Gentis looks over the cityscape. He had lost too many sons to the nascent Empire to ever forgive it. Palpatine had to die. Vader had to die. Tarkin had to die. Vengeance would be his. His sons would finally rest in peace, their senseless deaths given at least a pitifully small modicum of purpose. He palms the detonator in his hand. Such destruction to be caused by a simple device.

  He glances over to the recruits. How many more boys would die to the cause of a restored Republic? Would it be worth it once the dead were tallied? Zsinj would likely say no. Solomahal and his cabal of protegees would likely say yes, though some would say it far more eagerly than others. Gentis rolls his shoulders. There was no other option, Palpatine had to die and his supporters had to be gutted so that a war like the one he and his comrades had fought in, the one these recruits would otherwise soon fight in, would never occur again.

  Gentis steels himself. There was no more hesitation. Only determination. After all, now was the time for action. For speed. For blood to flow like rivers within the planetary cityscape that was Coruscant. It was finally time. Time for death.

  “Long live the Republic.” Gentis mutters as he presses down on the button.

  In an instant millions of explosives detonate across the ecuminopolis. An officer’s lounge where various Imperial loyalists of the Tarkin Clique were having a luncheon, a transport hub that an Imperial Volunteer Regiment would have to use to reinforce the Imperial Palace, a supply depot not secured by loyalists and another hundred thousand other strategic locations explode in a cacophony of fire and smoke.

  In a military barracks filled with veterans of the Perlimian Theater the soldiers finish putting on their armor and double check their blasters. Their officers had finished briefing them just a moment ago. Traitors had secured the Senate rotunda. They were to be disposed of and the men were to ensure the security of a Senate session that would legitimize their actions.

  An explosion goes off in the distance as the grim men of the 44th Lantillies Volunteer Regiment enter their LAATs and shuttles, two squadrons of friendly fighters racing down from a Venator in high orbit to escort them and provide air support.

  One of their members, a Corporal, looks out onto the surface of the city world below, a sole thought racing through their mind. Coruscant was aflame and the fires wouldn’t allow themselves to be put out easily.

  Fleet Admiral Zsinj looks on to her Fleet with a stern determination. The Senate rotunda’s airspace was secure, as was that of the Imperial palace. Now came the most difficult part of this entire operation. Her son was looking on mildly concernedly at the whole debacle below as it was being relaid to them from her Adjutants.

  “Incoming transmission from Fleet Admiral Honor, ma’am.” Zsinj’s comms officer reports.

  “Front and center.” The elder Zsinj orders as she takes in a deep inhale. It was so very annoying that she had been unable to convince her friend to join in this endeavor. Yet every hint had been rebuffed and every suggestive phrase had been shot down. Even after they had served under the same sponsor long ago, Zsinj was unable to even gleam her friend’s interest in upholding their nation’s principles over her career.

  Said friend appears on the bridge in holographic blues: “Fleet Admiral Zsinj, something is going on planetside. We’re getting conflicting reports. Gentis is reporting traitors having seized the Senate and Imperial palace while the commanders of said locations are reporting traitors attacking them. Meanwhile Coruscant is burning and we haven’t been able to contact his imperial majesty.”

  “I’ve sent fighters to support Gentis. I trust him more than some political lackey of Tarkin’s.” Zsinj says.

  “I didn’t authorize that, Fleet Admiral.”

  Zsinj rolls her eyes before replying: “I am being proactive.”

  “You may have given a possible traitor military support!” Honor barks, “This is unlike you, we were taught to make sure our intelligence was sound before we act!”

  “We were taught that decisive action was critical in moments such as these. I am trusting my gut.” Zsinj doubles down.

  “Not when things on the ground are so uncertain. Pull your men back and hold position until we’ve got a better picture. Worst case scenario I will need every Navy arms-man I have to establish martial law.” The more senior Fleet Admiral orders.

  Zsinj inhales deeply: “No.”

  “No?”

  “I will not pull my men back from a cause I know is right.” Zsinj re-affirms.

  “Ma’!” Her son barks in surprise.

  “What cause?” Honor asks as the matriarch of the Zsinj curses herself for the slip of the tongue.

  “I won’t stand for the Imperial cog reigning over the galaxy.” Zsinj says.

  Honor’s face contorts into a mix of shock, rage and sorrow: “Then the die is cast.”

  The transmission goes cold and a sensor’s officer immediately barks into the quiet of the bridge: “Ma’am the Home Guard is adjusting and heading towards us, a couple ships are causing havoc by firing into the formation from within, but it won’t be enough to keep the Home Guard for long.”

  “Open frequency transmission. To all loyalists, long live the Republic.” The elder Zsinj says.

