BattleDroids: Gathering Storm
Chapter 9
"You nobles, you sons of my chiefs, you superfine dandies, you have trusted to your birth and your possessions and have set at naught my orders to your own advancement; you have neglected the pursuit of learning and you have given yourselves over to luxury and sport, to idleness and profitless pastimes. By the King of Heaven, I take no account of your noble birth and your fine looks, though others may admire you for them. Know this for certain, that unless you make up for your former sloth by vigourous study, you will never get any favour from Charles." ~ Ancient Terran King.
"Arise my Lords and Ladies, the oath-making is well bargained and done! And now I am happy to announce the gifts that Lady Regent Cameron brings to the Empire of the Sith! Overnight, We received word that the Royal Cameron Dire Wolves FreiKorps of Mercenaries have secured the world of Raghesh III and the system thereof from the unlawful possession of her Centauri Republican occupiers, in the name of People's Regime of Narn, our ally!"
As Elise, Ian, and Amanda rose from the their knees to their feet the Emperor's holographic image held up his hand, from which projected a holographic picture-in-picture of ranks of alien soldiers with transverse crests of hair, their gaudily uniformed leader surrendering his sword to General Wolfe in his spartan arming jack and chausses and DroidWarrior's cooling jump-suit. The General accepted the sword and shook his counterpart’s hand, before handing the sword back and saluting, signifying the surprise-faced alien's command over his men in their detention and internment as prisoners of war with honour.
"In exchange, as previously negotiated by Our Agent, Darth Achaia, The People's Regime of Narn, in the person of the First Circle of the Kha'Ri, have sworn themselves to Us, the Immortal Emperor of the Sith."
The floating image of surrendering Centauri was replaced by the image of lizard-like spotted aliens kneeling before the Emperor and making homage. The holographic crowds in the Grand Colosseum roared their approval in a solid tidal wave of sound, shaking dust down upon the heads of Elise's Court from the vaulted ceiling of her hall.
"As we Sith know, a Gift, freely given, deserves another, lest we owe a debt in Justice! To this end I present the Star-League-in-Exile, in the person of Lady Regent Elise Cameron, in the name of His Grace, Ian Cameron, second of his name, Hegemon of Terra and First-Lord of the Star-League, this, Over Sector Hunter-Swan, which We re-designate Over Sector Terra, and appoint Ian II to the post of Grand Moff, subject to the lawful Regency of Lady Regent Cameron until his majority be attained! We Order, Direct, and Command the Star-League to establish their overlordship over Over Sector Terra, in cooperation with Moff Anderlai and his Thirty-Second Spacey Fleet, securing our Imperium over the Belligerent Powers of the Centauri Republic, who have rebelled against Our rule, and bring the Minbari and Dilgari who have rejected all diplomacy from us, into Compliance."
Lady Regent Cameron, together with His Grace Ian and Princess bowed their heads in acceptance of the honour and mission bestowed.
“We humbly accept this charge, your Imperial Majesty,” said Elise.
“Very good! Now I must turn my attention to my own able retainers, my Lord and Ladies Cameron, please resume your posts and let Darth Vindican, Lord Veradun, and Apprentice Daenerys come forth and be recognized.”
The Royal Camerons backed away from the Imperial presence a precise three steps, then turned and processed back to their own presence dias as the named Sith stepped forward and presented themselves before their Emperor, sinking to their knees and bowing at the waists, Darth Vindican front and center and either retainer behind and to each side, Daenerys on his right hand and Veradun to his left.
“Darth Vindican! My able and most loyal servant, We are most pleased with the results of your latest efforts on behalf of the Empire and the Sith, We understand We have one your retinue to thank for this joyful day?”
"Yes, Majesty, My Apprentice, Daenerys Targaryen has had operational command of this mission, as her final practical examination of mastery of self and others," replied Darth Vindican.
"And has your Apprentice been weighed, measured, and found wanting of anything needful in a Lord or Lady of the Sith?"
