Star Wars - Ripples of the Void Chapter 7: Interlude 1 (Patreon)

Chapter 7: Interlude 1

When the war had started, Burt had assumed things would be fine for Murkhana. What reason would the Republic even have to come to their little slice of heaven? It was a resort world, not a munitions depot or military site, after all.

Yet come they had. All because the planet had committed the ‘crime’ of broadcasting all of the dirty laundry the Republic would have preferred kept quiet. For telling the truth that flew in the face of their façade of being the peace-loving, kind-hearted protectors they claimed to be.

Scum. The Republic proved themselves to be massive hypocrites as well as monsters as they rained destruction onto Murkhana.

Burt had been lucky. He’d been employed in one of the resorts far from Murkhana City itself when the orbital bombardment had begun, but he’d seen the clouds of smoke and debris rising up, followed by the poison-laced rain that had fallen and choked out the life upon the rest of the world.

The Confederacy had responded quickly, sending a fleet to punish the Republic forces, but it still took several days to reach the Murkhana System due to the fact that nobody had expected this warcrime to occur, and had to divert forces from other theatres.

And in those days? The planet burned, the oceans boiled, and filth and destruction replaced pristine beauty. Thousands of refugees had poured out of the city, trying to escape the devastation, and later, the grinding street to street combat as CIS droids did their best to repel the invading Clone Troopers.

But the CIS won. It punished the Republic, drove them from the planet, and put a halt to the carnage.

Unfortunately, just because the Confederacy won didn’t mean things got better. The planet was ruined, the city was ruined, and if not for the regular shipment of supplies, the stranded survivors would have starved… or worse.

Now, the war was over. The bloodshed had come to an end, and still, things weren’t getting better. More supplies came in, but the ecosystem remained ruined. Burt still had to wear a respirator to avoid choking on the fumes, and some unlucky individuals had to use cloth masks to block the smoke. Others didn’t even have that, and would be lucky to not catch some sort of horrible lung disease.

So, then, why was Burt out here in Tower Square, waiting with a crowd of thousands of others? Because he wanted to get a good look at the Head of State when he arrived for his speech.

“Can’t believe we’re standing out here in the smog and muck for a high-and-mighty politician to make empty promises,” a Chagarian muttered under her breath in annoyance.

“You’re the one who came with me, Vala,” Burt shot back, and the blue-skinned alien rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, well, somebody has to keep your pink hide in one piece out here. City ain’t safe anymore.”

“Mm. Can’t really argue with that,” Burt agreed. “Still, you should probably keep your voice a bit lower, or your opinions to yourself. A lotta people here respect the Head of State.”

Burt being one of them. After all, who couldn’t find the former admiral, well, admirable? After all, Admiral Jarik had been the man who’d driven the Republic fleet away from Murkhana and crushed the GAR forces on the planet.

‘Not to mention, he’s the nephew of Count Dooku himself!’ Burt thought to himself.

The hotel worker had had the honor of serving the founder of the CIS himself, once, when he’d visited the resort. It’d been when he’d first started working there, and it was a memory the man was going to treasure for his entire life.

And the count’s nephew was doing a good job so far. He’d taken the reins after the Decapitation, and though it’d only been a few months, the CIS was still going strong. And, made sure that the supply drops to Murkhana didn’t get delayed, so that had Burt’s respect if nothing else.

Sure, some people were calling it nepotism – and not even Burt could deny that that was probably a factor in the young admiral’s sudden and rapid ascension – but so far, Jarik Dooku was making for a good Head of State, doing his best to try and fix the damages done by the war.

‘I just hope he can do something about Murkhana,’ Burt thought to himself.

The once-tropical world had been beautiful, and it had, more importantly, been his home. Yes, he’d been born on some dust ball to miner parents, but Murkhana had come to hold an important place in his heart.

‘Among others things,’ Burt mused, eyes glancing towards Vala, the Chagarian still looking huffy and put out by the fact they’d come out here to see and hear the speech in person.

