NationStates Jolt Archive

The Chief of Staff for the Imperium Palace stopped in front of the Emperor's throne, and bowed down. He waited for the Emperor to acknowledge him.

"Arise, Grashnik," the Emperor said quietly. He was never one for shouting, unlike his predecessors.

Grashnik rose to his feet slowly, bowed his head in respect, then prepared to speak.

"Your Greatness," he began, bowing his head again. He rarely dealt with the Emperor directly, so he was rather nervous, as he did not know what to expect from him. "We have passed the quarter mark in our plan to retake the Imperium."

"Good," the Emperor nodded. His scaly face may not have been visible for the hood he wore, but Grashnik could sense he was smiling. "Continue with this level of productivity, and I, Gorbgan IV, shall be the Emperor to finish what our ancestors started so long ago. You shall be rewarded if we reach Ghargonia Prime."

"Thank you Your Greatness," Grashnik bowed his head again. "Your generosity is matched only by your superiority."

Emperor Gorbgan sighed. "Flattery is for women; I want substance. You did not come to my throne room to deliver such a simple message."

"No, your Greatness," Grashnik said, raising his head again. "I, and the Economy Director, need your permission to begin resource harvesting. The Military is eager to begin building the first wave of ships."

"You believe these humans have the necessary production methods?" the Emperor asked.

"They are capable of working with titanium, aluminium, and gold, your Greatness," Grashnik said. "But terralium may be a different matter. We would like your permission to launch the Venerator and begin our own mining operation. This star system's asteroid belt appears to contain the elements we require."

The Emperor remained motionless and silent. For what seemed like an eternity to Grashnik. He was not as volatile as his predecessors, who had been known to kill just for breathing while talking to them. But he was still the Emperor, and could do as he wished.

He was likely pondering the risks, Grashnik thought. The Venerator was powerful, and gave off a distinctive energy signature. The Imperium had seemingly been dangerously close to Earth not long ago, and if the Venerator was to be detected, all would be lost. But without terralium, no more ships could be built and they would be lost anyway. Stranded on this backwater world, far from civilisation. The thought brought a shiver to Grashnik's spine.

"You are aware of the dangers?" the Emperor asked finally.

"Yes, your Greatness," Grashnik nodded. "Our engineers have increased her shielding by a factor of 100, and her armour has been increased equally. We also believe that we can limit her energy emissions to substantially lower levels while in flight."

"Very well," the Emperor nodded slowly. "But no Gerash are to be stationed on board! I want Ghargonians, who will be able to control themselves."

"Yes, your Greatness," Grashnik nodded, feeling slightly repetitive.

"Now get out, I need to think," the Emperor waved his hand. Two Gerash Guardians stepped out from the shadows behind the throne, and Grashnik turned and walked out of the throne room as fast as he could.

OOC= I'm not doing this for any purpose other than documentation of the process, really. I'll add to it as time goes by. Of course, feel free to comment...

For the first time in two millennia, the Venerator had a pulse.

Energy poured through her electro-plasma conduits as all her systems were brought online. People shouted throughout the ship as they tried to stop the systems exploding. Control consoles bleeped alarms, warnings and errors at every turn. The weapons panel showed ready status.

For the first time in two millennia, the Venerator was alive.

The Commander stood proud in front of the ancient metal command chair on the Command Deck. His bulky metal uniform was solid, and uncomfortable, but it gave him a powerful look and decent protection against most hazards. With his hands behind his back, he stepped forward and nodded to the operations officer at the front of the Command Deck. The officer pressed a button, and a chime indicated an open comm link.

"Mechanical Deck, report!" he said calmly over the noise of steam, shouting and banging. There was no response. The commander shrugged and bent down, leaning against the operations console. He put his face right next to one of the microphones and tried again.

"Mechanical Deck, this is the Command Deck, report in at once!" he shouted.

Through the tinny speaker, he could hear similar banging and shouting noises coming from the Mech Deck. There was some clattering right next to the speaker, and then a voice.

"This is the Mech Officer," the voice shouted back. "What do you want?"

The Commander was taken by surprise at his tone, but decided it was simply because he was busy. A Gerash would have been executed for such a tone, but Ghargonians weren't disposable.

"Are we ready to leave yet?" the commander asked.

"No sir, oh, hang on... not again..." the Mech Officer went off on a tangent, apparently walking away from the comm system on his end. The commander waited patiently. His eyes widened as a deafening explosion noise poured from the speaker.