"Nay, Majesty, by strict inquiry she has been tested, by fire has she been purified, by work she has proven herself capable. No longer is she merely good prime material; she has been sculpted by the Way of the Sith, and lacks nothing needful, she is a living and trued work in the Force."
"Very well, let the rough workpiece approach and be presented."
Daenerys stood then, gracefully rising from her kneeling position, and with the help of two bondswomen of House Vindican who approached, disrobed of her robes of Apprenticeship and stepped forward to kneel directly before the Emperor clad only in sky, her hair bound in the Apprentice knot, tied with leather cords, those cords signifying her binding to her master the only thing left to her possession.
"Summoned, I come, Majesty," said Daenerys.
The Emperor's light-saber snapped and hissed as it activated, held in a simple low ready, pointed toward the ground.
"Do you claim to be Sith?"
"Yes, Majesty"
"What is your code?"
"Peace hath no substance of its own, it must be forged by Force. By Passion for Justice I gain Strength. Through Strength I gain Power. Through Power I gain Victory. Through Victory I establish the reign of Justice. Let Justice be done, though Force do Quake and Quail. And Peace will be made."
"Do you swear Duty, Honour, Obedience, and Loyalty to the Eternal Throne of the Sith?"
"I do swear it."
"Do you abjure the Jedi Heretics in all their errors and all their works?"
"I do abjure them."
"Do you promise Death to mine Enemies, Strength to mine Empire, and Justice to all?"
"I do promise them."
With a swoosh of the glowing crimson blade of light and the acrid ozone smell of burnt hair, the Emperor neatly burned away the long trail of bound hair that marked her as an Apprentice. Humans counted themselves lucky in this ritual as unlike pureblooded Sith, their hair did not have nerve endings, as did the head-tendrils of the Red Sithmen.
"Rise then, Lady Targaryen of House Targaryen, Knight of the Sith."
Lady Targaryen stood then, eyes glowing with liquid golden power and pride and gratefully kissed the Emperor's signet ring when he offered his hand, before marching back to her place in line, still clad in not but sky, before accepting her new robes of station, gifts from her former master just for this occasion.
"We are most pleased with this turn of events Darth Vindican, all is proceeding as I have designed it. I find myself in need of someway to repay you my loyal Darth and as you know, the reward for work well done is more work."
"Yes, Majesty," said Darth Vindican.
"Then I appoint you a member of the Order of the Hand, as the ninth Hand, Darth Vainur, has recently fallen in battle. I hereby Order and Direct you, the Ninth Hand, my Darth Vindican, to proceed with all due haste to Merovech and there to take command of the Fifty-fifth and Seventy-second fleets, and the Five-hundred-first legion, and finish Our campaign against the Mi-Goa'uld. You will of course, return to Dromund Kaas first, so that your prisoner may be properly interrogated and you may choose two new apprentices to take with you."
"Two apprentices, Majesty?"
"Yes my Darth-Lord, two. The hour of our Return draws near and we must all make sacrifices. Lady Targaryen will remain here as Tutor to our loyal retainers Ian and Amanda in the ways of the Sith. And Lord Veradun..."
"Yes, Majesty?" asked the eager young Lord.
"Lord Veradun, We find ourselves with a new Hand, but lacking a Darth-Lord in that Order, approach."
Lord Veradun now rose and marched with hesitation or fear to kneel before his Emperor.
"Darth Vindican, do you concur?"
"I do, Majesty, he has more than earned his place in that Order," replied Darth Vindican.
"Then attend Us and assist."
Darth Vindican arose, wrapped in black and crimson robes of his estate, brass ceremonial crown of flames gleaming in the light, and accepted a box from a bondsman who held it ready, perhaps the only sign that all of this was planned in advance.