A stirring, martial theme suddenly got blared from the speakers spread out around the square, and eyes were drawn to the stage that had been set up. Soon, an aircar could be spotted, its smooth shape cutting through the smog to land, and once it did, guards emerged from within before allowing the Head of State to slip out all while cheers and applause rang out.

The Hero of the Confederacy was a tall human, and a few years younger than Burt. He wore a dark blue suit but had chosen to forego the cape his uncle used to wear, instead having a short mantle draped around his shoulders with the white CIS emblem on it.

A black face covering respirator was being worn to protect his eyes and lungs, but even with it, there was enough space on the visor to see his eyes and read his expression beneath.

Head of State Jarik strode up to the podium and looked over the crowd before speaking. “People of Murkhana, I have come here to say two things to you. The first… is that I am sorry.”

He then, to Burt and everyone else’s shock, removed his respirator, breathing in the same air far too many citizens were forced to breath. Burt heard screams from the crowd, people begging and urging him to put it back on. Same went for Jarik’s guards and attendants.

Yet the leader of the Confederacy refused, and continued with his speech. Burt would admit that he missed a lot of it, but what he did catch… it inspired him. The CIS had not abandoned them! They were going to restore Murkhana to its prior glory! Burt cheered and clapped along with the rest of the crowd.

Of course, the sudden coughing fit that struck the young man after his speech caused a wave of panic to flow through the audience, and even Vala gasped in worry as the Head of State was ushered back into the aircar.

The crowd was concerned, but a few minutes later an update was plastered onto the holo-screen in the square: Head of State Jarik was safe, and everything was fine with him. There were no long-lasting complications.

“Fine,” Vala muttered as relief suffused the gathered sentients. “You might have been right about him.”

“Glad to hear it,” Burt nodded.

A moment later, another cheer rang out as Congressman Verpa informed everyone that the Head of State had personally paid for a large amount of supplies to be delivered to Murkhana City within the next few days. There would be enough respirators for people to replace their masks, and an extra shipment of food and medicine would be arriving alongside it to thank them for their participation in the assembly today.

Murkhana had suffered, but Murkhana would survive! The Confederacy was strong, and wasn’t going to give in! Long live Head of State Jarik!

111 &&& 111

“Hutts,” Lap’Lap growled, her face tendrils twisting in furious agitation. “Of course it’s them.”

After months on patrol, hunting down pirate bands from one edge of the CIS to the next, the Quarren had finally captured a pirate vessel intact enough to scour for data. It contained a motherlode of valuable intel, such as the base of one of the main pirate fleets ravaging the Hyperspace lanes as well as patrol routes, but more importantly, revealed who was bank rolling this particular band of rogues.

Count Dooku had not made many friends during his time as the Confederacy’s leadership, and one of them was none other than Jabba the Hutt, whose child the Sith had kidnapped to use as a bargaining chip to get the cartel lord’s resources turned against the Jedi and Republic. Only the ruse was discovered, and it seemed Jabba was still carrying a grudge.

‘Hence, the waves of kriffing pirates,’ the newly promoted rear admiral grumbled to herself.

“What do we do?” Captain Ebbo of the Siren-class Pursuit Frigate Golden Sliver asked her.

Lap’Lap glanced at the Neimoidian and held back a snort. “I shall inform Head of State Jarik about the identity of the pirates’ backer, and he will decide what to do about it. As for what we do next about the pirates themselves? I think we have plenty of intel to work off.”

She tapped the console and brought up the data from the pirate’s computers. “They’ve got a nice little base here, in an abandoned asteroid mining facility within the Loakulka System. No inhabited worlds, and out of the way of the major Hyperspace lanes, making it a decent hiding spot.”

“Time to scrap some pirates, then,” Captain Helm grinned, the human man excited to be part of a good old fashion space battle again. And, given that his vessel was the Huntress-class Strike Cruiser Spear of Serenno, a fight meant he’d be covering himself in glory leading the charge.

