General Stefan Krugwolt listens to the transmission as he feels his very soul freeze over. Dericote had gone traitor? Thousands of thoughts race through his mind. He had called for allies. He was a friend. He was a traitor. He was doomed to failure! Krugwolt had fought beside him. He was betraying the order they had fought to keep standing! He was upholding the very ideals of the Republic of old. He … he was going get Krugwolt killed. Get a whole lot of people killed.

  The Empire would not allow this to occur. There would be reprisals, investigations, interrogations, enhanced interrogations, executions, disappearances, massacres. And he, General Krugwolt, second in command in the administration, would likely be caught up in it all. Sure, he wasn’t focused on the logistical details beyond what was required by the local garrison and Army forces, but that would be more than enough to implicate him.

  And if the Empire saw him as more useful than as a liability with his friendship to this new traitor to the civilized galaxy? Then they would charge him with conducting the campaign against Dericote, would demand it be the Admiral’s second in the administration who cleaned up the mess. Organized the investigations, ordered the executions, acquiesced to the massacres the Empire would demand occur in reprisal.

  Krugwolt lets out a quiet sigh. The mix of Colonels and staff officers in the room eyeing one another, the handful of ISB agents and himself with rapidly shifting glances. He could not survive such things being on his conscience. War was hell and the rumors of reprisals upon civilian populi, the executions without trials, the deaths of entire cities if suspected of harboring Jedi or resisting the Imperial cog. No, Stefan would not suffer the indignity and dishonor of ordering such, would not allow such things to occur.

  And what better way to ensure that than to fight the government which ordered it?

  The General glances around the room. How many might join in mutiny? It had been slightly more than a year and despite the Emperor’s decrees, most of the non-human regiments still stood within the Command. Probably another trick of Dericote’s. How long had the man been planning this? And how had Krugwolt been blind to it?

  “Sir? Your orders?” Brigadier General Chirup asks. The Targonnian had his eyes locked on the head ISB agent.

  Krugwolt lets out a sigh then chuckles: “Was it ever really a question? We do as we did on Raxus, we fight tyranny.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that, sir.” The Targonnian says, before a series of blasters go off in the conference room. The ISB agents don’t even manage to cry out before they’re silenced to a man.

  “Gentlebeings. We’ve just committed treason against the Empire. I intend to submit my authority to that of Fleet Admiral Dericote. All who wish to remain loyal to the Empire, to suffer the undeniable reprisals, do so, I will not blame you. But I and my loyal brothers and sisters in arms, we shall be the next spark to help re-light the flame of our Republic. Get to your men, rally them and deal with any traitors to the Republic. Any Stormtroopers present are to be detained or killed, I don’t want any fanatics to be able to form a response. We take this world now with shock and awe. I’ll contact Dericote so we can consolidate. Once we’ve secured the base we’ll begin negotiating with the Toong’l government, Bvinsk and Luxerite. Long live the Republic, down with the traitors and up with the cog!”

  “Long live the Republic!” The officers bark in triumph.

  Officers quickly leave the barracks, guards stationed outside the soundproof room sworn to silence as Krugwolt makes a run for the comms station within the base. He grabs men he knows will be loyal as he continues his quick march, blasterfire starting to echo through the base as loyalists and Imps clash in desperate skirmishes. The new bloods being murdered in cold blood by their veteran comrades, taking a handful down in turn as Krugwolt bursts into the command room of the comms station. He’s greeted warmly by the base operators and not a shot is fired.

  Throughout Toong’l’s various emergency broadcast loudspeakers a song starts to play. The Battlecry of Freedom echoing across the world under Imperial occupation.

  Commodore Abelard listens to the transmission quietly. His bridge silent. The flag officer knew what must be done. He glances down upon Cophrigin. General Cain’s former Corps was below, likely tearing itself apart alongside various locals. Abelard wishes to curse the Admiral a hundred times and yet can’t bring himself to do so.

  The flag officer sighs before nodding to himself: “Prepare for possible evacuation efforts from the surface. We will be extricating ourselves from the command.”

  “We retreat?” His Adjutant asks.

  “What other option do we have? Duty says to charge at a traitor, honor says not to clash blades with comrades in arms. I’ve served under Fleet Admiral Dericote for too long to simply throw my respect for him away. I will not face our Black Hussar, not without orders from High Command.” Abelard confesses.