  “Ma’.” Her son tries, “We can not do this! We won’t survive.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Have some trust in me.”

  “Ma’, don’t do this.”

  “It’s too late to go back. The blood’s already stained the sands. If you cannot stand with me, then I would ask you to recluse yourself to your rooms.”

  Her son’s face contorts into a mix of anger and exhaustion: “Fleet Admiral, I cannot in good conscience support these actions. What you are doing is endangering our family, pa’ may be dead, but my cousins aren’t. I will recluse myself.”

  “Thank you.” His mother says, voice softening, her little mudpup giving a simple salute before marching off towards the elevator of the Venator.

  The Fleet Admiral feels torn for a moment. What would happen to her son and his cousins if the coup failed? What would Chandrilla, Fondor, Arkanis and the many other homworlds of the coup’s ringleaders suffer? She shakes her head a moment, returning to her stern determination. She shouldn’t worry about this, they will succeed, there was no other choice.

  “Prepare to defend against the Imperial traitors. Adjust our lattice and deploy all supplementary arms-men planetside. Get me a status update from Gentis on the Emperor’s condition asap.” Zsinj orders before turning towards the approaching Imperials, Venators, Tectors, Victories, Dreadnoughts and Carracks, “Maker keep us.”

  Gentis barges into the Imperial throne room, a dozen cadets and Volunteers close on his heels while a hundred more heavily armed men and women swarm around the edges of the room, blasters held at the ready and grim determination on their faces. Before them, in his finest hooded robes, was their target. Palpatine looked decrepit, old, weak, cruel, powerful, murderous.

  “Emperor Palpatine, in the name of the Republic you betrayed and the countless innocents you sent to slaughter and be slaughtered in your pointless wars I hereby sentence you to death.” Gentis barks through his gasmask, pointing his pistol at one of the dangerous Royal Guards.

  The red clad guards lower their electro-staffs menacingly as the Emperor slowly rises from his throne: “So it’s treason then.”

  “The only traitor here is you.” Gentis says before throwing a gas canister at the dictator. Blasterfire erupts through the room as cadets and more, seemingly hidden, Royal Guards exchange fire. A blasterbolt hits Gentis in the arm, but the canister has already hit the floor, beginning to expunge its deadly contents into the room. Palpatine’s eyes widen as he begins to choke on the noxious gasses, a blasterbolt barely missing the man who was quickly being escorted away by the few remaining Royal Guards.

  “DON’T LET THEM ESCAPE!” Gentis roars as a medic patches his blasterwound.

  His soldiers surge forward, yet their momentum is cut down at the knees as the roof to the imperial throne room buckles and collapses onto the most fervent soldiers, crushing them under the rubble. Gentis tries to collect his thoughts. Could Palpatine have survived that and the poisonous gas? Maybe, but an old man like that should be dead within the hour from the poisonous gas one way or another. It was time to ensure the plan would succeed.

  “Sir?” His only living son asks.

  “Have the 23rd Anaxsi secure the area. We’ll make for the military broadcast center. Do we have any reports from Jerjerrod and Solomahal?”

  “Admiral Jerjerrod reports his men have secured two thirds of the Operations Headquarters and that he needs reinforcements to beat off the elements of the 7th Sky Corps and 501st Legion in the area, he is loosing momentum. General Solomahal has surrounded the ISB and Imperial Intelligence Headquarters and has begun negotiations with Imperial Intelligence while bombarding the ISB building with artillery.” His son answers.

  “See if we can divert the 44th Lantillies to Jerjerrod while we head out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Gentis nods as he begins moving again, things should still be going to plan. Now he had to make sure things continued going their way.

  I pace the bridge of my Little Revenge, occasionally looking out at the surface of Makem Te below, waiting. I start tapping my slugthrower nervously, waiting was always such a pain. Had things gone wrong? Had Solomahal, Jerjerrod, Zsinj and Gentis failed? Had the Emperor survived? Was I soon to expect a hit squad to board my ship and haul me away on accusations of treason?

  I take a deep breath. There was little I could do until I was ordered to Coruscant.

  “Sir, incoming transmission from Fleet Admiral Honor.” Commander Slas says.

  “Front and center.” I order, had my sponsor sided with us?

  Soon enough the visage of a stressed Fleet Admiral Honor appears before me: “D---cote, no ti-- f-r pleasa----ies. Z---j has bet----d the E-pire. Y-- were o-- -- the ---- Flag Officer- I ----d rea-h, I bel--ve t--y underestimated your speed. G-- to Coruscant --w a-d grab every w---hip --u c-- on ro--e here. We need to --- ---- these traitors and en--re our c---ibility as lo-al I-perial citizens.”