"Long Ago, before the Jedi Schism, the Je'daii Order fought the evil of the Rakatan, one of the relics of the War in Heaven, servitors of the Powers of the Outer Darkness, who sought to find the Star-Rings of Power and bind them to their will in Shadow and Flame. The Elite of that ancient Order, who led us in Battle and to Victory over the black vileness of the Rakatan and their Infinite Empire, were called Darrtah, ‘Conquerors of Death’ in the Rakatan Tongue. It was a Challenge, brave and bold, a promise to our enemies that we would seek out our Death, and Defeat it. Snatching Victory from the jaws of Death. Today, we stand in an unbroken chain of memory back to the Old Order, before the Dark Times, before the cursed Jedi and their Puritan Heresy. Today, we crown a new Darth-Lord!"
"Uhz Rha!" roared the crowds on two worlds.
Darth Vindican opened the dark and richly enameled and worked hard-wood box and the Emperor removed a vial of scented oil, which he used to anoint the head of Lord Veradun, before laying his hands on his head and crying out in the old tongue.
"Uhz Rha darr tah! Sith raja aneed'du Malgus! Here is one who Challenges Death! Darth-Lord of the Sith! Darth Malgus!"
Darth Vindican then took back the vial from the Emperor and handed him a brass crown just like the one that crowned his own head, in fact it was one of his own, a gift to his former apprentice and retainer-Lord.
"Rise Darth Malgus and heed our Word! We have news of the band of pirates and mercenaries from Republic space operating in the Unknown Regions, very near our space, we understand these 'Daru's Dogs' to be led by a Twi'lek of some charisma and skill at arms. They must either bend the knee to us, or be silenced, no word of our preparations for return must cross the Divide and reach Republican ears. They will join us or die, I decree it. This is my will. Will you carry it forth?"
"Yes, my Emperor, I will make thine Will mine own, say the word and it shall be done!"
"Very good my Darth, Glory to the Sith!"
"Service to the Empire!"
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The lovely fortified manor house located in a beautiful and sun-drenched valley on the main continent of Mitoc was one of the most heavily guarded locations in the entire Dilgar Imperium. Decorative vines climbed up thick reinforced mass concrete walls lined with starship-grade armour plate, picturesque white flowers hiding thorns glistening with nerve-agent and providing food and fuel for honeybee-drones packing explosive charges. Fields of sun drop flowers set their faces against the sun, drinking the life giving solar radiation and growing heavy in seeds packed with nutrients and kine-beasts grazed in idyllic pastures, all watched over by Abbai serflings, tiny in the distance, modified to rejoice in their servitude and defer instantly to the musk of any Dilgar and specifically their bonds-keeper master or mistress.
Kzinti cyber-janissaries stamped to attention at the guard-post at the estate's gate, separating the crushed gravel drive, lined with thin, tall trees, swaying in the breeze, from the plain rural highway of cut and fitted stones paved over with a tar-gravel mixture, the janissaries’ implanted armor plates clashed and their sensors whirred and clicked as they saluted the staff car as it rolled to a stop in front of the check-point. Two belt-fed gauss machine-guns in sand bagged fighting positions well back from the gate proper, tracked the car, their crews pointedly not standing to attention but professionally and coldly covering the gate no matter who approached.
The Alacan asterbei overseer of the half-droid file of storm troops rushed to the side of the black staff car from which flew the flags of the Shan family gens that ruled the new Imperium that had exploded into the territory of the former League of Non Aligned Worlds, fleeing the explosion of their star, Omelos, in supernova of epic proportions. The Alacan house-cat, so called by the other conquered races of the former league due to their favored position as another felinoid race, supposedly a branch of the Dilgar themselves according to the Imperial Truth, nervously smoothed his black-on-black uniform tunic as he reached the car and rendered his salute.
“Hail Gar’shan! Identity cards please!”
The uniformed driver of the car, an obviously well-bred Dilgar in the colours of Clan Shan handed over the requested documents as he lifted a stripped muzzle and sniffed in disdain. The stolid little Alacan aterbei ignored the slight and stuck to his general and specific orders, snapping through each of the ID cards, studying each intently, as if performing on a parade ground.