He was not the only one excited, either. The seven other ship captains, a dozen lieutenants, and the single commodore in the anti-piracy task fleet were all itching to find and destroy the pirates after they’d been given the run-around these last few months.

The Rear Admiral nodded and sent orders to her naval officers. “This will be a good chance to do some live fire exercises using the new combined arms doctrines,” Lap’Lap said aloud.

Having organics working alongside droids was Jarik’s big policy right now. He was doing everything he could to fill the ranks of the military with sentients who could command and fight alongside the droids, and Lap’Lap understood the idea behind it.

Whether or not it would actually work was another matter, so a few boarding actions to get a feel for it would be organized. Capturing intact pirate ships was of a secondary concern to actually stopping the vermin from fleeing and continuing to plunder and pillage elsewhere, of course.

“Who will lead the boarding actions?” one of the other ship-captains inquired.

“That shall be up to Colonel Zunk to decide,” Lap’Lap informed him, and the blue Trandoshan being projected in one of the holo-screens grinned viciously.

At the moment, the three most common species joining the Confederacy’s ground forces were humans (obviously), Kage, and Trandoshans. The reptilian race being more than suited to such a role, as they were vicious fighters and more than willing to rush into a firefight to honor their goddess.

Of course, Trandoshans could be… overzealous, and often needed to be reined in. Colonel Zunk was one of the few Trandoshans who was far calmer and level-headed than the majority of his peers, and who could work with others to perform proper tactics. He’d never become a general, but as a commander who’d join and lead his men on the field? There were few his equal.

“The enemy won’t know what hit them,” Zunk promised.

Lap’Lap nodded, and mentally made a note to send a note of thanks to General Greez for lending her the Trandoshan colonel. She hoped the Toydarian was doing well in his current task of securing the Mandalorian border worlds.

“Any other questions?” Lap’Lap inquired, and when nobody spoke up, she nodded. “Excellent. Prepare to travel to the Loakulka System! It’s time to erase these pirates from the CIS!”

Firm nods and blood-thirsty expressions answered her, and the anti-piracy task force readied itself for battle.

111 &&& 111

Gezzel liked his job. Being a pirate could be dirty and bloody and more than a little terrifying, but the perks were worth it. Plenty of loot when the times were good, the boss didn’t care if you were drinking while on duty, and every so often, he got to shoot somebody in the face.

Yes, it was the pirate’s life for him!

‘Better than scraping away at a desk job for some bloated corpo or bureaucrat. Or worse, a politician!’ the Cingulon thought to himself.

Today was also a good day, as he’d been given monitor duty. Boring? Yeah, but watching the ship’s sensors for any signs of enemy vessels was a simple task. Especially while parked at the Asteroid.

The Asteroid was a on old mining complex set inside a hollowed-out asteroid. Place had been found by some pirates during the Clone Wars and turned into a nifty base. Since it’d been abandoned for decades by that point, nobody was gonna come looking for it.

‘And if they did? Well, then they’d just be another piece of prey,’ the squat, pebbly-skinned humanoid grinned evilly.

Watching the sensors and monitor screens was thirsty work, so he grabbed a can of beer – Raxian brew, looted from one of the Caravan-class cargo haulers they’d hit a week ago. – and popped the tab, taking a sip of the liquid within.

Lukewarm, but beer was beer, and the Raxians were starting to make some decent micro-brews these days. Some sort of initiative from the CIS to promote local culture, or something.

‘Eh, culture-schmulture. Long as the droid-humpers keep filling cargo haulers and transport ships full of shiny stuff, that’s all that matters,’ Gezzel mused as he took another sip.

Thanks to the near-collapse of both the Republic and the Confederacy, pirates all over the galaxy were having a grand old time picking off lone vessels filled to the brim with supplies. Why, Gezzel had heard of a crew who’d scored an entire convoy of expensive medical supplies over in the Tamadu System!