"Report!" he shouted. "Mech Deck, report!"

"Sorry about that sir," the Mech Officer said after a few moments. "The photonic generator access panel wouldn't shut properly, so I shot it with a plasma rifle. It's sure shut now..."

The Commander growled, his sharp, curved teeth glistening in the red light.

"Officer, this ship has been kept in order, against the odds, for two millennia," the Commander reminded him. "And so you go around shooting sensitive components?! If I hear any more such reports, I'll be adding your head to the list of things to take back to Earth."

"Sorry sir," the Officer said. "Well regardless of the historical implications, I got the fraked thing working. We're as ready as we'll ever be down here."

"Good, Command Deck out," the Commander said, and nodded to the Operations Officer.

He sat down in the command chair and looked around. "Ready the cloak! Operations Officer, signal Command that we need a 1.2 kilometre opening in the Energy Barrier. Helm, clear all moorings and open the main blast doors; Mechanical Deck, charge ion plates and prepare for lift-off!"

Sunlight shone down into the underground hangar for the first time since its construction nearly 2,000 years ago. As light poured down onto the dirty grey hull of the Venerator, her rear engine plates began to glow a fierce red, and a thrumming noise filled the huge bay. Support struts and gangplanks were slowly retracted as she began to rise slowly up, manoeuvring carefully through the opening at the top of the hangar.

As she cleared ground-zero, tiny trees to the sides of the huge opening were either vaporised or torn from their roots and thrown to the side as the ion engine exhaust blasted them. The thrumming soon turned to a roar as the engines went to full power, thrusting the ship forwards and up, leaving a gaping hole and scorched Earth behind.

At a certain altitude, a glowing yellow hole appeared in the sky. The opening in the Energy Barrier. The massive ship passed through, and pushed up to full speed. She began to ripple slightly, and gradually faded from view. The hole in the Energy Barrier sealed itself, and also faded from view. All was quiet again.



*Transmission Intercepted*
*Translation Pre-Load Complete*
*Playing*

GNC News Bulletin

The transmissions he sent out were intercepted before they left the solar system, and found to be coded to old Imperium frequencies. The man responsible was apprehended and convicted earlier today. It is thought that he will be tortured to death on the grounds of Grand High Treason.

In other news, crowds of Ghargonian citizens watched as the GIS Venerator lifted off from her hangar, and headed off into space for the first time in two millennia.

Although no official announcement has been made, most of our analysts believe this is stage one of 'Operation: Imperium'; at least according to the plan laid out to us over two hundred years ago.

Stage one, it was said, would be carried out when Ghargonia reached a certain degree of strength. It would involve mining and possibly trading for resources from both Earth and, the reason why the Venerator is thought to have been launched, the local asteroid belt.

Stage two would see these resources put into constructing as many new battleships as possible. These would incorporate any new technologies we have available at the time, and would be an attempt to match projected Imperium designs.

Stage three was to be separated into two parts. Initially, military recruitment would be increased to nearly 10 times its normal levels. These recruits would then join the Gerash troops to crew all the new ships. The second part would see these ships actually crewed, and then launched, along with a refit Venerator, to Ghargonia Prime.

Stage four is the attack. Though specifics are secret, the attack would have to be swift and decisive, and as surprising as possible; a direct engagement with the entire Imperium fleet would be impossible to overcome.

If each stage was completed successfully, the Emperor would personally kill the Ghargon, whoever that may be. According to our most ancient traditions, his would secure his power in the Imperium, and we would legally gain control. Only the strongest may be the Ghargon. To be doubly sure of his control, initially most Imperium ships would have their crews replaced with our own people, or at least replace their command staff.

This plan is two centuries old, however, given to us in a speech by Emperor Herak III. Whether or not the basics remain the same or not is hard to tell, but the launch of the Venerator does seem to coincide with the conditions laid out for Stage One.

Chief Military Advisor to the Emperor intends to make a public announcement tomorrow; more news as it develops.

And finally, the weather. Acc

*Transmission terminated*

Jelnok sat in his chair, his large, clawed feet resting on the console in front of him. He must have had the worst job in the galaxy. What was the point in monitoring your primitive neighbours and the heavens if you didn't want to know them? He snored loudly, dreaming of the dancing girls of a reekhouse.

"Venerator to orbital base," a deep voice crackled through a speaker, in Ghargonian. Jelnok remained unconscious.

"Orbital base respond!" the voice growled.

