I paced nervously as we finished our jump from Abhean. It was the first major adjustment we needed to make on the Perlimian, yet said adjustment only cost us half an hour. It was the fastest route so far, next we’d cut through to Tanaab on a Separatist route they used during Trench’s Perlimian offensive. It would save us a couple hours and more importantly, circumvent Lantillies and Moff Therbon’s headquarters and fleet.

  Now I was staring out at Tanaab, a short lived fortress world of the Perlimian campaign, still fluttering with salvagers and Imperial bulk cruisers now hauling away the prefab fortifications that had been slapped down planetside en mass to provide better cover for the masses of Volunteer, Garrison and Clone forces that had massed on the surface below.

  I let out a sigh as I glance at the trio Venators overseeing the world. Those could be a problem. Should I follow Fleet Admiral Honor’s orders to the letter or focus on speed? I scoff slightly, was it even a question? Speed would carry the day, if and only if, we arrived on time. Not to mention following Honor’s orders may prove more damaging than beneficial to the coup.

  “All ships all ahead forward, we make for the hyperspace egress point that’ll get us to Sochi.” I order, the roundabout way to Coruscant should be just as fast as going along the Perlimian, as long as you included the various traffic stops and inquiries on what the hell I was doing in the Mid Rim racing to the Core. Hopefully it wouldn’t cost us too much time.

  “Ships heading there, sir.” Mi-Kus reports, “Maybe now would be a good time to rest?”

  “Yes, once we’ve made for Sochi, I think I’ll do exactly that.”

  “Very good, sir.” My Adjunct replies as we continue racing through realspace, racing towards destiny.

  Gentis was silently fuming. The Senate was supposed to be the easy part. It was the Imperial palace and Operations headquarters that were supposed to be difficult, it was the whole reason he had personally overseen the seizure of the former Jedi Temple in the first place. And yet here he stood, two days into a siege for the Senate District. His men were doing good work but they simply weren’t fast enough.

  “Sir, we’ve got the planetary shields back.” A Tech reports.

  “Good, maybe that’ll stop Honor from throwing heavy turbolasers at us every time we try and muster for an assault.” Gentis acknowledges.

  Now if only they could get air superiority again to allow their gunships and shuttles free reign. Instead there were those damn V-Wings and prototype TIEs swarming about like cicadas, strafing columns and barracks, barely held off by the Republican’s own fighters and anti-air towers.

  “We’re detecting a buildup of Imperials near the auxiliary rotunda. Looks like elements of the 501st and 22nd Coruscanti.”

  “Concerning. See if we can rally the 3rd Hosnian to help delay or rebuff them.”

  “Roger that.” The Adjutant replies.

  Gentis returns to gazing at the tactical display. If the reinforcement fleets didn’t arrive soon they’d all be dead.

  Zsinj glares at the tactical display. The charge of those damn Kuati made Star Destroyers had done a mean number on her ships, but at least they had been rebuffed. Her bombers had done good work against more than a few of them once their shields went down, a clear weakness she had exploited with her strikecraft once she’d picked up on it.

  And yet the battle had morphed into a siege, various ships of the line cycling in and out of the three short lattices to recharge their shields in the second and manage repairs and restock munitions in the third. It was a balancing act, one she had perfected over Bestine.

  “Ma’am, detecting Cronau radiation from due north.”

  “Please let it be Gerra.” Zsinj prays quietly as she downs the dregs of her latest caf.

  “First ships exiting, they’re transmitting Republic codes for the first months of the Mimban campaign.” Her Adjutant reports.

  “Thank the Maker!” Zsinj barks as dozens of ships enter realspace a few thousand clicks out from Honor’s rear.

  “Hail Gerra, instruct him to make haste and get at Honor’s back line. We cannot guarantee him a breakthrough to support us directly, but we will make an attempt. Divert our second light detachment to look for a possible weakpoint to use as a breakthrough.” Zsinj orders.

  “Copy that.” Her comms chief replies.

  “Adjust for covering fire as we cycle back.” Her Adjutant Commander orders, Zsinj’s flagship adjusting her firing arcs as she moves back to the second line.

  As the Venator pulls back, Zsinj takes the opportunity to look at the surface below. What could possibly be taking the trenchdiggers so long? They were running out of time, sooner or later the Imperial loyalist reserve fleets at Kuat, Carida and the fortress fleet at Anaxes would get suspicious and send someone to investigate.

  They were starting to run out of time.

  Solomahal was running out of patience as the various artillery pieces continue the sustained bombardment of the ISB headquarters ahead of him. Its shields had finally collapsed after a constant bombardment over the course of the last couple days and his men were rather close to finally getting somewhere.

  Though at least things were more controlled here than at the Imperial Intelligence HQ. The original plan of seizing the master control codes and locking down the building before flooding it with knockout gases hadn’t gone to plan. The following negotiations had dragged on for a while until his agents could spring open a way in for his men.

