NationStates Jolt Archive

Imperial Command Ship | Deep Space

Standing like a stone sculpture before the black expanse of space, beyond the reinforced view-port, Grand Admiral Thrawn cut an imposing figure. He was easily six feet tall and proportionally built to a figure that brought back images of older times when warriors fought in hand-to-hand combat, his poise enough to make a dancer envious. Though he was well over 40 years old, no sign of age seemed to touch the Chiss male. Every time Commander Steele, his subordinate and one of a few to whom he trusted, tried to conceive how the Grand Admiral seemed to stay so young he always came up blank.

Of course there were rejuvenate serums that allowed normal humans to live well beyond their normal means, Steele had never known Thrawn to ever have such an operation. And so he wondered and watched as he grew steadily older while Thrawn remained steadfastly the same.

The senior officer cleared his rambling thoughts and cleared his throat as he came marching up behind Thrawn and coming up to a stiff attention. He saluted and waited to be acknowledged.

Thrawn seemed slightly preoccupied, but never-the-less turned and nodded at Steele. "Commander, what have you to report?" Thrawn's characteristic twinged accent sounded.

"Sir, the Olympus will soon exit hyperspace and into the docks at Nirauan. I've already sent a message ahead to Admiral Belisarius that we'd be arriving soon and that all preparations for Emperor Treize's arrival were to be ready in a timely fashion," replied the erstwhile commander.

Glowing red eyes stared hard at Steele, as if they were on the verge of speaking something, but the moment passed and Thrawn merely nodded. "Very well Commander Steele, continue on with things. I will retire to my chambers. The con is yours."

Without another word Thrawn left the command deck of his Super Star Destroyer and went into the bowels of the ship, leaving Steele behind to wonder what it was that was obviously bothering the Grand Admiral. It was a worrying prospect for Steele and any one of the crew that had managed to pick up on the admiral's body language. Believe it or not, Grand Admiral Thrawn was disturbed. And that was worrying.

Since when was Grand Admiral Thrawn ever disturbed by anything?

Orbital Docks, Nirauan | Thrawn's Wild Space Dominion

The docking stations and port of Nirauan was busier than usual. More than four dozen warships were in the area, returning from various missions across the expanse of Wild Space that Thrawn had conquered more than a decade before as part of his mission given by Emperor Treize, in order to expand Thrashian power and territory without the interference from, at that time, Emperor Palpatine's administration reforms that were seemingly limiting the power of individual states within the Galactic Empire.

The view (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/New%20Ships/Orbit___Redux_by_ANTIFAN_REAL.jpg) of Nirauan now, years after its initial conquest, was startling. Thrawn had done wonders. Using the newly acquired resources of the numerous holdings within the Unknown Regions and the systems he controlled therein, Thrawn had built the infrastructure and industry of the region up to a performance rate and economic strength that could out produce even the Thrashian Empire proper. Thrashian citizenship had been given to all species and humans within the territories that Thrawn conquered, further uniting the region under his control. The 'Pax Imperialis' forced by Thrawn's arrival into the Unknown Regions had fostered a powerhouse of practically untapped resources.

The giant space port that was a rival for any megalithic buildings of Coruscant, and dwarfed many, was the center piece of the Nirauan docking port. A singular massive tower connected the gargantuan ground complex with a fixed orbital platform that was used as the main docking station and repair yard. Three Imperial-class Star Destroyers were even then within it, being refitted after yet another protracted campaign to extend the dominion of Thrawn in the name of the Thrashian Empire.

Moff Banston (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/Star%20Wars/Andrel_Lacmar.jpg), sitting in his private quarters aboard his pleasure yacht, the Hanging Man, was simply amazed by the sight the view-portal before him presented. He, like other of the Imperial moffs under Emperor Treize, had never realised the true significance to Thrawn's apparent banishment after the erstwhile Grand Admiral had disobeyed the direct command's of the Emperor by diverting the Fleet from its initial assault on Kohona and instead toward the Digor System. What had been a simple mapping project had been a campaign of conquest on a scale not seen since the foundation of the Galactic Empire.

"And all under the control of a single man...," mused Banston as he watched a wing of TIE Interceptors sweep across the bow of the Hanging Man and back into the protective confines of their mothership, another Imperial-class Star Destroyer.

Banston himself was a powerful man within the Thrashian Empire, being a Moff and system governor. Digor, his system, was a power center of the Thrashian Industry Guild and because Banston turned a blind eye to most of their dealings, he benefited from that by having one of the largest private imperial budgets within the Empire. He also had a finger in the administration of the Section 3 intelligence agency training facilities in the system, a powerful tool that gave him leverage over his other rival moffs.

But that was but a single system with five planets. This, as he gazed down at the busy, ant-like port of Nirauan, was on a scale entirely different. The power to match the Thrashian empire and perhaps more in the hands of a single man. Single Chiss Banston corrected himself. For all his marvelous attributes and abilities, Grand Admiral Thrawn remained an alien.

"I take it that you're enjoying the view?" a voice asked behind Banston.

The imperial moff nearly jumped out of his skin, but managed to suppress it to a mere twitch of discomfort. He'd not even noticed the sound of the door sliding open. Banston made a mental note to get the mechanics to add a chime to the door, even if it did annoy him to hear such things.

"Admiral," Banston said, rising from his chair and offering a seat next to himself.