  “Probably for the best.” The Adjutant says, “I don’t think we could win against his 120th anyway.”

  “Agreed.” The Commodore whispers quietly as he looks out at the Cophrigin Defense Section, which side would they follow? What of Balshebr, Astigone, Nyny, Byss, Wyndigal and Altratonne? What of the other worlds in the Ash Worlds? Would he even be able to break out from within the Sector? Would the Hussar hunt his men down? Would he be ordered back into the Sector he had defended? Too many questions and too few answers.

  A young boy looks at his father as the message plays. Wyndigal had changed, from a rather light Republic garrison to a heavy one protecting the strategic world to a heavy handed Imperial one. Most of the men hadn’t changed, but their commander had. There were no more charity works and infrastructure maintenance being done, only drills, police actions and patrols.

  Once there would be a couple soft eyed men and Quarren joking and occasionally even playing with the boy in the Governor’s house, now there were the helmeted and cold Stormtroopers. The boy hated them, hated how they ordered him about in his own home. How the new Imperial commander would bark orders at this dad and would threaten to beat him if his pa didn’t comply.

  And so when the man who had ordered their liberation from the Separatists asked for help … the boy ran off. He would ask the old Brigadier for help, the Meerian with wise eyes and a stern mustachioed face would know what to do, would know how to get rid of the Stormtroopers, would know how to help.

  A certain pirate prince’s face morphs into a vicious grin as he and his bridge, filled with loyal lieutenants, bodyguards and the most capable of crew, listen to his friend’s proclamation. Finally, no more hiding from the Imperials, no more secret rendezvous and indirect supply runs made with his less shadily acquired ships. He could finally act in the open again.

  And he was perfectly positioned to start wreaking some havoc upon those profit stifling swine who proclaimed themselves the inheritors of the Republic and galactic civilization. Ohnaka jumps up from his command throne and beckons one of his newer lieutenants closer.

  “Contact my ships in the Jomark and Elom systems. They are to begin openly raiding Imperial shipping whenever they catch a convoy off guard. Meanwhile, get me my list of potential allies. I wish to see how much more profit we can make without needing to fire a shot.” Ohnaka orders.

  “Yessir.” The Master at Arms replies.

  Yes, Ohnaka thinks as he surveys the stars beyond, this would be very profitable.

  Fleet Admiral Benoni looks over the Sith Worlds below as the recording from his co-conspirator finishes. The bridge is silent upon the Inexpugnable class battlecruiser, flagship of the Sith Worlds Cordon Fleet and veteran hull of a thousand battles. If nothing else, the HONO Clique Coup on Coruscant had removed any semblance of doubt in the Fleet Admiral’s mind. Emperor Palpatine was a Dark Force wielder, alongside his obvious apprentice and their various agents,. Likely a Sith or Sith admirer of some kind.

  “Sir, the Glassmaker stands ready. We’ve also gotten greenlight from the Korriban’s Silence and the Sith’s Demise. All capital ships have been spread out in accordance to Contingency Plan Aurek-Aurek-Aurek Resurgence.” His Adjunct Captain reports.

  “We all know our duty. As our fleet stood watch for millennia, we now enact our most dreaded contingency. We end our purpose, for it is better to lose an arm than to have the blood be poisoned. With the powers and duties of the Fleet Admiral of the Sith Worlds Cordon Fleet and Marshal Administrator of the Sith Worlds Sector, I hereby sentence every world under cordon to death. I hereby order the base-delta-zeroes by turbolaser and nuclear fire, the total destruction of a planet’s surface and the world’s thousand year sentence of radiation, upon the following worlds: Korriban, Nicht Ka, Bosthirda, Rhelg, Dromund Kaas, Ashes Ree, Jaguada, Khar Delba, Kaisunor, Begeren, Krayiss Two, Ch’hodos, Ziost, Korriz, Athiss, Svolten, Bhargebba Six and Nfolgai. May these homes and tombs of the Sith be turned to naught but glass, ash and irradiated dust. Long live the Republic.”

  “Long live the Republic.” The bridge echoes mournfully.

