-=Llambru belt, Tessia system, Greeop Sector, 44:5:29,19:57=-


The blinding scarlet flash of laser blasts burned far too close for comfort to the New Republic A-wing interceptor.

Inside the cockpit, jamming the flight stick into a series of rough, erratic and unpredictable maneuvers, Commander Gavin Starseeker’s face contorted with stress and rage as he tried for all he was worth not to die.

It was not an easy task, as the red, green and blue blasts of energy weaponry lanced through the asteroid belt, tracking the speeding A-wing as it ducked between the myriad hazards of asteroids, mines and pursuing spacecraft.

Seeks was one of many pilots in the Patriot Starfighter Group assigned to reconnaissance patrols through the Greeop Sector. Unluckily for him, he’d happened across a veritable hornet’s nest of hostile forces, probably pirates, smugglers, criminals or worse.

Despite the obstacles, he was determined to do his duty. He spun his interceptor out of the line of fire of two Lambda-class shuttles, and managed to dodge the blue sizzle of ion cannon fire from a Y-wing.

Scan the enemy. Get out. Scan the enemy. Get out.

Those were his orders. Easier said than done.

Over the past twenty-odd minutes he had swooped throughout the staging area of the hostile forces, and filled his onboard sensor package with all sorts of interesting information he’d gathered by flying frighteningly close to the hostile outpost and several of the cargo-carrying vessels that dotted the area.

At first there were only a few sentry Y-wings guarding the area, and he’d been able to outrun them fairly easily.

Then he triggered the minefield, his presence activating a series of targeting sensors, and greenish-yellow blasts of death jetted out from their omnidirectional laser cannons. And then, just to make his day even more complete, the damned shuttle drivers had started gunning for him, too.

Clearly whoever the militant forces were, they were not happy Seeks had found them.

Out the corner of his visor Seeks saw the telltale flicker of pseudomotion indicating a vessel entering hyperspace — apparently the militants had realized their discovery meant their continued presence would not be tolerated by the New Republic task force in the region, so their evacuation had begun.

After ducking between two space containers to discourage enemy fire, he thumbed on his ship’s comm system.

“Greeop Control, this is Gold One! Repeat again, I’m engaging hostile forces in the Tessia system, please send those bloody reinforcements!”

As he was forced to pull a painfully-tight one-eighty turn, he heard the comm system crackle: “Gol– One, this is Control. We read –ou. –e –opy your status, and h–” the signal was completely replaced by static from the interference of the asteroid belt for a few moments, then returned “–peat, reinforcements –n the way. Jump back home if —ou have completed your –ectives. Control ou–”

Seeks shook his head in amazed rage. There was no way in all the hells of mythology that he was going to be able to execute a hyperspace jump in this asteroid field. At least, not one that ended with him surviving it. It would be tantamount to suicide to even attempt it.

His interceptor’s superior speed could allow him to outstrip the pursuing hostile forces, but flying fast through an asteroid field didn’t strike him as a particularly wise move, either.

Despite the significant hazard of the laser blasts tracking him near the hostile outpost, at least the area was tamer as far as asteroids were concerned, the militants having some process at their disposal to keep the unpredictable chunks of rock and ice from getting too close to their base.

Gritting his teeth, Seeks made his choice: facing the enemy he knew, rather than the enemy he didn’t. Navigating the asteroid field at top speed outrunning his pursuers was going to get him dead.

Turning back and fighting the overwhelming odds ironically gave him the best chance of survival. It was a slim chance, but there was no way in hell some asteroid field or militant civilians were going to stop his personal crusade against the Empire so easily.

Dodging side to side as he had been the entire time, it was simply a matter of turning one of his evasive maneuvers into a broad loop that brought him around, bearing back on the attackers pursuing him.

Slamming down the trigger, he stitched red laser-fire into the enemy formation, who, surprised at his sudden counterattack, broke formation and scattered about, his laser blasts sparking white against the Y-wings’ shields.

Having thrown his pursuers off-balance for the moment, he opened up his throttle and bore down on the collection of containers and surrounding minefield that was the militant base.

Laser cannons blaring, he tore through the area, slagging automated mines left, right, and centre.

He was immersed in his dance of death when suddenly something HUGE loomed into existence ahead, directly above the hostile base.

Cutting the throttle and sideslipping, he spun his A-wing around to face the new threat, cannons at the ready...

...and stopped dead, at the sight of what looked to be something resembling a Nebulon-B Frigate having materialized directly above the enemy base.