"Aggh, um... get off you who..." Jelnok swung around on his chair, his eyelids sliding sideways and opening, as he looked around like a scared deer. "What?"

"This is the Venerator," the voice repeated calmly.

"Oh...oh... go ahead," Jelnok said, turning to face the console.

"We have completed our mining operation," the voice told him. "We have sufficient titanium, aluminium, gold and terralium to begin the next stage."

"Right," Jelnok said. "Prepare for orbital docking procedures then. Hmm... it's been a while." He reached over to a relatively disused console, and punched a series of red touch-panel keys. A klaxon sounded, a computer voice in ancient Ghargonian spat out some warnings, and then a humming noise reverberated through the small room.

Jelnok could smell a strange chemical burning odour, sort of electrical. This equipment hadn't even been tested in two millennia.

Looking out the window, he could see the atmosphere of this planet 'Earth' below, and then nothing but space. Except for a slight ripple effect, distorting some of the stars.

The ripple grew larger and more vigorous. Stars behind it appeared to merge as they were mutated. A glint of brownish metal appeared. It was a huge pillar. Then another... and another. And then, as fast as light itself, an electrical burst sprayed out from the centre of the distortion, revealing a huge structure as it went.

And then the rippling stopped, revealing a huge dry-dock with space for at least three ships. Various mechanical arms and equipment littered it, but it was still intact.

Jelnok smiled. "The Venerator is cleared for docking."



Grashnik strode across the dark throne room towards the throne. Before he had a chance to drop to his knee, Gorbgan raised a hand.

"What do you want, make it quick," he snapped. He was apparently in a poor mood.

"My lord, the Venerator has arrived, and the ancient shipyard has been de-shifted. We are halfway to completion."

Gorbgan stood. He was at least a head and a half higher than Grashnik, who was not a particularly short Ghargonian male. He stepped down from his throne, and stood in front of Grashnik -- who was rather nervous. To his surprise, Gorbgan reached up and pulled down his hood slowly.

A typical Ghargonian head was revealed. A snout of three inches, razor-sharp, curved teeth, yellow eyes with side-shutting lids, deep green scaly skin... but something was different. His jaw looked powerful, so much so that he could probably tear another Ghargonian limb-from-limb, let alone his prey. His eyes commanded a sort of majesty; power and grace combined.

He slapped his powerful, clawed hands onto Grashnik's shoulders roughly, and shook him vigorously. A huge, toothy smile stretched across his face, and he laughed. A deep, booming laugh which seemed to bounce around the throne room at light-speed.

"Just as we planned. You have done well," Gorbgan said finally. "Now go. Oversee the construction. We must continue at this pace."

"Yes, my lord," Grashnik said, relieved when the Emperor released his shoulders and sat back down. Grashnik turned, and paced out as fast as he could, that deep booming laugh chasing him out.

The Emperor sat in his dark throne room, his head drooped. He was a powerful man, but even powerful men get tired sometimes. His cape and hood hid most of his body. Most Ghargonians, besides soldiers, barely wore any clothes, if any at all. Modesty was not a problem, and even if it were they had little to hide. Their scaly skin was very tough, and protected them from the elements rather well. So he looked particularly unusual in his black cloak.

He was a powerful man, and he was the strongest of them all. And he had hundreds of millions of rebel Ghargonians relying on him to take them to their destiny.

Sometimes, he had trouble sleeping at night. Stress could affect the best of Ghargonians, but if anybody pointed that out to him he would have killed them on the spot.

He looked up a little as he saw Grashnik appear by the door in the distance and begin to stroll down the red carpet to his throne.

"What," Gorbgan said quietly.

"Stage two is almost complete," Grashnik told him, his sharp teeth exposed in a smile. "121 Venerator-class battleships with upgraded weapons and shields stand by for departure. There are only two more still incomplete."

"How goes the troop production?" Gorbgan asked, looking up and sitting straight.

"Gerash breeding programs are now at 600% operating capacity," Grashnik told him. "We already have enough Ghargonian officers to command the ships, and once this final batch of Gerash is complete we shall have sufficient crews too, not to mention landing parties."

"Excellent," Gorbgan said, and drooped his head again. "Go."

Grashnik nodded, bowed, and headed out of the room.



In orbit above them, the stars were blotted out by numerous ships, their powerful engines glowing as they made micro-course corrections to keep from hitting each other. The huge shipyard still had two incomplete spaceframes docked, with droids and Gerash in spacesuits and worker shuttles working round-the-clock to finish them.