  “It is with little remorse that with the previous orders I have stripped our Sith Cordon Fleet of its purpose for a millennia. May it serve true in this time and return to its solemn duty once it has lapsed, burning whatever Sith Worlds arise in this time.” Benoni speaks the programmed words.

  “Though arise they may, damned they will be.” His Adjunct Captain speaks his part of the tradition.

  “And damned will be all those who inhabit them, given the Maker’s mercy by our blades or another’s. All units, you may begin firing at will. All worlds must die. Maker preserve us all.” Benoni doubles down.

  He marches to the transparasteel windows as the Glassmaker begins opening fire on Korriban below, her temporary escorts of ten old Hammerhead cruisers and their picketing corvettes joining in as the first nuclear missiles join the turbolasers. Benoni looks on dispassionately as the first explosions rock the surface, large enough to be made out from orbit.

  “ETA for us?” He asks calmly.

  “Current projections have us at another rotation. Taskforce Detachments Sith’s Demise and Korriban’s Silence have similar ETAs. Meanwhile Taskforce Detachments Extinguisher and Radiation need two rotations.” His Adjutant provides.

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  “About two weeks total with travel and doubling back.” Benoni mutters. They all knew the numbers, they’d been drilled into their skulls from the moment they’d received their postings. And yet as Korriban burned once more, hopefully this death would be final, the reminder of the duration of these glassings centered them.

  “Surface Geiger counters reading deadly levels of radiation. Not quite the levels we want, but those will come once we’ve finished.” The sensors chief reports.

  “We stay the course. No matter the cost, this month, the Sith Worlds will die.”

  “Stars, may the Sith permanently join their homeworlds in death.” An Adjutant prays.

  “Amen.” A couple officers mutter.

  Vice Admiral Hatha of the Separatist Navy, oh who is he kidding? He is Vice Admiral of fifty ships and a pirate in all but title and former occupation. His Warprofiteer was now filled with a mix of refugees and foodstuffs instead of spare munitions and battle droids. His half dozen Recusant light destroyers, playing at escorts, damaged almost beyond what his engineers alongside their supporting mecnics and droids could repair without a designated repair-yard. One of them would probably need to be scrapped for parts at this rate. His eight Munificents’ hangars meanwhile were near empty of Vultures and partially turned into shanty towns. His three Diamond missile cruisers now without munitions, his twenty five Captors full to the brim with whatever spare parts, foodstuffs, bartering materials and as many more refugees they could carry, though four of them were still armed for actual combat still. Though most tragically for the Neimoidian Admiral the most undamaged ships in his remaining forces were five Gozantis that he was using as shuttles to gather more of the desperate masses and carry supplies.

  “Sir, we’re intercepting a transmission from Mon Cala.” A Neimoidian comms officer reports

  Hatha raises his brow and hesitates. What could it be? More Imperial propaganda? Secret intelligence worth risking the fleet? News of a supply ship filled with almost desperately needed medicine and fresh food? After the thoughts finish swirling through the Neimoidian’s mind he speaks: “I would listen to it.”

  It is the dreaded Black Hussar. It is his rival in war. It is the man who executed over a thousand Separatist fanatics on Balshebr. It is a man Hatha respects. A man the Neimoidian knows. A man who just called for rebellion. A man who may have just doomed countless systems under his protection, both former Separatist and Loyalist worlds alike.

  The speech ends and Hatha hesitates. He looks out at his fleet. They have enough fuel for now. They could continue to raid from the Gordian Reach. They might be safe here, they could continue as they have here. Loot Imperial shipping and cause mayhem in small numbers and continue to remind the Imps that while Hatha’s state may be gone, the Separatists and Dooku had been undeniably right. And that the remaining Separatists would continue the fight to the last.

  Or … or they could make for Mon Cala and defend the Tion Cluster, the political heart of the Confederacy, once more. Make compromises with their former foes to fight the greater evil. He looks over his battered fleet. Mon Cala and her colonies had expansive shipyards. They had many a world with room for settlers. His people could be safe there. His ships could repair there. He sighs, was it even much of a question?

  “Fleet wide transmission. We make for Mon Cala. Prepare our best barter, we may have to offer it up for repairs or fuel once there.”