Admiral Belisarius (http://i19.photobucket.com/albums/b184/Upum/New%20Ships/Del_Boy_by_drcloud.jpg) nodded in reply to the moff and took the offered seat. He was a much younger man, but like his commander and teacher, he exuded the same aura of confidence and command presence that was the envy of any man bright enough to see it. He was a protege of Thrawn's, a fleet officer whom the Grand Admiral had been grooming throughout the older conquest campaign of the Unknown Regions and then left in command of the region itself when he returned to the Thrashian Empire proper. From all the information Banston's men could supply, Belisarius was a miniature-Thrawn in the making.

"To answer your question, Admiral, I must say I am impressed," Banston replied, his voice falling like oil over a cold, metal surface. "You've managed to accomplish much out here so far away from civilization."

If Belisarius noticed the implied insult, the Fleet admiral didn't acknowledge it. He simply nodded and leaned back in the comfortable chair. "You'd be correct Moff Banston. Thanks in part of the Spaarti Cylinders that Emperor Treize provided for us and the recruitment and training of native populations we've achieved magnificent feats."

"For which...you are, no doubt, going to be rewarded for by the Emperor," murmured Banston.

"When he arrives, I expect so," agreed Balisarius. Without further word the young admiral stood and bowed slightly to Banston.

"If you will excuse me Moff Banston, I must finish reviewing the plans for the Emperor's arrival. No rest of the weary and hard working, as they say."

"I will no doubt see you again at the feasts," Banston replied with a veiling smile.

As quietly as he arrived, so Admiral Belisarius left. His impression of Banston was one of a snake. A political animal who would do anything to keep his position and survive. Such men could be dangerous, or useful.

Banston, ignorant to most of things happening around him, simply returned to gazing out at the myriad of ships that wove around the port and the docking yards like so many dancers following the beat and notes of a tantalizing musical.

~Tag~

Governing Palace, Surface of Nirauan

Because he was the first Imperial Moff to arrive at Nirauan and a natural organizer, Admiral Belisarius had delegated to Banston the responsibility of meeting the incoming members of the Imperial Court and seeing to it that they were in their respective places when the Emperor himself arrived. While Banston had no problem dealing with issues so close to his expertise, he found himself more than a little annoyed by the apparent ignorance and stupidity that his fellow Moffs exuded. For which, Banston felt, they would all surely pay for at some point.

"Marvelous design! I must say that Grand Admiral Thrawn does have exquisite taste in decor. More so than I would expect from a military man," said Moff Dorden. Out of the number of Moffs on the Advisory Council Dorden, as far as Banston knew, was little more than a talking head. The man had a mind fit for controlling the banking accounts of empires, but his political acumen was lacking more than a few centuries of experience. Even his three decade long tenure as a Moff had failed to turn him into any kind of a politician or courtier.

"Indeed," agreed a second person, Moff Verna, who stood next to them looking up at the silver paneled walls that were etched with intricate pictograms and symbols. "He does have quite the art collection after all."

Whereas Moff Dordon was an imbecile, Moff Verna was as clever as a snake and more slippery than freighter oil. She, like Banston, had strong ties to the Industry Guilds and had been a courtier for so long that political maneuvering was as normal as breathing for her. She was looking around with an eye that was more accustomed to an animal suddenly caught outside its normal environs and fearful of attack. A good sign in Banston's mind. Least I'm not the only one feeling ill at ease here in the middle of Thrawn's domain, he thought.

"Art seems rather useless in my opinion," a third, and much more monotone voice added. Moff Alec stood to the side of the small group, seemingly at ease with all of his surroundings. Of course Moff Alec was the most dangerous political animal that Banston had ever known. He’d bought out, murdered, and stepped over the bodies of those who got in his way to achieving the rank of Moff. Banston had never really known whether to be impressed or fearful. A mild caution was however how he had always decided to deal with the dour Moff.

"Crass and simple minded," murmured Moff Verna just loud enough for everyone but Alec to hear. Dordon chuckled, but Banston merely shrugged.

"I trust all of you are finding yourselves at home?"

The group of Imperial Moffs turned to see Admiral Belisarius descending the marble stairs of the palace atrium and coming to stand before them. "It must, undoubtably, be far more spartan than most of you are use to." The small slight was enough for Verna to give the Fleet officer a nasty look, Alec to frown, and Dorden to merely nod like a simpleton. Without waiting for any verbal reaction Belisarius waved his arm and motioned for the Moffs to follow.

"If you would join me inside the main dining hall, Grand Admiral Thrawn will soon be joining us and we can all enjoy the midday meal. His Excellency will be arriving in the late afternoon, and no need for empty stomachs to spoil the proceedings," pronounced Belisarius.

"Hear, hear," agreed Dorden.

"I was feeling peckish," Verna grudgingly added.

"So long as you have some rare-cooked beef," Alec replied.

Banston merely followed the group with Belisarius leading. Every inch of his body kept telling him that for all of the normalcy that was apparently happening, there was something far more sinister at work. But for all his misgivings Banston couldn't lay a finger on it. So he pushed the thoughts aside and walked a bit faster to keep up as they exited the decorated atrium and entered into a long feasting hall where other, lesser, Imperial courtiers were already eating and servants standing at attention, waiting on their every need.

