“I hate to say it, but I see it. You’ll have my support if you want it.” Faxe says as I sip my mug of beer. The Rendili man had offered to supply the booze for tonight’s meal and the Rendili Lager was rather enjoyable in all honesty.

  “The conspiracy grows.” Luis teases, he was a couple hours out from inspecting the warehouses now, but one last meal before he departed for multiple weeks was easy enough for my friend to manage.

  “We’ll need more allies, surer allies.” Faxe intones.

  “I’ve been trying to gauge the reactions of my crew. It’s been slow going, but I know I’ll get at least half if we sprung now.” I inform my friends.

  “How many in the bridge and reactor rooms?” Faxe asks.

  “I’m certain for four fifths of my bridge crew and maybe two thirds in the reactor rooms, but I know I have both Hope and Endurance fully loyal to the cause.” I answer.

  “Should we really trust the Clones?” Luis asks.

  “Chain never got put under influence of the order that started the Jedi Purge. He, Sappy and their boys are very happy about that. They’ll be loyal.” I reaffirm.

  “Well … that’s at least three ships.” Faxe says.

  “And apparently Mon Cala is open to negotiations.” Luis offers.

  “At this point we might as well just call this the conspiracy of Thraken’s drinking buddies.” Faxe teases.

  “I have never shared a drink with Ryder Azadi.” I muse aloud, “Might as well start now.”

  Light chuckles are my reply, though Luis returns us to the serious topic soon enough: “I think we should approach Commodore Jim. He’s been doing good work along the northern Triellus and has a mostly locally recruited force.”

  “Just because his men are locals doesn’t mean they’ll mutiny.” Faxe cautions, “I wouldn’t trust Captain Pryce as far as I could throw her.”

  “True, but she’s got something wrong with her anyway.” Luis counters, “Honest miracle she passed her psych eval.”

  “War was young and we were desperate.” I sigh. I mean, some commands had gone as far as placing Junior Lieutenants in charge of corvettes, for Maker’s sake.

  “Those were some terrible months.” Luis shudders.

  “And it looks like it’ll all start from the beginning if worse comes to worst.” Faxe joins in.

  “Maybe not the beginning. Senior Captain Severs and his men are red blooded Corellians. He ain’t exactly happy that the shipyards there are still under Imperial supervision despite the official end of the war.” I offer, “And Hugh might be amenable too.”

  “We’ll need to be careful.” Luis reminds me, “Last thing we need is some Imp Intelligence lizardfuck to burst down our doors and throw us out the airlock.”

  “Morbid.” Faxe mutters.

  “I think I’d prefer the window treatment over an airlock.” I muse.

  “Nah, I’ve gotten too comfortable with the idea of getting voided. At this point I think I’d prefer it over becoming a flapjack on the pavement.” Luis counters.

  “Very morbid.” Faxe re-affirms.

  I walk through the Toong’l administrative station, reading a new report about a riot on Tion. The military Governor had managed to keep a cool head at least, his soldiers exclusively firing stun rounds and beating back the rioters. It was messy, but at least no one was dead yet. I should probably deploy some of the garrison regiments in our back lines to the recent conquests.

  And yet I couldn’t really deploy forces from Mintooine and Pammant as some of their people were slowly returning to their homes thanks to the official end of the war. Honestly if Mon Cala wasn’t handling that for me I would probably have lost my cool by now. It certainly didn’t help that Faxe had chosen this moment to take a short leave of absence to visit his home, though he promised to take a short detour to Coruscant to meet up with my allies in the HONO Clique on my behalf.

  I bump into Major Green as I continue down the hallway, the man dressed in a new uniform of Intelligence gray with a black cap, pants and boots. The man places a datachip into a pouch on my belt. I roll my eyes at that, if he wanted me to have a datachip he could just hand it to me during one of the briefings the bastard gave me on Sep remnants. I’d call him an over-dramatic bitch, but I don’t think Solomahal’s agent would appreciate that.