  “We’ll ally with the Hussar?” A Neimoidian spits, anger in his tone.

  “The foe of my foe may not be a friend, but he may very well be an ally.” Hatha counters.

  “Xim wept.” A Tionese sailor grumbles, yet the bridge complies and less than an hour later, Hatha’s ragtag battlegroup enters hyperspace.

  Lieutenant General Bvinsk considers his options with as much care as he can muster. Major Jerjerrod and Colonels Istris and Green standing before him expectantly. Krugwolt has already declared for the Republic, Dericote sparked the damn thing and Commodore Jim had already reported his support alongside most of his squadron from Garel. He has heard of infighting on Cophrigin and Commodore Abelard’s retreat from system, the man still following protocol by passing his decision along to regional command despite the chaos around him.

  The Imperial appointed Sector Governors were remaining loyal, big surprise there. Scraping together small forces that could be dangerous if two of them hadn’t already jumped ship and abandoned their sectors. The last of them, the one that was supposed to be in charge of the Dominus Sector, had holed up around Baros, subsuming the small garrison section there and likely hoping that someone would come to rescue him.

  Senior Captain Thorr meanwhile had declared for the Republic reborn and also stopped responding to transmissions. Captain Pryce seemed a very loyal Imperial and the rest of the section had probably stayed loyal. A pity to lose Captain Thorr, he was a good man. Commodore Pixis’s forces on the other hand had simply finished their supply runs to Toong’l and the supply base between Baros and Garel, then turned around and made a mad dash towards the Greater Halla Sector Command where their commanding officer was located. The garrison regiments throughout the command, recruited mainly from the Calamari, Dominus, Jubilar and Ash Worlds Sectors, had almost entirely gone rogue, bursts of violence and the following comms silence the only proof of their mutiny.

  The 99th Battleship Section had thrown their officer’s caps in with Dericote over Mon Cala. The 28th Battleship Section doing much the same form their current position over Caluula, abandoning the Imperial forces in orbit and on the surface below in an apparently successful retreat. Commodore Bwisue, the often overlooked but critically important minder of the various depots and logistical installations within the Munto Codru system, had also declared for a renewed Republic, likely hoping for the promotions that the Empire had refused him for due to a lacking battle record. A record which was so lacking due to the man’s incredible logistical oversight of the system he garrisoned. Various smaller patrol formations had gone either way, some siding with their long time superior officer who had allowed them to keep patrolling their homeworlds, others siding with the Empire, the various garrison sections doing much the same, though many of the not locally staffed ones were pulling back out of the command or attempting to rally into a force that could, at least theoretically, threaten a convoy.

  The main … consideration, Bvinsk decides, was what Admiral Sykes and Rear Admiral Luxerite would decide to do. It was Sykes’s forces above Raxus, Tion, Florn and Pakuuni which could be sent to assault the mutinous forces over Mon Cala or act as desperately needed reinforcements. It was also Luxerite’s men that were stationed around Toong’l with their own Stormtrooper detachments and questionable loyalties.

  Jerjerrod, Istris and Green are still starring at Bvinsk who finally sighs and pulls out a cigarette and a match from his uniform. Striking the match on his boot, then bringing the flame to the cigarette in his mouth as he considers his options one last time.

  Inhaling the smoke, then exhaling slowly the last piece of his puzzle slots into place. His native Bandomeer. It wasn’t a very populous world, only some seven hundred million resided there, but it was a critical mining world and its culture and peoples were prevalent throughout the lesser worlds of the Meerian Sector. Her people had served as the marches of the Republic in many a war against the ancient Sith and been oppressed by them whenever their territory fell into the hands of those insane Dark Force wielders. That, alongside marrying into the humanoids of Bandomeer proper, made his people resilient, sturdy and excellent miners and soldiers.

  The newest war effort had changed said miners’ contracts and when the people went on strike for a better deal during the first months of the Empire, now that the war was officially over, Vader had been sent to put down the so called uprising. His homeworld had quieted down then, due to the martial law placed upon it, but his contacts within his homeworld’s expat and military communities hinted at the growing revanchism and unrest. There was open talk of rebellion, resignation and desertion from many a Meerian officer Bvinsk had managed to speak with.