Private Prisoner Cells, Hidden Area of Governing Palace | Nirauan

Grand Admiral Thrawn stood at the rear of the small, bare room watching as a few imperial specialists worked over a man strapped across a gurney table. Hovering medical droids with various serums and injections waited nearby. The man strapped down, a captured Coredian soldier, was yelling at the top of his lungs. In vain of course, seeing as the walls of the chamber were thicker than the armour of a Star Destroyer and the door strong enough to take a two-ton blast. Within the interrogation chamber those poor individuals who garnered such attention could scream until their voices died, with no fruit for their labour other than to possibly piss off their wardens.

"I trust he will be suitably lucid to carry out the mission?" Thrawn asked in between high pitched notes of wailing. A second officer, wearing the black of the Thrashian Ubiqtorate, nodded in reply.

"That would be correct sir," said Colonel Morl. "The injections are mostly pain modifiers that are to test his body to the limits of its tether and then sooth them. That breaks down his ability to defend against the hypnosis serums that we will then apply."

"And you are sure that once suitably dosed he will do the orders we have placed within his mind as if he himself thought to do so?" pressed Thrawn.

"Yes Admiral, trust me in this matter. I have done this on a few other occasions when it had merited a need," said Morl with utter confidence.

"And yet this is of the highest importance and merits the greatest of need," added Thrawn, looking over Morl's shoulder at their captive.

"Don't worry sir, by the time we're through with him and place him on the assault ship he'll be more than ready for our purposes," assured Colonel Morl.

The Brandei Landing Fields, Nirauan

Because he wanted to be sure that the Emperor received a grand welcome, as well as to show off for Thrawn's sake, Belisarius had organized the landing ceremony for the Emperor's arrival to take place on the massive landing fields outside the main spaceport. Flanked on one side by a line of Victory-class Star Destroyers that had been grounded and by Venator-class Star Destroyers on the other, a grand corridor was formed. In front of the parked Star Destroyers stood the serried ranks of tens of thousands of Imperial clone troopers, gleaming white armour polished to perfect, their blaster rifles and various other weapons held at the port at precise angles. Hundreds of officers from all branches of the military stood closer to a great platform where the Emperor's shuttle was expected to land. A blood red carpet came down its steps like an outstretched tongue, with royal courtiers standing at intervals up the steps. At the very top, on the platform itself, stood Grand Admiral Thrawn and Admiral Belisarius alongside Moffs Banston, Verna, Alec, and Dorden. Behind Belisarius stood Colonel Morl and Imperial Knight Grand Master Draco. It was, to say the least, an impressive sight.

On schedule a single, obsidian-black shuttle came gliding down from the atmosphere. The collected officials and officers felt the impact of the repulsor engines as they revved into gear, slowing the craft's descent and allowing it to come to a soft, almost dainty landing upon the platform. On signal, as soon as the ramp began to descend, a nearby orchestra band struck up the Imperial March, accompanied by the deep base singing of three hundred choir men.

Down the ramp came six red-armoured stormtroopers, the Royal Phalanx, which marched out and then turned inwards, creating a corridor on either side of the carpet that matched their polished armour. Grand Admiral Thrawn and his officer fell to one knee and bowed their heads. The Moffs were quick to copy them.

A single pair of black polished boots came smoothly down the ramp. Wearing his classic, and recognizable formal uniform, was Emperor Treize; in white pants, blue jerkin with golden embroidery, and a black sable cape that hung over one shoulder. Beside the impeccable monarch stepped a seventh red armoured Royal Phalanx guard who carried a banner atop a golden pole, the golden eagle of Thrashia emblazoned on a field of red. The music stopped for a moment.

The banner bearer marched past the Emperor, past the kneeling officers and Moffs, and came to the edge of the platform where he came to a perfect halt. The Imperial Banner flapped in the afternoon breeze like a beacon. The banner bearer raised it high and brought its butt down against the metal platform three times, its sound ringing across the landing field like a clarion call.

"The Emperor has arrived! All Hail his Excellency, Emperor Kushrenada!" the banner bearer cried aloud.

"Haruu! Haruu! Haruu!" The massed formations of clonetroopers cried back. The sound washed over the kneeling officials and the emperor like a tidal wave.

"Atten-shun!" the banner bearer shouted aloud again. Like a hundred thousands drums being hit simultaneously at the same time, each clonetrooper snapped his armoured boots together and stiffened to attention. The banner bearer turned around and knelt to one knee, the banner still flapping in the breeze.

Emperor Treize smiled as he stepped forward towards his kneeling subjects. "Rise, my friends," he commanded. Grand Admiral Thrawn and the rest rose quickly and looked back at the Emperor.

"You have accomplished much, my old friend," Treize said to Thrawn, walking forward to stand before him. "And it pleases me to be here today."

"I would have it no other way, your excellency," replied Thrawn.

"That is good, because neither would I!" laughed Treize. the Emperor turned to look over Colonel Morl, to whom he nodded, and then at Belisarius.

"Your new protege?" asked Treize, a smile coming to his lips. Belisarius puffed his chest out a bit more and remained at stiff attention. Thrawn glanced back at him for a moment then turned back to the emperor.

"He has proven himself capable, though there is much he still has to learn," Thrawn replied, his voice just slightly tinged with a hint of pride.

Treize turned to Belisarius. "Prove yourself worthy of the compliment that Grand Admiral Thrawn has paid you, for there is no other like him, and he does not give out his compliments easily."

Treize turned away from the officers and looked at the Moffs, each of whom, again, bowed before Treize. Banston was the first to come forward and kiss the ring on Treize's left hand.