  I eventually make it to my temporary office and offer the datachip to R4. She sighs dramatically and begins playing the recording. My eyes widen at the wrecked speeder and the broken body of Senator Dededod. R4 hands me a headpiece so I can listen to the audio without a chance of being overheard as the hologram begins to loop.

  Eventually I sigh and remove the datachip from R4, knowing the little droid had already copied and saved the evidence. I place the datachip on the desk before slamming it with my metal fist. The chip shatters on my desk. I remove the metal limb and clean up the debris, placing it in a bin beside my temporary desk. Just another sin the Empire seemed interested in throwing at me.

  I stand at the corner of my desk as I count down the seconds for the expected holotransmission from Coruscant. Apparently some organizational adjustments had to be made. Adjustments important enough to involve his Imperial majesty’s court. I let out a sigh, this would likely not be particularly fun. Bvinsk gives me a dark glance at my loss of composure, the man was simply here as witness and collaborator of whatever was going on today.

  Soon enough the holotransmission goes live to reveal Wilhuff Tarkin of all people before us. I tilt my head slightly at the new rank plaque on Navy gray decorating the man’s chest. Interesting … no, concerning. I give a respectful nod to my on again off again doctrinal rival.

  “Tarkin, a pleasure as always.” I begin, “Is that a new rank I see? Not a lateral move I hope.”

  “It is the symbol of my promotion, Fleet Admiral. His Imperial majesty has deigned to grace me with an appointment to Moff.” The man replies easily.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  My brows furrow in concern: “The … periphery warlord title from … ten thousand odd years ago?”

  “Now it is being used for the Governors of vital Sectors, the more … consolidated regional commands and the former Color Commands.” Tarkin answers.

  Mine and Bvinsk’s brows shoot up in surprise at that. I tilt my head slightly at the new information as I speak: “Does this mean commands will be reorganized further?”

  “Certainly.-”

  “Fuck” Bvinsk curses under his breath.

  “- After all, the war is over. Reorganization and further reform is vital to the continued hegemony of the Empire.”

  “I see.” I mutter in mild disbelief.

  “So for the time being, though it pains me greatly, you have been awarded the Star of Coruscant Combat Medal, to be formally awarded in about two months’ time and also been appointed Brevet Junior Moff of the newly renamed East Tion Cluster Regional Command and continue with your duties as commander of the North East Slice Regional Command, under the oversight and command of recently appointed Moff Therbon of the Greater Maldrood Oversector.”

  I let the information wash over me. It could be worse. I exchange a glance with Bvinsk before speaking: “What of my Navy responsibilities and the administration?”

  “As a mere Brevet Junior Moff, your command of the … Fleet elements under your command remain your priority. In this, the administration of your command shouldn’t be subject to change, excluding the continued implementation of Sector Governors.” Tarkin informs us.

  “I have a request, sir.” Bvinsk interjects.

  “You may speak, Major General.” Tarkin says with a wave of his hand.

  “We’ve been stretched for resources lately. Despite our best efforts, the Tion cluster under our purview is still … resistant. We need both more ships and more regiments.” Bvinsk says plainly.

  “I agree with the Supreme Secretary of the command, we need resources, or at the very least guarantees that we won’t have to disband our Volunteer and Command Garrison forces.” I adjust Bvinsk’s request.

  “We are agreed in a sense.” Tarkin says, “A new, improved, Imperial Army is required. And what better backbone for such a force than the veterans of the Clone Wars that won’t age out of their prime within a few years.”

  “Agreed.” Bvinsk and I say in unison, though I continue, “Though I do have a soft spot for the Clones under my command. I would hate to lose their experience before they could train their eventual replacements.”

  Tarkin rubs his chin in consideration as he speaks: “I can see … some merit in that, though my recent visit to Kamino has rather soured me to such an idea. After all, the Clones managed to execute the traitorous Jedi too easily for my liking.”

  I suppress the urge to flinch at that. That … certainly was one way to look at the information at hand: “It is rather … disturbing. I would hate to see them executing the other contingency orders with such vim.”

  “Yes.” Tarkin agrees with himself, “Either way, congratulations for the empty title, Junior Moff Dericote.”