The Venerator herself sat at the head of the fleet. She had been upgraded significantly with powerful shielding, additional plasma cannons and a new, more heavily-armoured command tower. Various winged fighters flew around, patrolling the area. They were quick and easy to produce, and there were even manufacturing facilities on Earth.

It would not be long before the fleet engaged their photonic drives and began the 50,000 lightyear journey to true Ghargonian space, and their destiny.

The two massive ships' engines began to glow brilliant red, pushing them both from the cage of the shipyard slowly. Once they were clear, they glowed even fiercer, and moved towards the rest of the fleet.

More than a hundred ships were now grouped together in a diamond formation, with fighters continually moving closer to land on various ships. All their engines glowed red, so brightly in fact that the shipyard behind them also glowed. They were moving away from the Earth slowly.

A small ship rose from Earth's atmosphere, headed straight for the fleet. It looked rather like a fighter, only it was larger, with extra weapons and a slightly bigger cabin. It headed for the Venerator itself.



"The fleet will be ready to depart in a matter of minutes, my lord," the pilot of the ship said. The tall Emperor stood behind him, his arms behind his back, his face still hidden by the hood of his cloak.

"Good," he growled deeply.

"Your slumber pod has been reserved sir, it is on its own, in your quarters, as you requested," the pilot told him.

"I trust the maintenance droid has been informed of the change," Gorbgan said.

"Of course sir," the pilot looked back, almost surprised he'd ask. "Without you, we will never be able to return home."

"I trust that you will remember that," Gorbgan grunted, and moved to leave the small cockpit.



The ship slowed down as it reached the massive hangar doors on the underbelly of the Venerator, and gently moved upwards. A clanging noise reverberated through both ships as the docking clamps grabbed hold and the massive doors began to slide shut.

A bridge extended towards the door of the small ship. As it came to a halt, the door slid open and Gorbgan strode out. The captain of the Venerator had been waiting to greet them, and hurried to catch up.

"Emperor, the fleet is ready to depart," he said.

"The sooner the better, Commander," Gorbgan said simply.

"As you wish, my lord," the captain nodded. When Gorbgan was clear of the hangar, the captain began to head for an elevator. He held his wrist up to his face.

"Command deck, begin departure to pre-designated location," he growled as he stepped into the boxy elevator.



With all fighters docked, and all crew onboard, the fleet pushed forward, rapidly headed away from Earth. Nearly their entire resources were poured into this endeavour and although some Ghargonians remained on 0micronis Island, if this fleet was unsuccessful, they would be unable to attempt this for another 2,000 years. If they were successful, 0micronis would become a military-run colony, the frontier of the new Ghargant Imperium. The humans would never know, of course.

The engines of the ships in the fleet began to glow so bright they were blinding, so bright it looked as though they were going to explode. And for a minute, it seemed as though they had exploded -- a brilliant flash of red light engulfed the fleet.

When the light died down, they were all gone.

The corridors of the Venerator stopped rattling. The inertia fields had been increased in power. During long-term flights the fields were reduced to minimal to conserve power, as cryopods would protect their occupants.
The pitch-black corridors became bathed in red. Lights were being activated. The sharp, rough metal corridors had spooky shadows cast. Hums and purrs sounded all over the ship, and atmosphere was vented in from the life support systems. Klaxons became audible as air returned.

The 6,000 cryotubes throughout the ship slowly slid open all at once. Gorbgan's brilliant yellow eyes suddenly opened, before any other person had even woken. His tall, bulky form stepped out of the tube and reached for his cold cloak. He wrapped it around himself and pulled the hood up, and walked in the direction of an elevator.

An hour later, the captain of the Venerator stepped onto the command deck to see the Emperor sitting in the command chair patiently.

"My lord, you are awake," the captain dropped to his knee.

"Arise, Captain," Gorbgan said without even looking around. "Why have we stopped?"

"The fleet is automatically programmed to come to a halt at the projected Imperium borders. Gives us enough time to wake up and get ready for if the Imperium detect us already."

"I have been here for a standard Terran hour, Captain," Gorbgan said calmly. "The computer detects no power signatures. No communications traffic ANYWHERE. No debris."

"That's not possible, the engineer said he'd fixed that..." the captain paced around to a console at the side of the large room, and looked at the screen. "No... we're here alright. Stars don't lie even if computers do. I... I don't know why we can't detect signs of life. Ah... the fleet has signalled it is ready to move."