"I bow before and kiss the hand of my Emperor," Banston said as reverently as he could manage.

"And ever has your filial loyalty to me been proven," said Treize in kind. "It is good to see that you are in good health Moff Banston. And the rest of you." Verna, Alec, and Dorden simply bowed again. Treize walked past the group to stand next to his banner bearer and looked out over his men.

"Soldiers of Thrashia! To you do I salute!" cried Treize.

"Haruu! Haruu! Haruu!" the thunderous reply came again. Treize smiled and turned to Grand Admiral Thrawn.

"I trust you've got dinner ready, because I'm starving."

Governor's Palace, Nirauan

"I must say, this is the best wine I've had in a while!" proclaimed Moff Dorden.

The officers and moffs sat together with Emperor Treize at a priceless nalwood round table, a way to keep the moffs from bickering over place-seating, and were being served a sumptuous meal of bantha steaks and other fine delicacies from around the Empire. All imported for the Emperor's arrival. The moffs certainly appreciated it, not to mention a few of the other rank and file officers who were allowed to partake of the new supplies as well.

"I'd agree," smiled Treize, lifting his silver goblet in the air and toasting Thrawn who sat to his immediate right. "Good choice Admiral."

"I managed to find a stock of Alderaan wine hidden away," replied Thrawn with a smile. "If I remember right, it was a favourite of Grand Moff Tarkin's."

"Indeed," nodded Moff Banston in agreement. "I once received some from him as a gift when a niece of his married into my family."

"Then the niece got drunk on it no doubt," laughed Moff Alec.

The other members of the table laughed at Banston's expense, but the moff was good humored enough not to smart from the comment...even if it was slightly true. It had taken a day for his grand nephew to convince his new bride to come off the rooftop, and only when more wine was offered as a treat.

Treize's laughing subsided and his face took a more serious demeanor. His subjects noticed the change and, smooth as a hustler sliding sabaac cards, their faces changed to match the new mood. The emperor turned to Thrawn.

“If you would, now that I’ve enjoyed this thoroughly fantastic bantha steak, give me a quick report on the extent of the new domain I’ve given you and the recent campaign against the Coredian rebels,” Treize ordered. All the moffs present perked their ears and gave their undivided attention to the Chiss admiral.

“As you wish sire,” Thrawn replied. “First I’ll start with the most recent campaign against the rebels.” Thrawn stood up out of his seat and walked to a projector wall, a small holo image shooting out to show the ‘north-eastern’ fringe of the galaxy.

“In a series of hit and fade attacks upon rebel systems in the southern quadrants of the galaxy, I was able to draw vital rebel forces away from other installations. Using the opportunities given my forces under Admiral Belisarius and Daala, we quickly retook Ilum, and after a hard series of battles, Adumar and Bastion. Each has since then been heavily reinforced and I’ve seen to it that Bastion’s formidable defenses are increased.

“To further the campaign I saw to it that the systems of Yaga Minor and Borosk were annexed as preliminary bases where our forces could rally around. I saw to it that Esfandia was occupied by our forces so that I could coordinate properly with my fleets out here in the Unknown Regions, and had Muunilinst garrisoned by several divisions from the Army so as to keep it safe from any surprise moves by roaming rebel bands. We eliminated their last vestiges over Helska, which we then abandoned.

“In the course of the campaign, with the great amount of support from the Balroggans, we were able to re-capture twenty systems back from the rebels. Most of those in the southern quadrants have been turned over to either the Balroggans to administer or to the local Imperial authorities, mostly a collection of moffs.

“One sour note is that, while the rebels suffered major defeats, the complete victory escaped us in that the Melida/Daan System was spared by the intervention of the Twelve Colonies. I’ve since acknowledge the treaty that was worked out there, as you no doubt signed your Excellency, and thus the Coredian rebels have been reduced to being in a single system within our sphere of influence…that of the Galactic Empire anyway.”

Grand Admiral Thrawn paused for a moment to let all the information sink in. Banston was suitably surprised and pleased with the results of the campaign. Belisarius was beaming. Verna, Alec, and Dorden simply nodded and smiled. Emperor Treize looked thoughtful.

“Continue,” Treize said at length.

This time Thrawn had a holo-image of the Unknown Regions appear, as it had been known twenty years prior. It was largely blank except for a few shining dots that exploratory drones had found a few systems that supported life. For an intents and purposes it was a miasma of useless space. That of course, thought Moff Banston, was before Thrawn was let loose.

A moment later a second map (http://img211.imageshack.us/img211/8489/thedominionofthrawnrw1.jpg) appeared, covering the first. It showed an entirely different picture. This map was filled with more than three dozen systems and other glowing details.

“As you can see we’ve mapped major tracts of territory. Due to the particular problems of travel within the Unknown Regi-,” Thrawn paused for a second. “-within the Dominion, we’ve constructed pulse beacons that are detectable to most scanners and can be used as guides, however precise coordinates for hyperspace jumps are only accessible via Imperial codes which I myself developed. This has allowed for safe, quick, and easy travel as much as it can be deemed efficient for our purposes.

“I have conquered twenty-eight major systems, sixteen minor, which this map doesn’t show, and several others. The majority of them are inhabited and based off thorough analysis of their cultures and intelligence levels I acted accordingly. 32 different species have willing submitted to Imperial rule and are working towards a probationary citizenship system that I created in order to incorporate them into the Dominion and laws of the Empire.”