‘Though the Rimma Trade Route was getting pretty dicey these days, what with all the Feddies patrolling it these days. Might be time to pick up roots and leave,’ Gezzel mused.

The Asteroid was nice – plenty of strip clubs and bars to spend credits after cashing in the loot – but if the Feddies kept prowling around they’d get lucky sooner or later.

‘Probably why the captain is planning on leaving, soon,’ the Cingulon guessed.

Captain Burgo was a smart Theelin, and had a sixth sense for when things were about to go sideways. He got twitchy when that was the case, and that helped the captain get himself and the crew outta bad spots in the past. And he’d been really twitchy lately.

‘Still, that’s no concern of mine,’ Gezzel thought to himself as he reached for another can, the first one now empty. ‘Just keep watch over the scanners and then switch with Westen so I can hit the clubs…’

As the Cingulon thought about visiting the strip club that had this Twilek woman with breasts the size of her head, his daydreams were interrupted by a loud klaxon that screamed through the air, piercing his buzz and causing him to fall out of his chair.

Cursing as he picked himself up, Gezzel looked around the monitoring station, trying to see what alarm had just gone off, and why. He soon found when he saw one of the sensor units blinking rapidly, numbers flickering over the screen.

Checking it, Gezzel paled as he realized the numbers were the tonnage for a warship that had suddenly appeared on the edge of the radar detection system.

According to what he was seeing, a Razor Reef-class Destroyer had dropped out of Hyperspace, and it wasn’t alone. A dozen other warships were appearing, popping back into realspace in battle formation, and to Gezzel’s horrors, saw that they were positioned to prevent any of the pirates from escaping using the typical Hyperspace vectors.

Unless the pirates were willing to perform emergency jumps while within the asteroid’s gravity well – which, to be clear, would causing severe damage and make it nigh impossible to accurate tell where a Hyperjump would lead – then they’d have to slip past the growing blockade.

“CAPTAIN!” Gezzel screamed into the comms unit. “WE’VE GOT FEDDIES ON OUR TONGDONGLES!”

Other pirate vessels were reacting to the sudden appearance of the fleet, as well as several of the Asteroid’s point defenses, but the spark of hope he had guttered and died when the CIS carriers disgorged not just droid fighters, but boarding shuttles as well.

“Oh, kriff,” Gezzel muttered as he stared at the sensor data. His captain’s gut feeling had been right to worry. Now, if only they could escape, that would be great!

111 &&& 111

Colonel Zunk grinned as explosions lit up the void of space. Ah, what a time to be alive! He’d missed this, he truly had!

Most species considered Trandoshans to be barely civilized, half-feral slavers who hunted innocents for sport. And they’d be right. But those other races just didn’t get it!

Violence was a part of life! And the only way to prove your existence was to show how strong you were! For every death taken, life was given more meaning. How hard was it to understand? That was why the Trandoshans had to constantly hunt. The Scorekeeper needed to see how hard they had worked to prove they existed!

It was why he’d joined the Confederate Armed Forces, after all. Leading droids into battle wasn’t exactly sporting, but every Trandoshan knew that killing someone that could fight back earned far more points from the Scorekeeper, and what better way to earn plenty of points than in a war?

Yes, the clones weren’t exactly great prey, mass produced beings that they were, but they’d been made from the genes of one of the best Mandalorian huntsmen around, and trained by him as well, plus being led by Jedi… well, it meant that Zunk was currently very confident in his current score thanks to all of the enemy soldiers he’d killed while serving under Admiral Jarik.

Admiral Jarik – Oops, it was Head of State, now, wasn’t it? – now, that had been a good Huntmaster! Sure, he thought Trandoshans were scum for their habits, but he used ‘em anyways, and to great effect.

He had always been the cautious sort, too, but when he struck, he did so with overwhelming force and ferocity. Zunk wondered if the admiral had studied the Trandoshan’s Way of the Hunt with how well he executed some of his ambushes. For a non-Trandoshan, the human was clearly well-liked by the Scorekeeper.