  My heart goes cold. That wasn’t good. What should I do? Do I comply? No, wait, this was the perfect excuse. I could work with this: “Understood ma’am. Expect us in about five days.”

  “Th--- you Dericote.”

  The hologram goes cold as I look around the bridge: “You heard the woman. We make for Coruscant. Navigations, prepare the best route. Commander Slas, inform Admiral Sykes of our destination and have him follow us in pursuit. Hail Krugwolt and Bvinsk that they are in charge of the command in my absence. Let’s make haste. Speed will carry the day.”

  “Roger that.” My chief navigator replies.

  “Transmitting now.” Commander Slas adds.

  “Should we send a message to Moff Therbon?” Mi-Kus asks.

  “Yes. How about, 120th recalled to Coruscant. Acting with haste. Going comms silent.” I suggest.

  “Very well, sir.” Mi-Kus says with a nod.

  I turn to look as Hyperspace swallows my 120th. I hope I’ll arrive in time.

  Jerjerrod adjusts his officer’s cap as he glances at the tactical display they had taken over to display the fighting in and around the Imperial Army and Navy headquarters. Half of the building was now fully under his control, but the four regiments of the 7th Sky Corps wasn’t making the continued advance easy for him and his three brigades’ worth of Republic loyalists. It also certainly didn’t help that the building was built halfway as a bunker and halfway as a monument.

  “Sir, we’ve got hostile LAATs incoming. Looks like someone tipped off the rest of the Coruscant Guard that there was mischief afoot.” His Adjutant Captain reports grimly.

  “I’m surprised they didn’t make for the palace or Senate first.” An Army Colonel says, “Sure this place is a hard nut to crack, but they’ll loose their whole legitimacy if the palace and Senate fall.”

  “Agreed, something is afoot here.” Jerjerrod says, “Contact our friends from Airbase 7 and see if they can get their interceptors here to ensure air superiority. I know they’ve been busy strafing Airbases 11 and 43, but I believe this will take priority.”

  “Roger that, Admiral.” His Adjutant Captain replies.

  “Anyone else hear that?” A Sergeant Major asks, the grim looking Zabrak cupping his hear as he interrupts the goings on in the battle-room.

  The room goes silent except for the whirring of droids and the holograms on display. Then they hear the distant whirring of a repelling cable, dozens of them.

  “We’ve been made. Destroy everything in this room, command heads to the secondary command bunker, the rest of you, prepare our defenses. Just because the room has little value after we’re done with it doesn’t make it worthless.” Jerjerrod orders rapid fire.

  “Understood, sir.” The Sergeant Major replies before firing his blaster into a control console.

  “Long live the Republic, sell yourselves dearly.” Jerjerrod orders.

  “Our pleasure, sir.” A Navy arms-man replies, adjusting their blaster’s scope as Jerjerrod and his command staff leave the room.

  Honor looks at the three hundred ships above her world with mounting horror. It was the dying days of the Republic all over again, Coruscant besieged by traitors, the Senate district and Imperial Palace in flames. She continues barking orders as her mind races.

  It hurt more this time, it was her friend betraying her and not only Zsinj, but Honor’s own men as well. Dozens of ships, too many of them commanded by officers in her very own Clique, whose commanding officers had been with her from her first years in the Judicials after her stint in the ORSF, had sided against the state they had sworn to protect! They had betrayed the very purpose for which they had fought! The mounting betrayals were like a red hot knife to the gut, painful and agonizingly personal.

  “Ma’am, the … traitors are adjusting their position. We won’t be able to mount an attack from below like this.” Her Adjunct Captain reports.

  “It will not matter. Gather together our Imperial and Tector battleships, they will lead the charge alongside a healthy picket of Carracks and our own fighters. Let’s remind everyone that unlike those traitors we adapt to our foes.” Honor orders coldly.

  “Understood ma’am. Major, sally forth our V-Wings to cut down the enemy Headhunters and ARC-170s. We prove to these traitors the power of Imperial progress over the dilapidated remnants of the Republic.” Her Adjunct orders.

  “Roger that.” The Starfighter Corps Senior Major replies before spinning on his heels and marching over to the fighter command bunker of the new Imperial class battleship.

  “Will we be taking point ma’am?” Her Adjunct asks.

  Honor exhales slowly. For the order the Empire would bring. She turns to her Adjunct with cold eyes: “We will take point to restore the honor of the Navy, the Home Guard and my Clique.”

  “Very good ma’am.” Her Adjunct replies, a bloodthirsty grin on his face.

  Honor returns to look at burning Coruscant below and the ships she had considered friendly but moment ago, For the Empire, the civilization it brought and the peace it promised, she would end this here.