"Lower the rear windows please, I must validate the IDs and faces match."
"Do you know whose car this is, little mouse?"
"It does not matter if it is the Emperor himself or the Great Sky Lion who lights the universe, I must follow my orders, or those gentlecats with the belt-fed gaussguns will be forced to add a new set of ventilation holes. Now, please."
Suddenly the driver was grinning, displaying wicked curving eye teeth as he engaged the window controls, lowering the blacked out armoured windows as requested.
"Good lad," huffed the driver, "glad to see they're teaching something at those schools."
Stepping to the rear passenger compartment windows, asterbei Himshul checked each occupant's face against the provided ID card’s headshots and only after confirming all was in order, saluted the ranking passenger, Warmaster Dal'shan, as befitting his rank.
"Hail Gar'shan, Warmaster!"
"Hail, that was well done asterbei, my compliments to you and your instructors."
"Sir! Only the best for The Warmaster's detail, Sir!"
"The Warmaster ay?"
"Yes Sir!"
"Hmm, carry on then asterbei."
"Sir!" Asterbei Himshul saluted once more then turned to Kzinti storm troopers standing at attention at the wrought-iron decorative gate itself (which screened a battle-steel barrier which was even now lowering into the ground) "Open the gates! Here Stands a Warmaster!"
As the car stuttered into motion, Warmaster Dal'shan leaned over to the other occupant of the car's rear compartment.
"I see your hand in this Warexpert Shai'Jhur, I cannot see her allowing any Alaca this close to her person, no matter that she designed the retroviral agents that bound their species to ours."
The dusty-brown slight female with grey tinged fur, Warexpert's green and red uniform glittering with decorations huffed at the thought, "no great leap of logic there Warmaster, but you are correct, it took me a year of wearing her down just to get her allow non Dilgar on the perimeter. She knows in her head that building the New Order is important, but old habits of the gut die hard."
"So, I have been patient thus far, there are few, even among the ranks of the Warmasters, who could summon me, the son of our Emperor and heir-presumptive, to a clandestine meeting without even bothering to send an agenda ahead, but for her? She says jump and the Emperor asks how high. But now that we are nearly here, what is this all about Shai'jur?"
"Raghesh has fallen."
"Oh? The Narn have finally bestired themselves on behalf of their Sith benefactors, how many ships did they lose?"
"No."
"No? Then who?"
"That's the question," said Shai'jur as the car pulled around the drive with decorative central fountain, with statues depicting Dilgar drop troopers raising the Imperium's tiger-striped banner above the ruined capitol of Abbai's Grand Matriarch, "who indeed."
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Lord Commander Jeor Mormont stood numbly, rubbing his throat after the stranger, the Sith Lord, one of the new outlander rulers of Westeros and all the World, or so they said, had used his stranger magics to nearly strangle him. This was going to be a bad day, he could tell.
While the Watch was at long last at something like her authorized strength of ten-thousand, thanks to thousands and thousands of outlanders arriving from the teeming East, put out of work by the stranger's new machines, the watch itself had been, until just today, largely ignored by the strangers and their Lannister puppets. Lady Stark had provided them with some of the new blasters and vibroswords of stranger-make and the training to use them. But life at the wall, all three hundred miles of perfect pitch black stone and mile-forts every mile, nineteen grand castles along her length as it snaked across the North, continued much as it always had.
"I am not an unreasonable Sith," the stranger said, (what did he say his name was, Palter or something like that?) as his blue-devil women loomed and leered without even seeming to directly look at anyone or anything, "but I will not be spoken to like that. You will gather an escort for my expedition beyond the wall and you will give me a tour of this castle and tell me the story of your Watch, I do so love lore."
"Yes, of course my Lord, please do follow me. First Ranger Stark! Gather up a strong party for our Lord's escort!”