But, despite being a weak-skin, he had smart ideas every so often. Combined arms squads with multiple droids being led by one or two organic officers allowed for greater tactical flexibility. Jarik had been one of the few CIS officers to actual use this tactic back during the war, to great effect.

As a stray torpedo detonated against a nearby fighter, shaking the shuttle, Zunk grinned a little.

Ah, yes, the shuttle was another one of the Admiral’s inventions, wasn’t it? The Piledriver-class Shock Shuttle was a crude but effective spaceship, one designed to quickly ferry troops through space and onto enemy vessels. By ramming straight into them.

Each Piledriver was essentially a giant ram, the front of it shaped like a barbed hunting quarrel from a primitive crossbow like the Wookies used. The rest of the shuttle contained engines and a steering system, as well as a compartment for forty or so troops… and that was it.

The Piledriver would slam into the side of an enemy ship, the pointed ram punching through the hull, and would then open up like the petals of a flower, effectively lodging the shuttle into the side of the ship, allowing the troops inside to pour out, like injecting venom from the stinger of a Lem’Slyth.

Piledrivers could then be reboarded and the ram closed back up when the mission was done, allowing the basic nav-unit to move it away from the victim for pick-up by allied forces, but more often than not, these Shock Shuttles were one-and-done sorts of deals.

Jarik had loved to use them to capture enemy vessels intact, and Zunk loved being part of the spearhead that such boarding actions required.

‘And thinking of that,’ Zunk thought as the Piledriver shook again, but this time, there was a grinding noise followed by a “Crunch!” as the shuttle slammed into something hard.

“Shuttle P-1 has landed!” Zunk called out over the comms. “Beginning assault on the pirate’s asteroid base!”

There was an acknowledgement from the comms officer, but the Trandoshan ignored it as the bay doors of the shuttle swung open, revealing the interior of the pirate hideout.

It had dim lights but that meant nothing to his eyes, and the helmet would have compensated for it anyways. The hallways looked poorly maintained, with loose wires hanging from the ceiling, and cracked floor tiles every other step.

Elsewhere, more Piledrivers began to slam into the base, shaking the structure, and Zunk dispatched a squad of B1s first to secure the corridor.

The droids unfolded from their hangars inside the shuttle and dropped down, sweeping the area immediately outside of the vessel and creating a defensive perimeter as the organic sergeants and privates sent out their own droids.

Fifteen B1s, five B2s, and five organics exited the shuttle, and they spread out while Zunk checked the status of the other shuttles.

“We reached the target as planned, but P-2 was shot down by point defenses and P-5 was thrown off course and ended up far from its destination,” one of the sergeants informed Zunk.

The Trandoshan nodded, quickly going over what he knew about the surviving shuttles. “P-3 will take the power generator chamber, and P-4 will seize the fire-control systems. We’ll just have to make our way up to the command room alone and consider the hangar as a write-off.”

He gestured with his blaster and ordered the droids to move ahead. Five B1s took the front, five the rear, and they began to move through the base. If they captured the central command hub from the pirates, they could shut down the enemy’s defenses and eliminate anyone still within the base.

A good, solid plan, but one that needed them to fight through the pirates without the assistance of P-2. And just as he was thinking that, blaster fire began to scream down the hallway, courtesy of a hastily made barricade in their path.

‘But what’s a battle without something going wrong?’ Zunk mused with a hint of dark mirth as he took a knee and aimed at the pirates behind the barricade.

Blaster fire was exchanged, and one of the B1s was shot to pieces, but the rest of the squad was able to overlap their firing lanes and coordinate with each other far better than mere pirates ever could.

Within seconds the flimsy wall of cheap scrap was shredded by blaster bolts, and the pirates manning it were full of scorched holes. Zunk stomped over to them and leered down at the corpses before noticing one was still twitching.

“Hmm, used your own comrades as living shields, huh?” the Trandoshan noted, reaching down to pluck the shivering human from the pile.