  The General sighs, knowing he made his decision when he first heard of his homeworld’s plight: “Alert our Stormtrooper garrison of the fighting below and get them some transportation to the surface. Give them extra munitions and some rotten supports, make sure the pilots wont be missed either and set the detonators to go off before they fully enter atmosphere. Inform Krugwolt of the incoming Imperials and then quietly inform our Security Chief of our returned allegiance to the Republic and give her our list of Republic sympathizers. Anyone not on that list is to be placed into custody pending a dismissal of charges or their execution on charges of treason. I’ll hail Luxerite and see if he is willing to deploy his Stormtroopers to the surface as well. Maybe see if he and his can botch their landings too.”

  “We’re really doing this then.” Istris accepts.

  Jerjerrod is stone cold: “I’ll inform General Krugwolt.”

  “I’ll get Security Chief Miles to see things our way.” Colonel Green says with an evil grin and a slightly manic look in his eyes.

  “Great, leave me to the ramblings of the human supremacist bastard of a Stormtrooper Captain.” Istris complains mildly before sighing, “I’ll get it done promptly, sir.”

  “Make sure you do.” Bvinsk orders, smoke coming out of his mouth as he speaks, “Speed and confidentiality will be our best weapons. We keep quiet and keep gaining intel until the very last minute possible. We straddle the fence until we get an Imperial order we cannot delay, obfuscate or flat out disobey. Now if you will excuse me, I have a Rear Admiral to wrangle.”

  “Understood, sir.” Jerjerrod nods.

  Istris nods, before the two junior officers salute in tandem and make haste to complete their tasks. Bvinsk rotates his chair to look out at Toong’l bellow. A tragedy that he couldn’t wait until Sykes had made his decision, he’d prefer more certainty than this.

  The Targonnian looks out at the sky above. Three years ago he had been a Captain and slave to the Dictator-Forever. Now he ruled a thriving world. Sure the population had declined by a few million of his fellows, but the urge to leave the place where so many lives had been destroyed, or to repay the dept of freedom to the Republic, or simply to look for better opportunities elsewhere, was stronger in some of his fellows than the urge to remain. Even then there were still some two billion Targonnians on their homeworld with a continuously rising population.

  The Targonnian’s eyes shift towards the holotransmitter as the recording finishes playing for a third time. On the one hand, the Aesymnetes of Targonn had a responsibility to keep his people out of war, on the other hand … had the war even ended? The return of the title of Aesymnetes was supposed to show the end of Republic control of his world through his appointment of Governor, the older title having come from the position of highest executor before the first Dictator-Forever’s coup almost two millennia ago.

  Aesymnetes Squeak lets out a sigh in front of his council of twenty four, the fellow Targonnians exchanging glances. Most were former military, similarly to himself, the young democracy only having few non-military figures that would even be considered electable for the Ministerial positions.

  His foreign relations Minister speaks up first: “Squeak, we cannot. The Empire would crush us.”

  “Targonnian arms and valor would make our world unassailable. We have sacrificed too much to allow us to return to tyranny.” His defense Minister retorts.

  “We do have a population experienced in combat. We could re-institute the labor draft to increase our number of soldiers and to better our infrastructure.” His economic Minister suggests.

  “Can we even be sure we won’t simply suffer from another orbital bombardment?” Squeak’s Minister of health, a former medic, asks.

  “There’s only one real hyperspace lane from Targonn to Imperial space. There’s another, a hidden one only we know of and a third route towards our newly established colony world. We’ve been given enough mines to hold off any attempt to get into system, from the only Republic known lane, for a couple months, though after that we lack an indigenous production of mines to keep out the enemy.” His Minster of the Navy reports, “Though we still have a not inconsiderable fleet from the former Dictator-Forever which should be able to keep any section sized force out of system, though without even a single repair yard and limited components for said hypothetical yard, limited ammunition and fuel stockpiles, I am unsure how long our fleet could hold out.”

  “So we would be reliant on other worlds to assist in our defense.” Squeak concludes.

  “Yes, sir.” The previous Minister concludes.