Holy Sith...Seeks realized, the bloody fools jumped directly into the asteroid field. Who the hell’s insane enough to do that?

No answer was immediately forthcoming, but suddenly his safety was assured, as bright red lights burst forth from all across the strange frigate, lancing through the assorted containers and mines, quickly reducing the entire formation into smoldering rubble that quickly died out as flames ran out of oxygen to burn.

The remaining cargo-carrying vessels that had not already done so quickly entered hyperspace — asteroids be damned — and the remaining Y-wings broke off from their razed base, and headed off on bearings out of the asteroid field.

The frigate of destruction, for its part, sent missiles streaking after the retreating fighters, probably more out of spite than any real chance of being able to take them out.

Seeks’ comm system crackled.

“Gold One, this is the Idiot’s Array. Hope you don’t mind us crashing the party. We have orders from the Colonel for you to hop onboard. You have an appointment with the Admiral back home. Acknowledge receipt, over.”

“This is Gold One, Idiot’s Array, copy that.” Doing a final scan of his sensors, Seeks gunned the throttle, bearing toward the distant frigate’s hangar bay. “Did you really just jump into an asteroid field, or am I going senile early?”

“Well, we can’t discount that’s true, One, but yes, we had a good feeling about it. Come onboard, if you like that, you’re going to definitely want to meet the captain.”

‘Like’ wasn’t exactly the word that came to mind. Shocked, horrified, appalled were more likely possibilities, but since they’d just saved his sorry ass, he guessed it wasn’t time to be criticizing whoever the crazy bastard was in charge of the ship.

With a grin, Seeks acknowledged the transmission and proceeded to the frigate’s hangar.



-=Main War Room, Victory II-class Star Destroyer Peril, 44:5:29,22:36=-


Dave Trebonious-Astoris, the Fleet Commander of the Republic Shield, sat around his conference table with some of his chief officers. Present were Colonel Eric Reagan, chief of starfighter operations in the Greeop Sector, Rear Admiral Joshua Hawkins, chief of intelligence and, as usual, Admiral Rahj Tharen, second-in-command of the Greeop Defense Force. Despite such a luminous gathering, Dave's attention was focused not on any of these individuals, but on the holoprojector at the center of the table. Two twenty-centimeter figures were being displayed by the holoprojector: Admiral Castor Efrata-Landis, commander of Grey Squadron, and Admiral Tyrell "Spokes" Borran, regional commander of the Minos Cluster.

Spokes was speaking. "Next on the docket, Admiral, is the incident at the Portaca colony. Castor?"

The burly, longhaired Castor flashed a grin which was not lost even on the miniaturized holo. "As you know, Dave, one of our supply convoys was passing through the Cluster. While escorting it, Grey Squadron received word that the Portaca colony was under attack by a raiding party of unknown origin. Grey reinforced the colony and sent the raiders packing without a problem."

"And the Portacans?" Dave asked.

"Thoroughly grateful for our display of strength, of course," Castor replied. "As my master of the tunnels once said, 'Do not look a gift nerf in the mouth.'"

Dave allowed himself a smile. "Well-done, Castor. At the very least we know the Portacans like us. Our model of offering defense seems to remain effective, despite annoying dissidents such as the Caelumites."

Eric piped up, "Hello? I would like to point out that, despite Grey's departure right before the supply convoy was assaulted, the convoy remained intact. We would have been in real trouble there but fortunately the pilots of Green Squadron really picked up the slack. We didn't lose any cargo-carrying vessels.

Dave canted his head in Eric's direction. "A fair point, Colonel. Thank you for reminding us. Commendations are in order for Green on their heroism." Dave bent his head and tapped a few keys on his datapad. "I also see a note that the Assault Transport Vanguard was destroyed in that battle, after displays of bravery above and beyond the call of duty. Rahj, make a note for me to award the crew of that transport medals posthumously. I will also be personally contacting their families and next of kin."

Rahj nodded, tapped in the note, and then brought up his own question. "So it seems that we are in the dark as to the identity of both the Portaca and the supply convoy raiding groups?"

Josh managed to reply without getting defensive. "The admirals have sent me all the information recovered about the groups and I have a feeling I will have them both identified very soon. In particular the raiding style of the Portaca raiders is extremely familiar - we have seen it before. I will leave it at that until I am comfortable giving a concrete identification."

"Good work, Josh, I appreciate it," Dave replied.