“Pl-please! Spare me!” the pirate whimpered. “I-I can give you credits! Treasure! D-do you want the codes to the boss’s room! I can get it for you!”

“Unfortunately for you, I need none of that,” Zunk replied, raising his blaster. “And while you probably won’t be worth many points… better than nothing.”

Without a care in the world, the colonel fired point-blank into the pirate’s chest, burning a hole clean through him. Alarm sirens began to blare almost immediately afterwards, and red lights started to flash throughout the corridor. In the distance, the heavy thud of blast doors slamming shut began to echo out, and the CIS soldiers glanced around nervously.

“They’re trying to seal us out of the main areas. Let’s move,” he snapped, glaring back at the rest of his troops, who saluted and hastily moved ahead.

A few minutes later, when the platoon reached a T-junction, their luck took another turn for the worse, as a turret slipped out of its hiding spot and began to fire on them.

“Turret!” one of Zunk’s sergeants shouted as he ducked for cover, a trio of B1s getting blown apart before they could react.

“They’re coming up from the side as well!” another sergeant noted as a group of pirates began to charge down the other hallway.

Caught in the middle, Zunk quickly sent a B2 armed with an Aegis forward to tank the turret’s shots. The turret itself wasn’t all that impressive. It wasn’t a heavy-duty one, but it could fire rapidly and take down lightly armored units quickly.

“The shield won’t last long under sustained fire, so draw its attention with the others use their rockets on it!” Zunk ordered, and the B2 boomed out an “Understood!” as it stomped forward.

Its energy shield bloomed to life on its wrist like a dainty flower, but it withstood the barrage of turret fire long enough for other B2s to target it with the micro-missiles mounted in their arms. Two shots, and the obstacles was reduced to smoking metal.

As for the pirates?

“Grenades!” Zunk shouted, and half a dozen handheld explosives were tossed down the corridor towards the oncoming horde.

Explosions ripped apart the enemy forces, sending pirate bits flying everywhere, and those who weren’t killed outright immediately tried to retreat, but a volley of blaster fire gunned them down.

“Idiots,” he scoffed. “Who charges straight into guns?”

“Based on the dilated pupils and pulsating veins on their heads, it is likely they were under the influence of some sort of drug,” a medical B1 informed the colonel, who grunted.

“Only weaklings use drugs,” Zunk declared. “Now, keep going, we’re almost to the control hub!”

A quick jog down the corridor later, and they came to a sealed door. “How soon can you get it open?” Zunk demanded, and one of the organic troops whipped out a slicer pad.

“Soon, colonel,” the Slicer replied. “I need to get this hatch off and splice a few wires, and once that’s done I’ll be able to undo the lock.”

“Good,” he grunted. “Hurry up.”

“We have company!” a B1 suddenly shouted as pirates started to pour out of the woodwork all around them. Hidden compartments slid apart, revealing turrets, and down the hall doors opened, revealing dozens of pirates armed to the teeth.

“Well, well, well!” Zunk laughed. “It seems like we’ve finally got ourselves some fun!”

He drew a vibro-blade and charged towards the pirates, drawing their attention, and the B2s provided cover for the Slicer and organic members of the platoon, their Aegis shields raised protectively while using their rockets to destroy the turrets.

As for the B1s, they started to offer up fire support, their blasters filling the corridor with a flurry of deadly, searing red bolts. Several pirates fell to them, only for Zunk to reach their lines.

Hissing gleefully, the Trandoshan swung his vibro-blade, cutting through one of the pirates’ blasters, and stabbed it through another one’s neck. At the same time, he raised his blaster pistol and opened fire, spraying smaller bolts into the enemy.

Two more pirates fell, smoking holes in their bodies courtesy of his pistol, which provided Zunk a chance to duck below an enemy swinging a metal pipe at his head. It missed, and he sprang up, jaws clamping around the attacker’s throat. With a bite, he tore through the weak and thin flesh and let the life-juice spray all over him.