"By your leave, Lord Commander," replied First Ranger Benjen Stark, giving his Lord Commander and the stranger sky-lord a respectful bow, before turning on his heel and striding forth, crying aloud, "Knights! Squires! Rangers! Assemble in the yard!"
Mormont turned to his guest and offered a respectful gesture, "If your Lordship will follow me, we can ascend in one of our lifts," leading his guest out of the main hall to one of the idling wall-lifts, explaining as he went.
"Now, the wall itself was built by Bran the Builder, or so our legends say. It runs a course three hundred miles from the Gorge to the Bay of Seals, at a height of seven hundred feet. At her summit, her fighting platform is wide enough for two files of men to march past each other in either direction..."
"But why?" mused Darth Patler, "why did your ‘Builder’ need such a grandly immense fixed defense?"
"According to legend, eight thousand years ago, a great darkness fell across all the lands, a winter without end. And out of the darkness came the Others..."
"Yes, Lord Commander Mormont, do tell me about these Others! Do you think we might see one?"
'I pray never!' quailed the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch as he shivered under the piercing gaze of the jolly and fat Lord of the Sith.
"Well we know little for certain, but legend says the ice-demons could raise the dead to fight for them and they could only be killed by weapons made of dragonglass or weapons of living flame, like the blade wielded by Azor Ahai, the legendary founder of the Asshai Empire."
"Not the Valyrians?"
"No Lord, this was before the Valyrians came to us from beyond the sky."
"Tell me more, tell me everything!" Darth Patler loomed over Joer Mormont then, his eyes peering into Joer's own and he felt himself falling deep into them like falling into an abyss of fire and ice.
"Yes, Lord," murmured Joer Mormont as his mouth began to speak in a droning monotone and every last scrap of legend and lore came tumbling out in a torrent and memories of stories by the fire flashed unbidden in his mind's eye.
Lord Commander Mormont suddenly found himself standing with Darth Patler, at the perfectly prescribed two steps behind per Sith etiquette and he wasn't quite certain which was more unsettling, that he couldn't remember how he got here at the crenelated watch tower above the wall's fighting platform or that he suddenly knew, in his bones, all the proper etiquette for interacting with the Lords of the Sith, or even that that the name no longer felt alien, just disconnected, like it was a block of different stone in the wall of his memories, just inserted there.
"Oh don't worry, I didn't remove anything while I was in there Lord Commander, we can't have you suddenly dying of a hemorrhage while we need you commanding the Night's Watch! Now tell me about these wildlings will you?"
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“No Mollari, there will be no counter attack!” Shouted Prime Minister Malachi, “Raghesh III is too minor of a world to escalate the conflict at this time and our reserves are now dangerously depleted after the disastrous repulse of our attempted relief of Nefua. Look, your nephew has been returned with the other civilians of the colony, it is unbecoming of you to be so unbending on this, the Centarum has spoken and the Emperor agrees, the blood and bones of each Centauri Grenadier is itself more precious than any colonial clay, it is time to give peace a chance!”
The holographic image of Mollari’s political ally and good friend fuzzed in and out of focus from the wide spectrum jamming the Sith were putting out. Mollari had the dubious honour of commanding the forces watching the Sith siege lines at Jux Prime. Watching. They dared not make any attacks, not after the hopeless disaster and slaughter of ships at Nefua. And it boiled Mollari’s blood. What had happened to his people? When had it all gone wrong?
“Is it true then? Are we, the Lions of the Galaxy, seriously considering bending our knees to these Sith?”
“The Centaurum no longer considers the correlation of forces favorable. The forces arrayed against us grow stronger with every passing day and we grow weaker. The push at Nefua was our last gasp and to be frank with you we no longer have the reserves in manpower or materiel to reverse the situation. It is time to acknowledge this reality and salvage what we can before we find the Homeworld itself under siege!”