“How are they governed?” interrupted Moff Verna. “I’m assuming that you don’t have enough fleet resources out here to garrison every system.”

“You would be correct,” nodded Thrawn. “Most, if submitting willingly, are allowed a marginal amount of autonomy so long as they provide tithes in resources and man power if necessary. There are even a few natives from the Khan System that have formed entire companies of troops that comprise the ground forces in the Dominion.”

“Alien scum,” growled Moff Alec. “What use other than for slave labour are they?”

The group grew quiet for a moment as Thrawn’s glowing red eyes bore into the disheveled Moff. But the man was no coward and met the Grand Admiral’s glare with a matching face of his own. Treize raised a hand to keep them from perhaps breaking out into argument, not that he doubted who the winner would be of such a confrontation.

“Peace,” commanded Treize. He then pointed to the map. “So we control the nerve points.”

Thrawn smiled. “Your aptitude for military necessity is growing your Excellency. You are correct. By stationing the majority of my forces on the fringes and at the vital, inner systems, I am thus able to effectively control the entire region without having to spread my forces thin. Small task forces and even a battle line or two, should a problem merit it, constantly roam the area ostensibly in search of new systems but also for security purposes. Using contacts with Moff Grice, the Imperial Mission has been set up in many systems and has converted many loyal followers, thus making the presence of military assets beyond supply depots or the local authorities redundant.

“I have also seen to the effective collation of the individual economies of the Dominion, effectively making a trade network within which large amounts of goods are transported each day. Using resources from home, and newly tapped ones here in the Dominion, I’ve also seen to the construction of three major shipyards, as well as half a dozen repair yards. Given a few more months and the Dominion could effectively put the Kuat Drive Yards out of business.” Moff Banston sighed inwardly at that. What he wouldn’t give to be in control of all the resources that Thrawn was mentioning.

Thrawn went on lecturing for the better part of two hours, by which time a light meal had been served to the rapturous listeners. Towards the end Treize finally lifted his hand for pause and nodded. “I thank you for the clear report Grand Admiral Thrawn. You have done far more, and far better, than I ever expected you to accomplish. The Empire of Thrashia owes you a debt of gratitude.”

“It was nothing Excellency,” replied Thrawn, bowing his head in respect. “I merely did my duty.”

Treize waved Thrawn back to his seat and stood up. The dining chamber they all sat in was oval in shape and immaculately decorated with marble columns spaced along the walls, with tapestries and luxurious paintings hanging on the walls and gilded symbols and pictures crawling their ways across in stark relief to the marble floors and ceiling. Treize gazed at it all and thought his subordinate had done very well for himself, and for the Empire.

“As I had ordered before, so I re-cement now,” Treize suddenly said. “Grand Admiral Thrawn is awarded sole possession of the Unknown Territories that he has conquered, renamed the Dominion of Thrawn, and is given thrice over, if I could, the title of Warlord and Supreme Commander of the Armed Forces of the Empire of Thrashia.”

The assembled were quiet for a moment, taken aback by the Emperor’s sudden august mood and tone. Thrawn rose and bowed. Banston took his cue and started clapping. The other Moffs and military types at the table also quickly started clapping until it rose to a crescendo; a few cheers were even heard from a few junior officers further down the table. Treize smiled and motioned for Thrawn to stand erect.

“You do me too much honor my lord,” Thrawn said.

“I think that hard to say,” smiled Treize.

“If you will permit me, lord, perhaps you and the others would like to view a purely spectacular sight? I’ve just been informed that the new gardens that I ordered create for the governor’s palace grounds were finished two days ago, and a fortuitous chance indeed that they are finished in time for your Excellency’s arrival,” said Thrawn, motioning to the other end of the room where two guards opened the white nalwood doors to reveal a massive patio and greenery beyond.

The assembled guests all stood and were led outside by Treize and Thrawn. The gardens opened up before them in a wide plethora of color and light. The grand patio they stood on was of green marble, beautifully cut, that allowed those on it to see for almost a quarter of a kilometer out over the greenery. Flowers of all types and forms, colors and smells bloomed. Fanciful trees that seemed to have sprung from fairy tales stood in neat lines, shadowing pathways that allowed a person to walk through valleys formed by tall, green shrubberies. Birds flew about and twittered, flying from tree branch to tree branch. It was a truly picturesque sight.

“Marvelous Admiral Thrawn,” admired Moff Dorden. “Simply marvelous.”

“Indeed,” agreed Moff Alec.

“I shall have such made by my own palace back on Tettrea!” declared Moff Verna.

Treize smiled and admired the place alongside everyone else. A discussion about the type of birds and certain fauna broke out. Dorden, who considered himself a bit of a horticulturist, was arguing a point with Moff Alec. Treize joined in, siding with Dorden, which resulted in Alec huffing about things. The other Moffs laughed. The military officers simply shook their heads, but admired the peaceful surroundings.

Thrawn displayed a rare smile and was about to say something to Treize when Colonel Morl’s comlink squawked loudly. The Ubiqtorate commander picked it from his belt and clicked its reply button. The other Moffs ignored it and continued talking. Treize and Thrawn kept watching however. Colonel Morl’s face grew tighter and tighter. He was talking in as quiet a voice as possible but most could still hear him.

“What do you mean they’ve broken through?” cursed Morl. The reply must have been worse than the previous because Morl’s face became even tighter and more strained. “Well then where-….here? No…you’re sure?”