“Is that the best you womprats can do?!” Zunk laughed, spitting out pieces of neck-meat that’d gotten stuck in his mouth.

“Retreat!” one of the pirates screamed, and like the cowards they were, fled.

“Scavengers,” Zunk scoffed before shaking some blood from his vibro-blade. He then turned to the others with an impatient look. “Is it open yet?”

“Almost, colonel,” the Slicer replied, sticking his tongue out as he focused on his portable slicing tool.

A moment later there was a clunk as something turned over inside the door, and it began to open, revealing the asteroid base’s command room on the other side. Unfortunately, the pirates hiding within were ready, and as soon as it the blast door moved away, a volley of blaster fire lashed out.

Several shots caught the Slicer in the chest, neck, and face, and he died almost instantly, and one of the B2s wasn’t able to turn around fast enough and was riddled with scorch marks and holes.

“Kriff!” Zunk snarled. “B1s, smoke ‘em out! B2s, eliminate any resistance!”

Smoke bombs were hurled into the command center, blinding the pirates and reducing their accuracy courtesy of the B1s, and the hulking Super Battle Droids strode inside, hidden blades in their wrists sliding out while Zunk rushed inside behind them.

While the smoke ruined the sight of most organics, Trandoshans could see heat, and the B2s had thermal scanners built in as well. Unbothered by the smoke, Zunk and the Super Battle Droids ripped apart the pirates.

Screams rang out, and pirates begged for their lives, but it wasn’t long before those were cut off and silence reigned. As the smoke began to disperse, it revealed a blood splattered room with puddles of blood all over the floor.

“Ah, what a good battle!” Zunk laughed, his armor covered in gore, and a few B1s began to laugh along with him while the rest of his platoon secured the pirate’s terminals and monitors.

This was just a warmup for the real war, though. Because sooner or later, this ‘Empire’ was going to make its move, and Zunk couldn’t wait!

111 &&& 111

One a lush world covered in blue and red flora, a secret meeting was taking placing with the tall spires of a mega-city. To be precise, they took place within the office of the Prince-President of Zelt IV, where three conspirators were discussing what to do.

“This will be risky,” Senator Reese said, pacing back and forth. The room had been swept for bugs, so there was little chance of their words being heard by anyone outside of it, but even so, what they spoke of was, technically, treason.

“But what other choice do we have?” Prince-President Neranoa of Zelt IV asked.

The representative of the Zeltron homeworld to the Galactic Senate winced as she paused at the question.

“Admittedly, there are a few things we can do. Obviously, the most simple would be giving in to the demands…”

“Out of the question!” General Haggarl of the System Defense Forces and head of Zelt IV’s militia, shouted.

“…but since that is something none of us desire, then we could try to stay neutral,” Reese suggested. “We are, after all, hardly the most martial of people.”

That earned grunts from the Prince-President and general. The armed forces of Zeltron were for self-defense and had only ten thousand individuals or so across the entire planet, and their ‘fleet’ consisted of only a few dozen barely armed boats for managing spaceship traffic and driving off pirates.

“I would love nothing more than to stay neutral, but ‘Emperor’ Tarkin has made not so subtle hints that anyone who refuses to contribute to the military buildup for the sake of his strike against the CIS will be punished harshly,” Neranoa spat out, the very title uttered with venom.

“And so, we must send ‘military aide,’ either in the form of credits, soldiers, or military supplies, to prove our loyalty to the Empire,” Haggarl sneered.

“Aye. If we do not, sanctions and tariffs will be the least of our concern. I worry that this madman will use his military forces to crush any resistance to his new order,” Neranoa agreed. “And I do not wish to see Zelt be subjected to the sorts of horrors Tarkin was infamous for during the war.”

At that, everyone shuddered. ‘Orbital Atrocity Tarkin’ was the nickname the CIS had given the man after his actions at Murkhana, and it was sadly fitting. Other planets had suffered orbital strikes at the then-general’s hands, but few had been as bad as the former resort world. And nobody wanted to see Zelt IV reduced to ruin by warships.

