into a small tri-level building marked Viris Terrace Apartments. Taking steps three and four at a time, Desaria ascended to the third and final level and with a fierce kick, opened the door without aide of a key. Others may have thought his features could not sullen anymore but sullen it did. Where a red velvet living room set had adorned the apartment’s largest space only openness remained. Pictures were gone from the wall, cabinets were open in the nearby kitchen, the refresher bare of the bluish amenities Azrael had so enjoyed.


Shaking his head in disbelief, Desaria returned to the waiting car, sirens blaring nearby. Speeding through traffic signs and around slower vehicles, the Captain made the entrance to the garrison base in record time. Sentries armed with repeating blaster rifles waved and attempted to halt the arrival but to little affect. Desaria’s car turned off the road and up an embankment where a thick fenceline lay rooted in soft soil. Protecting his face with a spare hand he penetrated the fence and made quick work of the tarmac between it and the nearest hangar. When the car came to a stop, all four tires were punctured and air whistled out of them as the Imperial bounded away. Into an assault shuttle he ran where life stood still.


“ Telan – you are too predictable.”


Desaria froze, a hand on his holster as he stared down the barrel of the same model he himself carried. The uniform was not the black of a fighter pilot or the green of an Imperial officer – instead, it was the blue of a Centaurian Lieutenant-Commander.


“ Kierant?”


“ I was wondering when you would show up. I cannot idle it up alone.”


“ What?”


“ I would be a horrible best friend if I let you down so close to the end. That transport does not leave orbit for another six minutes.” Kierant released the action on his pistol and holstered it. Motioning to the chair at his side, he hit a few buttons and the engines of the Gamma-class Assault Shuttle whirred to life. Stunned but not immobile, Desaria smiled.


“ You devious little wretch. I don’t know who told you – wait, yes I do. Well, let’s go!”

[Telan Desaria]

The assault shuttle cleared the atmosphere with both thrusters burning as hot as the reactor would allow. Atoms were smashed in ceaseless fury, the black of spacing replacing the blue of purple haze of night. The final leg of the orbital ascent was completed in enough time to watch the bulbous transport fire the thanking flare to its tug, watch it slip into hyperspace.


Line Captain Telan Desaria watched Azrael disappear from his life.


There were many questions to answer when the shuttle’s passenger and pilot returned to the Fetivon Garrison-base. Colonel Jatra was understanding and was able to sweep the matter under the rug, quieting the Military Police commander with a bottle of well-aged scotch. The matter had, however, reached the ears of Vice-Admiral Karris Bankroft.


“ What were you thinking, Desaria?”


“ I don’t know, sir. I don’t think I was.”


The Admiral growled, his quarter-size holo image shimmering on the pad atop Jatra’s desk. “ You wear an Imperial uniform now, Desaria. If you cannot keep your emotions in check then you may go packing back to the planetary defense force we took you out of. As an Imperial you will dedicate yourself to something larger than yourself – the Empire is what drives your actions, not your heart. Do you know what dedication is, Captain?”


“ Yes sir I do.”


“ Good - - then start practicing it. This had better be the last I ever hear of this or your commission will line my targ’s cage.”


The holoimage faded, leaving the Colonel and Captain alone in the pale glow of the night-moon. Jatra offered the younger man a drink. Both sipped in silence for many long moments.


“ Bankroft is a bit jaded, Telan.”


“ No,” Desaria interrupted. “ He is right. It won’t happen again. The Empire has been my home since birth and if I am to be effective and succeed in it I must remember why we fight, why we die – so that others may live. When I put on this uniform I sacrificed my own freedoms, my own wishes, my desire for…completeness…so that I could serve and allow others their own. Gloria Imperium, Colonel.”


The Line Captain downed his remaining brandy in one swig and left into the night.