  It had been a rather short battle, various intelligence officers and their enforcers falling to Solomahal’s more experienced Volunteers. There was only a sole holdout, a wing separated from the internal servers and encased in durasteel to act as an emergency bunker. It suited Solomahal fine. It gave his agents more than enough time to ransack the intelligence databases and destroy them. Of course only after they had finished scrapping together every single piece of information they could scrape together. Most of it was being brought to the various safe-houses deep within Coruscant’s bowels, though the less damaging and those containing some hints at various Imperial loyalists’ connections to the coup’s organizers had been left in more vulnerable safe-houses instead.

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  Yet now, as his men were finishing up, the 333rd Coruscanti Volunteers, elements of the 501st Legion and Coruscanti Shock Troopers had managed to retake over half of the building. The place was now enduring a siege from above and below as the 333rd began tunneling into the building. His men would continue their desperate defense, at least until the situation was untenable and he gave the order to detonate the various explosive charges his agents had deployed to cover his tracks.

  “Sir, we have managed to make a good breach at point west six.” The local commanding officer of the Republic loyalist forces reports, jerking Solomahal from his musings.

  “Is it worth committing our reserves?” Solomahal asks.

  “Not in my opinion, sir.”

  “Then have the 3rd and 4th Yabol Opa continue the bombardment while the 56th Taris finishes their tunneling efforts. Best continue to keep the 12th Tanaab in reserve until we’ve got our breach.” Solomahal decides.

  “Very well, General.” The Colonel by profession and librarian by trade replies.

  Solomahal returns to the tactical display. The Senate district was still under siege, over a hundred of loyalist and Imperial Volunteer regiments facing off alongside various other formations. It had been … surprising that Gentis was willing to cooperate with some formerly Separatist aligned militias from the underworld, though Solomahal shouldn’t be too surprised the impoverished would be willing to change sponsors so easily.

  The Lutrillian frowns as the tactical display updates to reveal an Imperial bulge near the auxiliary rotunda. The true issue planetside appeared to be the Coruscanti Shock Troopers and the 501st Legion. Whenever even a platoon of theirs was deployed somewhere it made the fighting far more difficult, far more deadly, and it was starting to cost them more and more valuable time.

  It had become a common misconception among the ranks of the Army and the various analysts throughout the GAR that, in a fair fight, a determined Garrison trooper could take on two militiamen, a Volunteer could take two or three Garrison troopers, a shiny Clone could take on two Volunteers and a veteran Clone could take on four. In reality, it was far more even. Yet the veteran Clones seemed eager to prove the misconception true.

  And the 501st was full of veterans. Worse yet, they were doing a number on the ground forces of the Republic loyalists. Solomahal sighs, at this rate he may have to prepare a hasty exit.

  Honor was overseeing her force’s positions carefully. She had … allowed Zsinj to begin the dance of cycling ships after her own assault of Star Destroyers had failed. It was … disappointing, that their charge had been met by a successful repulse. And so she had pulled them back and begun cycling her lines as she fought her former friend.

  “Ma’am, we’ve secured the last Golan II defensive platform on our side of the line.” Her Adjunct reports.

  “Good, divert the arms-men and our Stormtrooper detachments to the closest Skyhook. Once our reinforcements arrive we will require ways to get our men to the surface asap.”

  “Understood ma’am.”

  Her forces still outnumbered Zsinj’s by a significant margin, yet she was … hesitating. With thousands of orbital stations, skyhooks, satellites and defensive platforms around Coruscant, Honor had been unable to commit without ensuring the defensive stations, comms satellites, skyhooks and more prominent orbital space stations were secured and out of the line of fire. That had stripped her numbers of arms-men, spare crew and offensive action capable strikecraft to critically low numbers. It was about to come to the point where Honor would have to impress civilians and various station personnel of uncertain loyalties into service on her side.

  “Ma’am, our outer ships are detecting an uptick in Cronau radiation from due south west.” Her sensors chief reports.

  “Reinforcements?”

  “Possible, ma’am, but we’ve yet to hear any confirmation from our western messengers. The north-bound messengers have also yet to make contact.” An Adjutant replies.

  “Regrettable, keep me posted. Meanwhile begin moving the newer defensive installations towards our line. I would very much enjoy using them as bastions or possible vectors for later assaults.” Honor orders.

  “Roger that ma’am. I’ll begin diverting our tugs and some of the more damaged cruisers to get onto it post haste.” Her Adjunct answers.

  “Very good.”

  “Ma’am, first ships exiting hyperspace. Looks like they’re Hornblower’s battlegroup.”

  “Hail him, let’s see where his loyalties lie.” Honor orders.

  “He isn’t responding to hails.”

  “Then move half our reserve to intercept. Oicunn is to hold off Hornblower or defeat him, whichever proves more practical.”

  “Understood, moving Strike Group Five and the 3rd Battleship Squadron to intercept.” An Adjutant replies.

  “He’s just sitting there.” An Adjutant mutters confusedly, “Menacingly.”

  “He might be waiting.” A second Adjutant posits.

  “What for? He’s giving up his initiative.” A third interjects.

  “Well unless he opens fire, he might just be a fence-sitter.” The second Adjutant suggests.

  “That’s cowardly.” The first Adjutant gives his opinion.

  “That doesn’t sound like Hornblower. He’s usually more aggressive than that.” The third says.