The home of the reddish skinned Zeltrons was located within the Mid Rim, and had been neutral during the Clone Wars. This was, in part, due to their very nature of possessing empathic abilities not tied to the Force. They could feel what others nearby felt, and this led to a rather pacifistic people as a result.

By luck, Zelt had been spared any of the fighting up until the last few months of the war. The CIS had invaded but been swiftly repelled by Republic forces. But now, they were thinking of doing the unthinkable.

“Another option is giving him the credits he demanded,” Reese said. “Although, it would damage the economy if we did so.”

“He asks for the equivalent of five years of our annual GDP,” the Prince-President spat. “Unacceptable!”

As the new emperor, Tarkin had begun to build up forces for a renewed surge of warfare against the Confederacy, and had also begun making demands of the various member worlds who’d stayed neutral during the initial conflict.

Those, like Zelt IV, who’d not bothered to declare for either side, were being pressured to make their allegiances clear. It was either his way, or the CIS way. And the latter would earn you a turbo-laser to the face.

It’d been nearly a year since the death of Palpatine and the Republic itself, and it was already clear that the Empire was going down a dark path. Forced conscription? Seizing assets from planets who’d had dealings with the Confederacy? Disappearing people who spoke out against the changes happening in the Empire? Those were the deeds of a tyrant.

“Tarkin gives us few options, here. And frankly, do we even want to continue to hitch our hoverwagon to a military dictatorship?” Neranoa exhaled, slumping at desk. “The Republic is dead and gone. The Empire has taken its place.”

“It would mean siding with the CIS,” the senator reminded him.

A fist slammed into the wall, and the other two Zeltrons winced as they felt the sheer anger boiling within their third companion. Being latently empathic beings, the emotions were impossible to miss.

“The Confederacy did not murder my son,” Haggarl growled out.

“A fair point,” Neranoa conceded with a slow nod.

“They butchered my son, Noa,” Haggarl continued, his hands dropping to his side, though they stayed clenched. “They butchered them all! And Tarkin is doing nothing to make amends for it!”

“The Jedi…” Reese began, but was cut off.

“Do you honestly believe that kriff?!” the general demanded. “The Jedi would not try to overthrow the Republic!”

“Even if the Jedi had been planning some sort of coup, it is only Palpatine’s words we have to go by. No evidence was provided. And he gave the order for everyone in the Temple to be killed. Young and old, there was no distinction or mercy, meaning no way of us knowing the truth of the matter anymore,” Neranoa reminded the senator. “I find such a thing highly suspect. It was the Empire that massacred younglings who’d never held a lightsaber, and the Empire who is content to loudly proclaim that this was a good thing without explaining ‘why.’”

No apologies. No reparations. Haggarl had been forced to give up his child when it was discovered he had been Force Sensitive as a baby, but he’d never forgotten. And now, his son whom he’d only been able to hold once was dead, killed in the most horrific of betrayals that stank of something rotten.

“The CIS are our only option,” Haggarl declared. “They’re the only ones who can help.”

The muscular Zeltron shook his head. “I don’t like ‘em, especially not after invading us, but between the two, I’ll take them over the Empire any day.”

“Very well, then,” the Prince-President sighed. He looked towards General Haggarl with a determined expression coming onto his face. “If we are to succeed in this endeavor, the local militias must be brought up to a state of readiness. Who knows how the Empire will react when they learn the news.”

“It will take a few weeks to get everything ready without tipping off those COMPFOR womprats,” Haggarl replied. “I’ll let you know when it’s done. Thankfully, we can use the excuse of us building up our military strength for Tarkin’s little war project to explain away any odd movements and purchases.”

“In that case, I shall go to Raxus personally,” Senator Reese declared. “The Separatists – no, the Confederacy – will hopefully listen to me if I make my case to them face to face.”