"This will be a long journey, Captain," Gorbgan said, standing up. He towered above him. "I suggest you start us off now."

"Yes my lord," the captain said, bowing his head. Gorbgan entered the elevator and left the command deck. Still waiting for his crew to get ready, the captain walked to various different command stations to initiate a new course.

The fleet of massive ships turned slightly, and their engines exploded. They were gone.

The fleet arrived at Ghargonia Prime. This massive, arid world hung in space like a medal; the centre of the Imperium, the prize of the galaxy. It was a beautiful world. The deserts broken up by the occasional mountain range or forest, the deep blue ocean. Most of the landmass was covered with city, though. It was the heart of an empire millions of years in the making, it was going to be heavily populated.

The ships began to orbit the planet. Their weapons turrets whirred to life and aimed down at the planet. But, there was no sign of life. No retaliation. No incoming armada to ward them off. They had just flown straight to the heart of the most powerful empire in the galaxy without even being contacted. Was it a trap? Or was there no-one left? It had been over two millennia since they had contacted the Imperium, it was possible it had fallen in that time.

"Sir, there is no resistance," the captain said, looking up from one of his panels. "Not even a fighter contingent."

"Are we at the right planet?" one of the Ghargonian officers asked.

"The stars match our charts," the captain said. "The planet matches the Venerator's databanks. According to the computer, this ship has been here before. This is Ghargonia Prime."

"We are going to land," Gorbgan said quietly. "If we have the opportunity, I should kill the Ghargon with my own hand, rather than with a ship. And this is an opportunity."

"My lord, it could be a trap, we should at least begin..."

"No, captain," Gorbgan interrupted. "We WILL go down. If it is a trap, do you believe 100 two thousand year old ships will hold off an Imperium armada? No."

"If that is your wish, my lord," the captain stood and bowed. "Ready all fighter wings. Prep the Emperor's yacht for atmospheric flight."

Shortly after, fighter craft filled the air, their wings glistening in the sun. A larger version of those fighters also dropped from the belly of one of the capital ships, and followed them down to the planet.

They flew over debris and rubble, and landed at an ancient spaceport. The control tower had long since collapsed and fallen down onto the streets below. Gorbgan immediately stepped out from his ship and looked around.

Now that the engines had shut down, beyond the sound of the whistling wind there was no noise. For miles in any direction, destroyed buildings could be seen. The city of Ghargonia lay in ruins. Rubble covered the lower streets. There were not even skeletons. If Gorbgan had tear ducts, a tear would have been forming.

"Come," he said finally, retaining his commanding voice. He towered above even the Gerash who had flown the fighters. They followed Gorbgan as he strode off the landing platform in the general direction of the Palace of the Ghargon.

Ghargonia city was made up of several 'levels'. The lower levels were dark but liveable. Platforms at varying heights formed footpaths. The Gorbgan followed an especially wide elevated platform, towards a large building. Although a huge hole had opened up in it's gold, domed roof, it was surprisingly intact.

He reached the doors. Massive, pure terralium doors. In ancient times, Gerash would have stood vigil at the sides. Now, moss grew up it and there were no Gerash to be seen. Even the statues at either side of the doors had been damaged beyond recognition.

Before the Gerash or Ghargonian officers could react, Gorbgan slammed his massive boot against the doors. They creaked and whined, the sounds of metal grinding metal filling the silent city. But they swung open.

Gorbgan stepped through, squinting. A pillar of light shone down into the massive throne room from the hole in the roof above. Dust filled the air. Rubble was strewn across the smooth, marble-like floor. The pillars that lined the path to the throne remained, with some chunks taken out of them. The throne at the end was unharmed, however. Even dust had refused to spoil its golden beauty. It was rumoured to be made from solid terralium, plated with gold for appearance. Ghargonians did not use cushions, so its beauty was unmarked. Gorbgan's head twitched to the side. He heard something.

A whimper.

He shoved a Gerash out of the way, sending him crashing down to the ground with a surprised look on his face. He strode to one of the pillars at the side, and looked around. A very elderly Ghargonian sat there. His knees tucked up against his snout, his eyes closed. He wore the ceremonial robes of the Ghargon. He heard Gorbgan's approach. One of his yellow eyes opened, and he started quivering.

"Who... *cough*... who are you?" he struggled. He hadn't used his voice for a long time, it seemed.

"I am Emperor Gorbgan IV," Gorbgan announced loudly. "Of the Rebels."