Morl looked up at the sky with a look of horror. Thrawn and Treize followed his gaze and their expressions grew to match Morl’s. It took a series of explosions to rip the attention of the Moffs into the air. Streaming down from the sky with smoke billowing out behind it, four TIE fighters following in close pursuit was a Gallofree Yards HTT-26 heavy troop transport. An atmospheric transport often used by the Rebels.

A disembodied voice shouted and broke the paralysis that seemed for that moment to capture everyone.

“Get down!”

The transport crashed into the ground less than a kilometer away, but didn’t stop. Its momentum carved ruination amongst the pristine gardens and plowed forward, the nose of the craft dipping up and down as it went. Either by misfortune or chance it came to a shuddering halt right beside Emperor Treize and the Moffs, most of who were on the ground in cover.

There was a bang as the shuttle’s side hatch blew out and the decompression shot it forward like a bullet. It smashed into the green-marble patio and crashed into the doors beyond. Yelling was heard as a group of haggled and bloody men with blaster rifles appeared out of the hatch. Black boots, brown trousers, black combat vests over white tunics and oval shaped deflector helmets is what they wore. If their apparel didn’t speak for themselves, what they were yelling sure did.

“Long live Coredia!”

“Long live Masaki!”

Moff Dorden stood up, slightly dazed and covered in dirt. He looked up at the trio of bloody, injured, and well armed Rebel commandos. He had time to look bewildered. “Impossible,” he stated, as if by saying the word that the image before him would simply disappear. One of the commandos raised his blaster and pressed the firing stud. The blast ripped into Moff Dorden and sent him sprawling backwards, a bloody, cauterized hole in his chest.

Two junior officers managed to pull out their side arms and started returning fire. One of the commandos went down, his head largely obliterated. The other two split apart and took cover, firing sporadically at the still huddling group. Colonel Morl shouted curses and orders into his comlink. The two junior officers moved forward on the left side of a shrubbery, trying to flank one of the commandos. One of them stepped on something and he looked down in time to see the side end of a thermal detonator. He screamed for a second before it exploded, turning him into nothing and killing his partner, whose body was sent flying across the gardens.

Admiral Thrawn moved across the ground like a grunt soldier to where Treize was. “My lord, are you hurt?”

“No,” replied Treize, “Just dirty at this point.” Both of them had side arms out and were looking around, wary for anything.

“Moff Dorden is dead your Excellency,” Thrawn reported. He raised his blaster pistol and sent a few shots into a shrubbery ten paces in front of him. Treize did likewise and they were satisfied to hear a grunt and one of the rebel commandos fall forward out of his cover, dead.

“Damn it all,” cursed Treize. “Where are the guards when you-.” A branch snapped behind them. Moff Banston, six feet away, turned and saw everything from a side perspective. There stood the last rebel commando, blaster rifle raised, not more than six feet from Thrawn and the Emperor who were lying down with their pistols aimed the opposite direction.

“Long live the Republic,” the commando said in an eerily calm voice. Everything happened at once. Thrawn and Treize brought their pistols to bear, the rebel commando swung up his rifle, three guns fired. The commando, Banston saw, flew backwards in a heap, his rifle flying out of his now dead hands. Thrawn threw his pistol aside and reached for the Emperor, shouting curses, which Banston reflected in that odd moment, was the first he’d ever heard Admiral Thrawn curse.

“No!” shouted Thrawn. The admiral’s usually pristine and white uniform was covered in dirt and grass stains, and now his arms and chest was covered in red blood. Banston walked over and stood over the kneeling Admiral as he held the dead form of Emperor Treize in his arms. The rebel commando had shot him three times with his automatic blaster rifle, once in the chest, once in the heart area, and another in the throat. By some chance or simply by some deity’s ill humor, Treize’s face was entirely untouched or dirtied. His eyes, now hollow, stared out accusingly.

Engines roared around them. Lambda-class shuttles were landing all around, crushing bushes, trees, and flowers. Stormtroopers swarmed, as well as black armored Imperial Guard. They all froze when they came upon kneeling Grand Admiral and the form of their Emperor. Thrawn heaved slightly, then set the body down as softly as he could and then stood.

“Colonel Morl, did we catch the raiders?” Thrawn asked, his voice like ice.

“Destroyed sir,” offered Morl, slightly less than steady. “Orbital Command is reporting that a trio of supposedly captured Rebel frigates appeared in the company of one of our Dreadnoughts. But that they opened fire on the shields and dropped transports to the surface. Seven transports in total sir.”

“And only one got through,” muttered Thrawn. He turned to Morl. “Any captured?”

“Afraid not sir, they were completely destroyed, either by our own turbolasers or by overheating their reactors, broadcasting messages of defiance.”

Thrawn turned to a group of stormtroopers. “Take the Emperor’s body to the medical wing. See to it that all enemy bodies are removed. Have a medical team come and move all the Moffs here into the specialty ward at the hospital.”

The stormtroopers snapped to attention. “Yes sir.”

Thrawn turned and faced Morl and Banston. Banston saw that his eyes were burning bright, from hate or pain the Moff didn’t know. But he entirely agreed with Thrawn’s next statement.

“A terrible day has come gentlemen…a terrible day.”