Dave turned back to the images of Spokes and Castor, who had patiently waited through the dialogue. "Spokes, I'm assigning the Idiot's Array to your command. It will move to the Minos Cluster immediately and you may use it as necessary in conjunction with the End of Days to accomplish your mission of keeping the shipping channels clear. We cannot afford to be stretched thin in Minos right now."

"Idiot's Array?" Spokes made a face.

Dave gritted his teeth. "I know, I have never been a huge fan of the name either. That's why I am giving it to you. Enjoy."

"Thanks," Spokes pouted. "I guess a ship is a ship."

"Indeed. Thank you, Spoke and Castor, for your reports. Keep me updated as the situation changes." Dave concluded.

The two figurines saluted, and then faded from the tabletop.

Dave then turned back to Eric. "Colonel, please complete the report of the recon operation."

Eric nodded. "I have sent the hard data to all of your datapads. The PSG just completed a wide-spread recon operation. Most importantly, a small base called the Nine Hells was discovered by Commander Starseeker. The Idiot's Array was quickly brought in and demolished it. There were other less dramatic discoveries, particularly by Red Squadron: individual ships, hostile freighters, groups of pirate starfighters."

Josh rubbed his hands together. "Good, good, I can get this plugged into my database of hostiles and should hopefully be able to start piecing even more conclusions together."

"Perfect," Dave added. "Convey my personal thanks to Commander Starseeker and my compliments to the crew of... that ship before we pack it off to Admiral Borran. If there's nothing else, I think we will adjourn so that Josh can get started on his work."

Around the table, heads were nodding. There was a plan.



-=Main Mess Hall, Victory II-class Star Destroyer Peril, 44:5:30,00:26=-


"Surely you must be pleased that Grey was not lured off by a ruse and that they were right to respond to Portaca's distress call," Lieutenant Rebekah Gosling offered.

Dave nodded vigorously. "Yes, I am delighted that Castor has not yet reached senility and that he made the right call."

Gosling rolled her eyes. "That's not what I meant."

"I know." Dave seemed amused. "But yes, I am pleased that defending Portaca was the right thing to do."

Dave and Gosling were having dinner together in the main mess of the Peril. It was not completely unusual for Dave to appear in public having meals with his subordinates, although usually they were considerably higher-ranking subordinates. Still, the two of them did not seem to be drawing unusual attention.

Dave seemed somewhat more somber. "What is disturbing, however, and what keeps me from fully enjoying this double-victory, is the fact that multiple attacks seem possible within our sphere of influence at exactly the same time by completely different and uncoordinated groups."

Gosling chewed thoughtfully. "Do you have evidence that they were uncoordinated?"

"Not yet," Dave responded. "But the thought that multiple pirates and rebels are coordinating against us is actually even more disturbing."

"Oops," Gosling was trying to keep it light, but felt like she wasn't succeeding. A change of topic was in order.

"So when I was at my station today I think Admiral Tharen was staring at my ass," she began.

Dave nearly choked on his nerfsteak.



-=Grand Plaza, New Morea City, Tarsonis, 44:H2,15:45=-


Sergeant Elisa Huntington could not help but stare in gape-jawed amazement at the spectacle that surrounded her. Sure, she had visited New Morea before (what member of the RS military had not?), but she had never seen it like this. When she had visited the city's Grand Plaza, it had been filled with a few groups of tourists, but most of the cobblestones of the stately plaza had been visible. Now the area was absolutely teeming with people. They filled the grounds, covered the steps of the great halls of government built around the perimeter of the plaza and were hanging from the buildings themselves. The statues built to honor heroes of the Alderaanian, Quarren and Mon Calamari people were festively decorated in streamers and ribbons. Every few minutes confetti poured from the rooftops.

In the middle of the plaza a large stage had been erected. The flower of the Republic Shield brass was collected on the platform. Squinting, Huntington thought she could make out Fleet Commander Dave Trebonious-Astoris and his entire senior staff, resplendent in dress uniforms. The Fleet Commander was standing next to President Voss Aluin at a podium, and one of the two was speaking, although Huntington couldn't make out any words over the roar of the crowd. The platform was ringed by dozens of security guards in full riot gear, a precaution no doubt influenced by the attempt on the Fleet Commander's life the last time he appeared in public like this.

"Quite the party, huh?" shouted her companion, Alexander Voss. Corporal Alexander Voss. He had been quite annoyed when Huntington had been promoted a month before and he had not.