  “I think I’ll continue to go by my Navy Rank.” I say to myself, “After all, I never openly went by Marshal Administrator.”

  A see a small smile grace Tarkin’s face as he speaks: “Very good. Until next time, Fleet Admrial Dericote.”

  “May it be under equally pleasant circumstances, Moff Tarkin.” I reply with a polite nod.

  Bvinsk gives a curt salute as the hologram goes out. A moment of silence passes between us before I move around my desk. Picking up a spare datapad and inspecting it a moment before nodding to myself in self agreement. The datapad soars before smashing into the lower end of the wall, breaking on impact.

  “Sir?” Bvinsk says, eyebrow raised as I readjust my officers cap.

  “I’m genuinely considering retirement at this point.” I give in non-answer.

  “That would be counter-productive, sir.” Bvinsk says.

  “‘Course it is.” I grumble, “But with all this shit being slung at me it’s looking more and more appealin’. Unnecessary reforms, increased duties for the same pay, we’re not even fighting for the Republic, just sitting on a bunch of worlds while negotiating with a handful of holdouts. Where’s the honor in that?”

  Bvinsk hesitates a moment before speaking: “Ven you do retire, do tell me beforehand so I can tender my resignation at the same time. I’d prefer not being present for the following shitshow.”

  I give out an exhausted laugh as I reply: “Sure, I might as well do you that courtesy. It’s the least I owe ya for all the shit ya do.”

  It was rather scary how quickly I could make a supply depot disappear. A few papers filled out to classify its location and official designation for anyone other than a fellow Fleet Admiral or Sector General who happened to be a member of the North East Slice Command. Then deleting the location from all but my personal databanks, then having R4 double check my work and add a minor code bug that would reroute any inquiry about the missing coordinates to a depot that was actually defunct close enough to the missing one to be mistaken for it.

  It was a good thing there were plenty of old depots that actually were superfluous and defunct to help hide the ones that would keep my emergency stockpiles. Hope if anyone finds this trace of bureaucracy they just assume I sold it off to some pirate or smuggler. I’d rather face corruption charges than treason charges nowadays. I’d probably even be able to bribe my way out of a corruption charge if I was lucky.

  I chuckle at the irony of that. For some reason my fellows in regional administration were struggling with keeping corruption down. Something about giving the wrong people, those that thrive in an authoritarian system, too much power too quickly. McClellan had even gone as far as asking me for advice on the subject. Though for some reason he seemed slightly apprehensive of my suggestion to put anyone found to be corrupt to a sentence of hard labor. Or just shooting them if it was bad enough.

  I still wasn’t entirely certain how … genuine the recommendation had been. No one’s been brought to me on corruption charges yet so I haven’t had to … dispense judgment on any ne’er do wells. I sigh. All this extra work was a pain. If I didn’t know better I would’ve snatched up half a dozen new recruits to help me with it by now.

  “Guess that’s what I get for havin’ morals.” I mutter darkly. R4 chooses that very moment to hit me in the shin with a new datapad.

  The room is dark and has every precaution available built into it. It was one of Solomahal’s oldest remaining safehouses and now, it was home to the conductors of a coup d’etat. Solomahal sips from his boot flask as his eyes flit around the room. Fleet Admiral Zsinj was the woman with the most actual forces present. General Gentis had the entire first generation of Imperial recruits wrapped around his fingers alongside more than half of the local garrisons on Coruscant. Then there was the smattering of other officers and a certain representative.

  “So …” Fleet Admiral Zsinj begins, “Gentis murks Palps and his iron fist of a lapdog Vader, then what?”

  “Hopefully you’ll have secured the orbit above the capitol.” Gentis says.

  “Don’t worry General.” Zsinj placates, “It might take a bit of palm greasing, but I’m sure I can get our dear leader to give my forces the area around the Imperial Palace and Senate District on graduation day. Spin it like a nice little parade from the veterans of the southern theaters.”