Five Days Prior | Archimedes Asteroid Belt, Zanthus Station | Tettrea System

The cantina was dark and smoky. The band playing was either good or so bad that no one cared to step over and change the song. Most because of the giant bouncer, a Barabel, stood swaying back and forth to the terrible beat as if he thought it was the best thing since the Emperor declared “Empire Day” a holiday. The bartender was giving out drinks in a sullen attitude, as if he was only doing the job because he had nothing better to do. The bar was packed with miners, just off after another day’s work of sucking raw ore from the floating bits of asteroid from the belt around Tettrea in the heart of the Thrashian Empire. A backwater if nothing else.

Which was what made Lieutenant Kreel, one of Colonel Morl’s top agents and adjutants, feel more than a little like a beauty mark on the side of a Hutt’s face. He sat in a corner booth wearing local garb. It was the supposed meeting place for his contact, the one his superior had told him could get them the vehicles, gear, and ships they needed for their future operation. It was coming down to the wire as far as the dead line. His superior’s need to have the materials come from somewhere other than captured Imperial stocks was a necessity. Not that it felt that way to Kreel as he sat there waiting.

A droid bar maid appeared, rolling across on a single wheel. “What can I get for you today sugar-pie?” the droid asked in a female, slightly seductive tone. Whoever had set her programming had obviously been and old goat, or a juvenile adolescent who got kicks from listening to older women.

Kreel coughed a little as he ordered, rather ashamed personally that he had to order the drink his superiors said would identify him to his contact.

“An uhh…a blumfruit cooler please,” Kreel asked.

“Not a problem sweetie, have it out to you a Corellian minute,” the droid replied and turned around to speed towards the bar. The droid returned within a minute as promised and set the glass down. The blumfruit cooler was red in color, vibrant if nothing else, and had a small umbrella sticking off the side. Kreel stared at it in disgust.

“Nice drink you have there,” said a voice.

Kreel looked up to see a rather fat man standing next to his table. The man’s oily hair and the dim light of the cantina automatically made Kreel imagine the man as a beetle. The man sat down and set his own glass of Bespin Port down next to Kreel’s embarrassing drink. He smiled at Kreel, but the young lieutenant felt no warmth in it. If anything it made him seem more sinister.

“So you are the man I am looking for?” offered Kreel.

“That remains to be seen my young fellow, as I am a man looked for by many but found by few. As of now I am found but not at your behest. My boss and your employer to be exact…Lieutenant Kreel.”

Kreel jolted for a second. “How do you know my name?”

“I know a lot about you and your superior Colonel Morl. Met the man before on two occasions, awful taste in palate if I may say so which is saying something when you consider the man could have access to practically any toxic in the known galaxy,” smiled the beetle-like man.

“You have me at a disadvantage…you know my name but I do not know yours…or your employer’s,” said Kreel, trying to sound innocent. The man smiled maliciously.

“You hardly need to know either of them. Now what is it your dear Colonel Morl could want from such...oh, what’s the word you Imperials always like to use…ah! That’s right, malcontents, when you obviously have so much resources of your own?”

“We need to purchase three Republic assault frigates, and eight HTT-26 heavy troop transports,” replied Kreel, feeling that it was best to stick to the point with a man who was obviously no sluggard when it came to wit. He passed him a data pad. “And everything else on this list.” The man’s eyes lit up for a moment. He whistled quietly.

“That is quite a laundry list you have there…quite a lot in fact. Not mentioning the ships, everything else is worth a small fortune in its own right – to the right man at least.” He looked up and smiled chillingly at Kreel.

“Name your price,” Kreel begrudgingly said.

“Twenty million credits, for the gear and clothing and the energy and time necessary to procure them…” the beetle-man murmured, all business now, “and another eight million for each of the troop transports, and ten million for each of the assault frigates.”

Kreel’s jaw hit the table, he was sure of it.

“T-That’s 74 million credits!”

“It’s the price you pay for wanting Republic gear and ships on such short notice,” the man said. “If you don’t like it, then please feel free to use your captured stocks.” The man prepared to stand up and leave.

“Wait!” said Kreel. The man smiled and sat down fully. Kreel hated him. Scum like him deserved to be behind ion-bars in some cell or in the bottom of some mine on Kessel.

“You were saying….?” The man smiled again.

“My superiors are prepared to pay your price, and another 26 million in order to be discreet about this purchase in the future,” Kreel said mechanically. The man’s eyes lit up again, even an eyebrow twitched.

“100 million all told…hmm.” The man considered it and then nodded. He slapped his hands together and held one out. Kreel reluctantly shook it. “We have a deal Lieutenant Kreel, we have a deal. Expect them to be to you in three days time at the appointed rendezvous point…that is as soon as your superiors transfer the money to this account on Muun.”

The man handed a slip of paper to Lieutenant Kreel that had a bank number on it and the address of one of the branch banks of the Inter Galactic Banking Guilds. Without further ado, the man disappeared into the crowd of the cantina and Kreel lost track of him. He got up, drained his Blumfruit cooler, and stalked out of the cantina feeling as if he had a layer of dirt caked onto him.

The beetle-man stood in the shadows beside the cantina, watching the Imperial Ubiqtorate officer leave. He took out a large, modified comlink from his pouch and punched in a code that made his signal encrypted.

“Crev Bombaasa to Zann,” he called. “The deal is made.”


Eight Hours after the Death of Emperor Treize


Moff Banston tore the bandage wrap off his arm for what seemed the fifth time. “I do not need any sort of bandage, blast you, you incompetent idiot!” he shouted at one of the medical attendants.