Huntington nodded, "It's amazing. I guess the Republic Shield really goes all out for this Restoration Day celebration stuff."

"Eh, I bet it’s mainly for show. A rah rah, jazz the troops up kind of party to remind everybody that the universe hasn't gone to hell," Voss retorted.

"Does that mean it's not working on you," Huntington asked playfully, indicating the drink in Voss' hand.

"Hell no," he replied, "it suits me just fine!" He took a swig of his drink. "Just feel bad for the poor saps that are stuck on duty up in orbit. Sucks to be them."

Across the plaza, the Fleet Commander and the top brass were retiring from the platform. As the platform was vacated, it was swarmed by party-goers. The departure of the top brass was the signal for the real party to start. Now things would get fun.

"Come on!" Huntington shouted at Voss. Without waiting for him to respond, she plunged into the surging crowd, caught up in the sheer energy of the party.



-=Main Bridge, Imperial-class Star Destroyer Prometheus, orbiting Blerthmore, Greeop system, Greeop Sector, 44:5:31,19:52=-


Captain Dor Vedik was an experienced captain. He had served as the Prometheus’s commanding officer through many campaigns, and had more combat experience than most people in Task Force Republic Shield, barring a few notable exceptions, such as Admiral Trebonious-Astoris.

Vedik had crewed ships for many years, from freighters to corvettes, a Victory-class Star Destroyer, and even a Mon Calamari Star Cruiser before taking command of the Prometheus. He was damned good at his job, and he knew it. He was experienced, capable, and a dutiful officer of the New Republic.

And as he looked across the bridge at the officer that outranked him, he could not keep the disdain from his face for a few moments before his military training kicked back in and made him hide the expression. He was from Coruscant, had served in the Empire before his defection, and such formal training ran deep.

Which is probably why he was so insulted by General Vaughan’s presence.

It wasn’t just the man’s presence that bothered him. It was, well... the fact that this boy, who looked to be in his mid-twenties, was a General. He didn’t dislike the ‘General’ as such. He just couldn’t believe that such a young, inexperienced person could have somehow climbed the ranks of the New Republic Armed Forces so quickly.

His beard made him look slightly older, but Dor knew better. It was in the eyes, mostly. The younger man’s eyes did not look as hardened or experienced as they should have for someone of his rank. He idly wondered what contacts Vaughan had who had pulled the strings to get him to this rank and on this assignment.

He didn’t doubt the younger officers was skilled — he knew full well that the Prometheus was being kept properly supplied since the return to the Greeop Sector because of Vaughan’s efforts in the Logistics Office — but a General? It was like Vedik was back in the Empire, where politics played more of a part in the starfleet than actual skill and experience.

He’d seen a fair number of inexperienced Imperial officers who just happened to be related to a Moff, or were a favored friend of a nephew of an admiral. It had disgusted him then, and it disgusted him now. Especially to see the New Republic military having apparently become corrupted by it.

Vaughan didn’t even seem interested in playing the part of a general, if he even knew proper military protocol. About the only thing he’d done right was asking for permission to board Vedik’s ship. That proper formality was his first experience with the man, but it had all gone downhill after that. Vedik had even offered the ‘General’ the VIP quarters which he’d had specially prepared for Vaughan’s arrival. And the man had refused. Something about preferring the accommodations on his shuttle. Vedik was insulted.

Vedik sighed and shook his head. It wasn’t like him to be so judgmental of someone he’d barely met, but he was a stickler for military discipline and tradition, and Vaughan just rubbed against his sense of military rightness the wrong way. Maybe he was just getting overly grizzly in his old age.

“Sirs,” the helmsman, Lieutenant Toran Kask called from his station, “we are in position now.”

Vedik moved over to the lieutenant, an officer who acted like one, and made an effort to treat Vaughan with the proper respect his rank deserved, no matter how he’d attained it.

“Shall we proceed, General?”

The young officer blinked and seemed surprised somehow. Idiot.

“Has the station been properly prepared?” Vaughan enquired.

“Yes, sir.” Comms spoke up, “All preparations are finalized. We await only the order.”

“General?” Vedik prompted.

“The ship is yours to command, Captain, I’m just an observer here. We can begin whenever you’re ready.”

“As you wish. Mister Razloth, are we ready to proceed?”

“Yes, sir.” Dominic Razloth, head engineer of the Prometheus reported. He was from Kuat Drive Yards originally, before joining the Rebellion. His passion was working with Star Destroyers, and undoubtedly he was enjoying the current challenge. “All tractor beam teams are standing by and ready to begin.” Razloth couldn’t keep the glee from his voice, even though he kept his expression properly neutral.