  Solomahal watches as the two personalities bounce off one another like certain wrestlers he had witnessed at some point in his youth. He exchanges a glance with Admiral Jerjerrod. The logistical end would need to be kept up and running. Supplies diverted and forces quietly moved about. They wouldn’t survive a civil war if the coup failed. That was the entire reason why Dericote was all but a last resort. Speaking of, the Lutrillians turns to eye Commodore Strom. It had been a bit of a surprise that Dericote had sent the Rendili man as his covert representative in all of this instead of appearing himself, was the Fondorian already trying to distance himself, content with an empty title and more responsibilities hefted upon his young shoulders?

  “And once you’ve secured and or disposed of the … most ardent supporters of Palpatine’s you should probably recall certain elite formations to either suppress any pro Imperial revolts or any uppity officers.” Said Commodore suggests.

  “And I guess you’d recommend Dericote’s battlegroup?” Gentis asks.

  “The Slice Hussars are easily recognized and have a fully incorporated logistics squadron alongside her primary two squadrons, though I hear it may be expanded to three due to the Sy Myrthians resisting. Either way, Fleet Admiral Dericote is an expert in hyperspace navigation and has extensive maps, some of which he salvaged from Raxus. We should be able to make it to the Core in about a week instead of the usual three to four weeks the current state of the Perlimian would demand of us.” Commodore Strom answers.

  “We could also promise reactivation of local planetary defense forces.” Jerjerrod suggests, “That would buy us goodwill both within the Core and the various powerful shipyard worlds and former allied states throughout the Empire.”

  “We should make that one of the first declarations then.” Gentis decides, “After we proclaim the deaths of Vader and Palpatine. But before we declare a restored Republic.”

  “No, we declare the Republic reborn, then promise the return of the defense forces.” Zsinj argues, “Patriotism will carry the day, practicality will carry the rest, but only after we’ve laid the groundwork.”

  “We’ll still need the Senate, or a rump Senate, to actually return us to the early war constitution.” Jerjerrod reminds them, “And I’d prefer to not have to force the issue at gunpoint.”

  “Who cares what the Senate wishes. We can make the declarations and have the Senate approve of them retroactively.” Gentis suggests firmly.

  “It would be more practical if the Senate did it in time with the assassinations.” Jerjerrod ponders, “It would grant us far more legitimacy.”

  “If only we hadn’t lost so many opposition leaders in the weeks after the Jedi purge.” Zsinj laments.

  “I’m honestly still surprised we haven’t been purged yet.” Strom admits.

  “Especially after some of the retirees from the Navy and Army turned up dead from various accidents over the last couple weeks.” Zsinj agrees.

  “It’s because we’re being careful and most of us are stubborn enough to stop ourselves from retiring. Seems in some cases retiring has been seen as a type of political protest against the new regime. And the Empire doesn’t seem keen on allowing that.” Solomahal explains, “Then there’s our size. We’re the largest clique within the Empire, though Tarkin’s is more politically connected. So unlike the lone lothwolves who retired or tried to change the system without a larger faction, we’re too big of a target to eliminate easily. So we became the counterbalance to Tarkin’s clique. It seems Palpatine enjoys having two competent factions fight over overlapping authority so we can’t fight against him and have to turn towards the Huttson as a mediator and decision maker.”

  “Lucky us there’s enough neutrals and sympathetic members in Tarkin’s clique so that we can even attempt something against the sonuva bitch.” Zsinj mutters.

  “But we are set on the date?” Jerjerrod asks, “We won’t have much time to prepare much.”

  “I can’t guarantee the loyalty of the next generation of cadets.” Gentis says coldly.

  “So we’re set on the date.” Jerjerrod concedes.

  “Chin up, sir.” Strom says, “At least we have six months, could’ve been one or two instead.”

  The Admiral simply sighs as Zsinj chuckles lightly at the jab. Solomahal let’s his eyes shift around the room. They were all dedicated to the cause. They all wanted to destroy the Empire. How many of them would die for the coup to succeed? How many more would die if the coup failed? Solomahal shudders at the thought. They still had backup plans. Dericote was a good soldier. If all went wrong, the Lutrillian General believed the Fondorian would do his duty to the best of his ability.

  Could he even ask for anything more?