“We should call upon our ancient treaty with the Minbari, surely with their power we could reclaim what is ours! After all, they owe us after we did the dying against the Orieni in their war with the Drakh!”
“I doubt they are interested in fighting for us, but you will have a chance to ask them yourself, Mollari.”
“What?”
“The Sith’s new puppets, these ‘Humans’ are setting up a space station in Quadrant 37, the demilitarized zone between the Narn and ourselves, to negotiate an end to hostilities and the new balance of power under the dominion of the Sith Empire. You are to be the Emperor’s ambassador, Mollari.”
“And what, the Minbari are sending an ambassador as well?”
“Yes.”
“That is... surprising.”
“The Galaxy is changing Mollari and we must adapt with it, or die. This is a great opportunity for your House Mollari.”
“And a great danger.”
“Always is, old friend, always is.”
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“Ok let’s get started,” demanded Lady Regent Cameron as she swept into her small council chambers, a look of determined exhaustion on her weary and stress-lined face, “Where are we on securing the translatio imperii over the Narn and clients to our own command and control?”
“Your Grace, the People’s Regime of Narn have officially acknowledged your rights as the appointed Grand Moff of the Over-Sector and have agreed to send a representative to the Byzantium V when it is emplaced in Narn-Centauri DMZ,” replied Hieromonk Ignatius, “however acknowledgements from the Narn’s own clients have not been so forthcoming, in fact, all communications from the Drazi have been… vulgar, in the extreme.”
“That will be something for Admiral the Baron Preston’s choice for Castellan to sort out once he’s in position, how are we doing on the economic retooling and the initial fleet refits, how soon will we have a full fleet to station with the Byzantium V?”
“Your new titles have opened up immense lines of credit in your own name along with the development subsidies available from the Sith Imperial Government itself, we have been able put sufficient deposits down on mobile dockship slips and workers to keep them working at full capacity as well as repaying Darth Vindican’s initial personal loans. Additionally, Darth Vindican has underwritten the raising of a new FreiKorps from his own funds; that he wishes to take with him on his campaign against the Mi-Goa’uld. Given those levels of liquidity and the priorities in place, we expect to have the full First Spacey-Real rushed rebuilt to rough -S standards in six to twelve months,” summarized Lord Bolingbroke of the exchequer.
Lady Regent Cameron nodded and turned to Ignatius, “Work with Psi Colonel Voegeler to get elements of the BlackWatch embedded into that new FreiKorps Darth Vindican is raising,” Lady Cameron sighed then and pinched the bridge of her nose, “And Father, make a note, We need to create a position, General of the Watch and promote Colonel Voegeler to it, we can’t have his Imperial courtesy rank taking precedence over the one We have given him, it’s bad enough that red-Sithman is demanding to take Our loyal Count Voegeler away, to have him be promoted too, it would make us look mean and stingy.”
Then she turned to High Admiral Prescott, “Admiral, what’s the timeline on getting ships that can fight the Sith on their terms if we have to? Or to fight this “Galactic Republic” on even terms? And have you picked out a Castellan and Vice-Baron to command the Byzantium on its deployment?”
“That’s somewhat complicated, we are now able to purchase components and even finished vessels directly from the Sith’s IMPBUSHIPS, however, if you mean building them for ourselves, we’re just now buying the tools to make the tools to make the tools and getting instructors into our undergraduate engineering pipeline, so, something like twenty years until to we’re laying our first homegrown keels for finalized production designs. As far as my Barony, I have decided to keep Commodore Markos Ramius in his position as my Castellan, no reason to change command at this point, he has my full confidence.”
“Very good Admiral. General de Chavilier, how is the Army looking to use its modernization budget?”
“Short term, we expect to have the Royal’s equipment fully upgraded to -S standards in something like a year, two at the outside, this will involve standardizing the Royals on a narrow list of chassis, but that’s something we’ve wanted to do for a long time. Medium term, we are looking at designs for light, medium, and heavy repulsor tanks that will represent a major qualitative leap in capabilities over our existing conventional Royal armoured and mechanized infantry units.”