"No... no... no..." the elderly Ghargonian fell to his side, and tried to crawl away in a panic. "You will never kill me..."

"What happened here, old man?" Gorbgan demanded, slamming one of his boots down in the path of the old Ghargonian.

"It... it was destroyed..." the old man stammered. "Everything was destroyed, everyone, everything, everywhere... I thought I was the last of our kind. The only one to survive the onslaught of the Kree. Now even I shall die so you selfish rebels can fulfil your cause..."

"Who are the Kree?" Gorbgan asked. He bent down, helping the old man sit back up against the pillar.

"The Kree... the Kree... ah yes, the Kree," the old man's eyes widened. "Horrible species. I don't know where they came from. Nor where they went. Nobody did. They swept through the Imperium. Our weapons were nothing to them. Our shields were nothing to them. Our ships fell like flies. They annihilated entire planets, entire solar systems, whole space stations, even our homeworld... and we could do nothing to stop them. If they didn't destroy a ship, they somehow disabled its core and 'scooped' the crews off them, leaving the ship an empty, floating husk. We had over a million ships... now they all drift as corpses, or debris...
"The Kree made no demands. They did not show their faces. They did not communicate with us. By the same token, we were not encroaching on anybody's territory. We had made no hostile move against them. They just... destroyed us... because they could. Though we would probably have destroyed ourselves, if they hadn't done if for us."

"What do you mean, old man?"

"The Imperium has endured for millions of years, under the same banner," the old man told him. "You are the only people to attempt rebellion in our entire recorded history. It was inevitable, in retrospect, that we should run out of enemies and begin fighting each other. Warlords emerged, taking control of sections of the fleet, waging war with each other... the Ghargon at the time had no control over them. He was powerless. Then the Kree came... we united against our new enemy, but they were too strong... they overwhelmed us... they shrugged us off as though we were Korbdigan bugs and carried on..."

"They took no territory?" Gorbgan looked surprised. "No prisoners? No resources? Nothing?"

"Nothing," the old man sighed. "They wanted nothing but death and blood. And they got it... every single Ghargonian colony has been laid to waste..."

"That's thousands of worlds..." Gorbgan looked down, thinking. "Who are you?"

"I am the last Ghargon..." the old man said, trying some attempt at dignity. "It has been almost 1,500 years since the Kree. We tried to rebuild, but there were too few of us. My mother died seventy years ago. Now I am the last. But you..."

"We are strong," Gorbgan boomed. "And we shall reclaim the Imperium." He pulled back his fist, and slammed it into the old man's head. His skull caved in at the side, blood pouring everywhere. Gorbgan quickly removed the Ghargon's robes before they were stained. He shoved the old man to the ground.

He walked around the pillar, and held up the robes. The officers and Gerash alike screamed, roared and shouted various victory cries.

"I am Ghargon of the Ghargant Imperium!" Gorbgan cried. "I shall lead us to glory!"

The crowd of military personnel cheered, then dropped to their knees.

"We shall serve you till death, Ghargon Gorbgan," they said in unison.

"Arise, loyal subjects," Gorbgan boomed. "Captain of the Venerator, step forward."

The man stepped forward, pushing through the crowd until he emerged, tugging his hard black uniform. It wasn't made for comfortable bowing.

"Yes, my lord?" the captain asked.

"Return to the fleet," Gorbgan commanded him. "Signal our first colony, on Terra, and instruct them that we shall need additional personnel. We have an Imperium to rebuild."

"Yes, my lord," the captain said. He smiled as best a Ghargonian could, and hurried off back to the launch pads outside.

"All of you," Gorbgan shouted to the remaining crowd. "You came here expecting battle, probably death. We have a different challenge now. I want fifty captains to volunteer their ships. Head for the nearest 50 Imperium colonies. Assess their damage, and how many people will be required to restore them to operative status. Pay particular attention to the research planet in the Kobald sector, and the ship building planet in the Raknesh sector. Next priorities are mining planets, and aggricultural planets. Report back to the fleet with your findings."

Fifty voices shouted their allegiance, and headed out towards the fighters.

"The rest of you," Gorbgan said finally. "Assist me in rebuilding Ghargonia. Start with this palace; it shall be our symbol of success."

"Long live the Imperium! Long live the Imperium!" they chanted.

Gorbgan set about finding usable materials from the rubble, all the while wondering how he could find the Kree, and how he could repay them for their 'kindness'.