He sat on one of the white sheet covered beds in the palace’s VIP medical wards. Next to Banston was Moff Alec, who had taken a bit of shrapnel from the thermal detonator blast into his leg. Opposite them were Moffs Verna and Gerard. Verna was sporting a head bandage from where a rock had ricocheted off the ground and grazed her forehead when the Rebel transport had come to a grinding halt out in the gardens. Gerard was little worse off, with a slight flesh wound in his arm from where a blaster bolt had grazed him. If they had let the medical team do things their way Banston felt pretty sure that they’d all be wrapped up like mummies.

“Please don’t insult the staff,” Colonel Morl said, sitting three beds away were a nurse was stitching his arm.

“Not my fault if the damned fools think I’m injured. Healthy as a horse as a matter of fact.”

“That is good,” interrupted a voice. They turned to see Grand Admiral Thrawn enter the ward, still wearing his bloody uniform. “Because we would hardly want to lose not only our Emperor but our Moffs to this tragedy as well.”

“That’s kind of you,” murmured Banston.

Thrawn inclined his head and then spoke with the head doctor of the wing. After a few moments of discussion Thrawn turned to address them. “As the good doctor was just telling me, it would seem that you are all in good health with the exception of a few slight wounds. But needs must when devils drive, as they say. We shall all assemble in the conference room in half an hour.”

Without another word Thrawn turned and left the Moffs to the tender mercies of the bothersome medical staff.

* * * * * * * * *

They hobbled, more than walked, into the conference room. They would have met in the dining room where they had all assembled before, but the staff was still trying to dislodge the rebel transport’s side door from the walls that it had impacted with. All the Moffs except for Dorden were present, as was Colonel Morl, Admiral Belisarius, and Grand Admiral Thrawn. Thrawn began speaking without prelude.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are in a dire moment. The rebels have struck us a blow I thought could never be surmounted. But the evident truth is staring us quite glaringly in the face. And that truth is that our lord and Emperor, Treize Kushrenada, is dead,” stated Thrawn.

“How did they get through?” demanded Moff Verna. “I thought this was supposed to be a secure system. How did the Rebels get into the Unknown Regions?”

“They must have had confederates within our ranks,” said Colonel Morl darkly, looking with hooded eyes at each of the Moffs. “Followed them to Nirauan, knowing that the Emperor would be here and vulnerable.”

Moff Alec and Verna stood up at the same time and were about to start yelling, but Banston slammed his fist down, startling the lot of them.

“This is no time to argue,” Banston roared. He turned to Admiral Thrawn, the other Moffs shocked into silence. “You were saying Grand Admiral?”

Thrawn gave Banston a measuring look, then continued. “And in this moment we cannot be divided. You Moffs do not yet know this, but the Galactic Empire is a precarious situation at the moment. Trouble with the Republic has brewed into an all out war. This operation no doubt was meant to cripple the Thrashian Empire at this critical time. With the Emperor and the commanding men and women killed by this raid, the Thrashian Empire would have been in a wash of upheaval and chaos.”

Verna’s eyes narrowed. “But we’re not in chaos.”

“Indeed,” said Thrawn. “Seeing as the Emperor had entrusted me with the command of his armed forces, just before he died in fact, then I shall take emergency powers to act in his name.”

“What about the crown prince?” demanded Moff Alec. “Or the Empress for that matter?”

“From what I am told, they are both safe. But at this vital time of war, we cannot entrust the power of our Empire to an eight-year old boy or his mother, who, if I may remind you, is famous for opulence and timidity,” replied Thrawn. “I command the armed forces, the army and the fleet. I will see to it that the Empire is handled accordingly until his Highness, the Crown Prince, is of acceptable age and capability to take command of his father’s throne. I will be his Regent, to use that word.”

Thrawn looked at each of the Moffs. “With, of course, the Moff Council’s approval.”

Banston suddenly felt chilly. He remembered the bad feeling that he had felt when he first arrived on Nirauan. Here he was, in the middle of the Dominion ruled solely at the command of Grand Admiral Thrawn, the Emperor killed by Rebels, and completely isolated from his own resources and territory. The entire Moff Council was, quite literally, at Thrawn’s mercy, if seen from a certain point of view. Banston rose to his feet.

“I support Grand Admiral Thrawn. I make a motion that he be declared Imperial Regent and given emergency powers to deal with the coming threat with the Republic, to avenge our lord and emperor upon the Rebel scum,” Banston declared. He was, he thought, putting it a bit dramatically, but it felt right for the moment.

“As do I,” declared Moff Verna.

“And I,” Moff Grice added.

One by one, the remaining Moffs stood and declared positively to the motion. Even Colonel Morl and Admiral Belisarius were standing. Banston nodded and turned to Thrawn.

“Grand Admiral Thrawn, I hereby grant you the title of Regent and the emergency powers of the Empire to you, as ruled by the Moff Council.” The words came out like syrup from Banston’s mouth. He felt somehow wronged as he said them. Thrawn smiled and nodded.

“I will be sure to handle these powers deservingly with the responsibility that you have entrusted me with,” said Thrawn. He turned to leave, motioning Morl and Belisarius to follow before he stopped and turned around. “Oh, and to ensure that each of you Graces are kept safe, I request that you stay here on Nirauan for a while until all your injuries are fully healed.”

Without another word Thrawn turned and left, leaving behind the Moffs who quickly realized that they’d been maneuvered into a tight corner.