“Very well. Engineering, engage tractor beams. Helm, I want us to have a slow, gradual acceleration once we’re properly engaged. And I mean a slow acceleration; we don’t want to make a mess of this.”

“Yes, sir.” both crewmen acknowledged at once.

Vedik noticed Vaughan walk towards the front viewscreen, maybe trying to get a better view. If that was his objective, he would not be able to see much from this angle. The expanse of the dorsal hull of the Imperial-class Star Destroyer stretched off into the distance, and beyond that only the dull brown of the dead world Blerthmore could be seen.

Below the ventral hull, about to be pulled by the gargantuan destroyer’s banks of heavy-duty tractor beams, the Eagle’s Nest shipyards — the primary shipyards and repairyards of the RS — were about to be slowly but surely relocated from their geosynchronous holding orbit above the planet.

It would be slow going, and fairly taxing on the ship, but over the course of an entire day the Prometheus would quite literally drag the shipyards from Blerthmore’s orbit further in-system to its new home, in orbit of the planet Tarsonis.

It would take almost an entire day at sublight speeds, gradually accelerating to eventually extremely fast velocities, before gradually decelerating to place the shipyards into a precise holding orbit above the populated world.

Then they would have to head back out to Blerthmore and do the same thing with the Golan Station Stalwart. And he was going to have to suffer Vaughan’s unprofessional presence for the entire two-day period.

It was going to be a long, slow journey. A very long one.

With a gradual growl that seemed to emanate from the entire ship before dying away, they began the Promethean effort of relocating one of the most important holdings of the task force to its new home.

Vedik was an experienced captain. He had served in the Imperial starfleet, the Rebellion, and later the New Republic Defense Force. But he was forced to admit to himself that in all his years crewing starships he’d never undertaken a relocation mission of this scale and magnitude before.

And that his ship alone had been tasked with the behemoth effort, well . . . that honor almost made up for having to tolerate the younger superior officer on his bridge.

Almost.



-=Main War Room, Victory II-class Star Destroyer Peril, 44:6:2,10:12=-


"The Emperor has made a critical error and the time for our attack has come," Dave began solemnly.

"Emperor?" Josh asked.

"Error?" Eric asked.

Josh and Eric wore evident confusion on their face. Rahj looked slightly amused, which for his stony face meant that he was actually considerably amused. He'd seen this before.

"Oh, sorry," Dave answered. "Wrong mission."

"Josh has pinpointed a hostile militant hub of activity - a small outpost in the Stylek system. We are going to waltz in, snatch some prisoners, and then interrogate them so Josh can get even more information about who these people are."

Josh jumped in. "I also reported that this outpost was defended enough to hold us off until most of its inhabitants could escape, so we've come up with a plan to prevent that."

"Right," Dave continued. "The Chains of Justice will disrupt a deep-space trade between these militants and an unknown third party. The Chains will jump in by itself and appear to be outgunned. The hostiles will likely send all available forces into the fray, thinking they have the chance to destroy our Interdictor. After they depart, the Windstorm will swoop down on the outpost, disable it, and boarding parties will get us our prisoners."

Josh looked slightly pained, "I am still concerned about placing the Chains in danger. You know how much I love that ship."

"Fear not," Dave continued, "our brave pilots will be there to protect her. We will also have reinforcements on hand to jump to the Chains' defense."



-=Main Briefing Room, MC80 Star Cruiser Windstorm, 44:6:2,17:19=-


"...so half of you will make up Group Wesk, and will launch from the Windstorm to participate in the capture of the outpost," Colonel Eric Reagan was saying to a large assembly of pilots. These pilots were the best the RS had to offer and were spearheading the operations of the Greeop Defense Force.

"The other half of you, Group Cresh, will be responsible for guarding the Chains of Justice in its diversionary operation. I don't need to stress to you how critical it is that the Chains survive this operation." Wesk and Cresh were merely the beginning initials of each of the warships spearheading the dual operation.

Heads nodded around the room. The Interdictor was as popular amongst the pilots as it was with the top brass.

"You will be up against numerically superior forces, but, as previously, they will likely be of low quality. The hostiles, as far as we have been able to ascertain, do not possess modern military-grade technology. Fly hard, and you will beat them in every engagement."

Eric nodded. The pilots looked confident and eager.