“Explain,” ordered Lady Cameron.
“Well, we have four designs nearing finalization; first for the gee-mobile infantry, the “Velites” gee-cavalry fighting vehicle at one hundred twenty tons, second, the “Hastati” GIFV at one hundred thirty tons, these two share approximately eighty-percent parts commonality. The Velites will carry five CavScout PowerArmoured dismounts with JumpPacks, while the Hastati is presently slated for ten gropos, but we’d like to get it to twelve.
Then for the line gee-armoured formation, a “Principes” GMBT at two hundred twenty tons and a “Triarii” heavy breakthrough grav-tank at three hundred thirty tons. The Principes and Trarii are planned to field heavy long-gaussrifles at two-twenty-five mm and two-fifty-two mm respectively, essentially class-twenty autocannon with the range of current gaussrifles, in hull-mounts, which makes more sense when the entire vehicle is essentially a flying turret.
In addition to that we plan turreted unmanned weapons-pods with light turboblasters, AMS, small photonguns, grenade-machine guns, and LRMs. Three crewmen each; driver, gunner, and commander, deep in the vehicle hull, inside an armoured tub that also acts as a fully pressurized and vacuum rated escape pod. The design specs call for a tactical cross country nape-of-the-earth mobility of sixty kph sustained and max military power pegged at one hundred kph in a standard atmosphere, with a ‘road’ march rate at altitude of double that thanks to lower atmo density.``
“How does this compare against the three hundred ton tripod-walkers we’ve seen the Sith Army driving around?”
“Between speed, agility, armour, shields, and weapons, we expect to be able take out any comparable Sith Army gear that we currently know about, which means we should be able smash anything we come across, although we can expect the Sith to develop something better once they see our designs in action. We suspect their military currently relies mainly on orbital fires for heavy anti armour support, but for all we know, they have armoured elements that they aren’t telling us about. Now we’re also working on a new doctrine for planetary assaults that includes repulsor-lift armour in the direct space-mobile orbital interface assault along with LandAirDroids and conventional airborne BattleDroid drops to secure landing zones for follow on forces.”
“But what about a new generation of BattleDroids?” asked Lady Cameron pointedly.
“That’s a longer term project as we study and digest what new materials, reactors, weapons, and mobility options mean for the humanoid battleframe concept, we have concepts for a forty ton scout, a fifty-five ton trooper medium, a seventy ton main BattleDroid, a hundred ton breakthrough AssaultDroid, and a sixty ton land-air model for Royal Special Forces Command and NewType aristos with more money and bravado than sense, equipped with a droid scale plasma-beam blade. Currently there is some debate about whether to pursue modular weapons pods or invest in greater hand-actuator dexterity and improved neural control feedback to make droid-scale hand-held weapons more practical.”
“Well that’s easy, do both,” said Lady Cameron with a snort.
“What about the civilian economy, your Grace, aren’t we stretching ourselves mighty thin with this buildup and supporting ongoing contingencies simultaneously?” asked Lord Penbroke.
“We have bulk orders of automated labor droids on the way from the Sith Imperium.”
“What about skilled labor? Many of our highest skilled workers are also military reservists,” countered Lord Penbroke.
“We have also purchased the contracts of one hundred thousand indentured skilled industrial technicians and machinists from Imperial Human Resources, all Humans. If the trial run works well we pull on an indentured labour pool of ten times that to fill gaps. Plus millions of unskilled chattel slave laborers, admittedly mostly Aliens of varying types.”
“What about our own population, do we want to be outnumbered ten or hundred to one by subject and corvee labour, even aliens?”
“That’s why We have invited Herr Doctor William Joseph von Steuben-Bayer of IG Farben to address this council today, tell me councilors, what do you know Our Star League’s research into the use of iron-wombs and genetic-recombinates to speed the populating of new colonies?”