  Squeak hesitates. So much could go wrong and yet. The leader of the Targonnian people straightens his back as he speaks: “I shall bring a motion to the legislative assembly. We shall officially remain neutral until a time where we have an independent mine production and enough of a stockpile in components, mines, munitions and fuel to get us through six years, twice as long as the Clone Wars. I shall send a representative to Admiral Dericote to inform him of our willingness to support him quietly and permit one Targonnian regiment to depart every year as long as our world has enough defenders. We shall endeavor to see about expanding the fleet as well by two cruisers and three corvettes. Finally I will not demand a single Targonnian regiment currently in service to the Republic be returned to Targonn.”

  “That won’t be too difficult to sell.” The representative of the legislative says.

  “Won’t even need a vote for the Shengzhangs’ chamber.” The Governor’s representative chuckles.

  “Then we are in agreement.” Squeak says, “We shall endeavor to join the Republic and support her in thanks for the liberty they returned to us.”

  “Long live the Republic.” The Vice Aesymnetes mutters.

  “Long live the Republic indeed.” Aesymnetes Squeak agrees.

  Near the Randon system a Jedi with graying hair looks upon his tactical display. General Kota had slowly been forced north by the lack of resources and dogged Imperial pursuers. They had almost lost the Liberation more than once. Instead they had lost one of their corvettes and most of the Liberation’s strikecraft. He had been forced to buy up two dozen HH-87 Starhoppers and a dozen old Cloakshapes to try and make a dent in their losses.

  The last year of engagements had stripped his force of most of their remaining funds and most of their pilots. It would take time to train or recruit replacements for them. It certainly didn’t help that his men were running low on munitions. He’d need to try and buy some from the smugglers or organized criminals in the area.

  Though that would be difficult without the credits he needed. Kota suppresses a sigh. He needed to raid an Imperial convoy soon or else be stuck here. If only the Imps in the area would lighten up their convoy escorts. The Nebulons and Arquitenses were surprisingly enough to keep his forces at bay thanks to the stress placed upon them during the few larger engagements his men had ended up in.

  “Sir, we’ve received an open transmission from Mon Cala.” His comms chief reports.

  “And?” Kota asks.

  “It’s an open proclamation from Fleet Admiral Dericote of the Empire.”

  “What’s so important about what that Fondorian has to say?” Kota asks. He remembers having fought with him at Pammant. Kota had lost a lot of men there. A few hundred more than he had lost in the purge and seizure of the Liberation. Though he had recovered more quickly from Pammant than he had the purge.

  “He has declared the Empire as an illegitimate government. He has declared a Republic government in exile and a wish for a better Republic.” The comms chief reports dutifully.

  Kota considers this a moment: “He was at Mon Cala?”

  “Yes sir. It appears the Empire wished to bombard the people of the ocean world.”

  “Well then.” Kota says, “Maybe he hasn’t fully gone imp then.”

  Kota considers his options for a moment. How likely was it that the former Republic Navy officer would attempt to execute him and pressgang his men. After all, the Jedi had apparently betrayed the Republic the Admiral claimed to fight for. Would he hold himself to the letter of the law, or else push laws back to before the Jedi were purged?

  Finally Kota speaks: “We make a break for Junkfort Station. If the rumors I heard about Dericote are true he’ll have agents there with whom we can negotiate. Maybe we’ll join him, maybe he’ll try and kill us. But Dericote is … practical. He shouldn’t be willing to throw away a Venator, two corvettes and two divisions of veteran soldiers.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  “Making adjustments.”

  “Fuel may be an issue.” An engineer warns.

  “Just cut down power output and deactivate internal systems in the areas we ain’t usin’.” The Adjutant Lieutenant orders.

  “Agreed.” The Captain of the Liberation says, “Helmsman, navigator, we make for Junkfort, post haste!”

  “Yessir.” The two men bark.

  Kota smiles. It had been too long since he had felt the Force hum in agreement in his chest.

  Map detailing the strategic situation of the North East Slice Command, the East Tion Command, the West Tion Command, Far Trans Hydian Command and edges of the Greater Halla Sector Command.

  Red: Worlds in Rebellion (Dericote’s Revolt)

  Orange/Yellow: Officially neutral worlds (Unofficially aligned with Dericote’s Revolt)

  Gray: Imperial

  Brown: State of Targonn

  Various shades of Blue and Purple: Separatist remnants

  Blank: Unoccupied/abandoned worlds