  “He’s expecting reinforcements then.” Honor deduces, “Hold Oicunn back. Prepare the rest of our reserve to join him. Has Hornblower responded yet?”

  “He just sent out a tightbeam to Zsinj’s forces.” Her comms chief mutters darkly.

  “Any intercept?”

  “Negative.”

  Honor interjects the byplay on her bridge: “Then we will assume the worst. Continue the deployment of Strike Group Seven to Oicunn. Things may be developing not exactly to our favor.”

  “Ma’am, detecting more Cronau radiation from hard south.”

  “Bush, of course he’d follow Hornblower in this.” Honor mutters mutinously.

  “Ma’am, I don’t like the look of this.” Her Adjunct says.

  “Ships exiting.”

  Soon enough the ships to her south and south west have doubled, another battlegroup entering system. Honor wants to curse and bark orders, yet she keeps cool. Even numbers then, her seven Strike Groups of the Home Fleet and the three attached Battleship Squadrons now facing eight battlegroups. She had six of those hostile formations bottled up above the Senate District, Imperial Palace and the various military heaquarters. It was the new two that were bothering her.

  She was simply lacking the numbers for anything decisive and non-crippling. And yet she could not hesitate, if only some reinforcements would karking turn up already. At this point she wouldn’t be surprised if Dericote’s was the first loyalist force that arrived, despite the distance the Fondorian would need to travel.

  “Deploy the 5th Strike Group to delay and keep Bush’s 387th away from Hornblower’s 222nd. Move the 7th Strike Group and the 3rd Battleship Squadron to intercept Hornblower and eliminate his forces. After that they are to regroup with Oicunn’s 5th and eliminate the 387th.” Honor decides. It could work, as long as both Bush and Hornblower realized what she was doing. Then they would attempt separate, costly, breakthroughs towards Zsinj.

  And yet, would Zsinj simply stand by? Likely not. Honor nods to herself as she continues: “Redouble our strikecraft attacks and triple our probings of Zsinj’s line by our light cruisers and frigates. We must keep her occupied and stop any breakout attempts.”

  “Roger that, ma’am.” Comes the drilled response as her orders begin being relayed. Honor only hopes some friendly forces arrive before she looses the home of galactic civilization.

  Tarkin was wondering what the kark was going on as he paced the deck of the recently added Imperial class Star Destroyer of the Project Stardust Defense and Cordon Squadron. The Star Destroyer now overlooking the dustball that was some insignificant and formerly uninhabited world in the Expansion Region. Now the pitiable world was home to millions of prisoners. Some had been Separatist POWs and some were more recent insurrectionists from worlds such as Kashyyyk, Geonosis and Onderon.

  This entire system was a black-site, no communications went out. Only the most loyal servants of the Emperor served here and only those whose loyalty and reverence to the Empire was undeniable were even allowed to leave their stations. There was only a single outside location that even knew to look here and yet … and yet they hadn’t heard from Coruscant in over two days.

  “Sir, incoming transmission.” The comms chief reports.

  “From?” Tarkin asks as he turns his attention away from the massive frame being constructed.

  “Unknown, sir. It isn’t Coruscant, but it is designated as the … Throneworld.”

  “Front and center.” Tarkin orders as he turns to the holoprojector.

  Soon enough a blue image appears before Tarkin, who immediately takes a knee in respect to his Emperor. Palpatine looked worse than he had but a week ago. Had something happened? What could possibly have occurred in the last few days to force the Emperor to communicate with Tarkin from the unfinished throneworld within the Deep Core?

  “Arise, Moff Tarkin.” The Emperor’s gravely voice orders, Tarkin following the command easily.

  “What has occurred, your excellency?”

  “Traitors to the Empire have seized a large portion of Coruscant and blocked almost all outgoing transmissions. It appears every force that could jump to Coruscant from a system away has been subsumed by traitors or are currently engaging their own local traitors. The Home Fleet is … in danger of failing. The loss of the capitol of my Empire is not something that should even be considered a possibility. Rally the 23rd Fleet at Kuat and destroy the traitors. I have already contacted trusted agents to do the same for the Anaxan and Caridan fleets, yet they have been delayed by interdiction mines, relocated Separatist minefields and apparent new asteroid fields.”

  “If that is the case, how shall I get the Kuati to Coruscant?” Tarkin asks.

  “I am providing you, and only you, with one of my personal hyperspace routes. Your ship is to lead the formation in a slave rigged jump. Once you have arrived, take control of the battle and end this charade. Ensure your ground forces land promptly, Vader has been having a bit of trouble ensuring the Senate cannot be forced to … change their minds on the establishment of my Empire. Yet he will need more men to retake my palace, the military headquarters and the two intelligence headquarters.”

  “Understood, your excellency. I will depart immediately.” Tarkin decides.

  “Good, good. I will arrive a day after you do. Ensure my capitol is in your hands by then.”

  “It will be done.” Tarkin says with a bow.

  The hologram goes out and Tarkin immediately makes a run for his personal corvette to get him to Kuat as fast as possible. He could not hesitate in a moment such as this. The longer this farce of a coup lasted, the more damaging it would be to the Empire.

  He would not allow himself to fail his Emperor and the Empire.