Lady Regent Cameron allowed herself to sink into her chair as the good doctor made his introductions and his assistance setup for the presentation. She steepled her fingers as she considered their position, everything was balanced on the knife's edge and of course, as ever, this was all a test, those cursed Sith and their damn tests. Well she hadn’t gotten this far to quail and quiver now. Still she needed some form of insurance; something to tie her rule to the Sith power structure, perhaps…
Elise von Hapsburg-Hohenzollern y Cameron smiled behind her steepled fingers as she murmured the remembered quip; “Bella gerant alii, tu felix Austria nube...”
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Lord Commander Joer Mormont sighed heavily as Craster’s mutilated, scorched, and smoking body thumped and squelched messily to the ground in several bloody chucks, painting the snow red with the welter of crooked little man’s gore. The little bastard-shit’s luck had finally run out.
“What an unpleasant, rude little man. Still, I got some useful intelligence from him before my jolting of his memory got too far along. Humans can be such fragile creatures, don’t you agree Lord Commander?” asked Darth Patler as the wails of a chorus of women rose in the freezing air. Glancing at the scraggly women, the Sith Lord paused, then said, “Regardless, ‘tis a mighty shame to waste such woman-flesh, I suppose I could all down a lander and round them up, might get something for them at market after cleaning them up and getting some meat on those skeletons.”
“Better than leaving them here to starve my Lord, one supposes,” said the First Ranger in a non-committed way.
“Yes, I do suppose so,” replied Darth Patler after the pale-faced Lord Mormont failed to reply, seemingly frozen in place, “though that might just be what they deserve in Justice, given what they did to their sons. Benezia dear! Get on the holocom and get a lander down from the Great Vandron and inform your lovely daughter that she will have customers soon, common slatterns that will need a good scrubbing and all the standard intake processing.”
“At once, Lord,” said the slightly taller and darker blue devil-woman of the two that always shadowed their Lord, before the outlander did something with the strange glowing device on her arm before she began to speak into it and voices spoke back to her in an alien tongue, after a moment she paused and looked right at Brother Benjen, the First Ranger, eyes hidden by opaque and gilded visor, filigreed with decorative little paisley whorls, “what are you waiting for, start rounding them up, the smart and young ones are already slinking away.”
“I am a brother of the Night’s Watch and I won’t…”
“Oh, I’d go get it done if I was you little Black Brother,” interrupted the Sith Lord, “she was royalty on her world, before I purchased her, something called a Matriarch, so she’s rather used to being obeyed, and quite capable of killing you where you stand with her sorcery, without even lifting a finger.”
The tall blue devil-woman, identified as ‘Benezia’, snorted and returned to speaking at her left forearm as Benjen Stark harrumphed and turned, marching away shouting at idling rangers to start rounding up the Caster’s widow-daughters.
“What say you Lord Commander?” asked the jolly faced Sith Lord, “why don’t we camp here before making for the Fist tomorrow, I could do with a bit of refreshments and repast, my Aethyta is quite the chef, what?”
Lord Commander Mormont gulped then and finally remembered to breathe, and looked at the dimming evening sun, “That is indeed a fine kenning my Lord, I shouldn’t like to force a march in this weather, not at night.”
“Good! It’s settled then, tell you what since you’ve been rather so helpful and such a good sport, putting up with my disruptions of your tidy little Watch, I’ll split the profits with you, fifty-fifty?”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Everything shook under the intense artillery barrage, the very air seemed to shake, as hot fragments wizzed and whined overhead. Centauri infantry huddled in their slit trenches, riding out the roaring bombardment in a sullen silence, casting furtive glances at each other, but mostly focused on the blasters held in trembling hands. Finally a non-com started singing a song and soon the entire trench was singing it.
On the heath, there blooms a little flower
and it's called: Keria.
Eagerly a hundred thousand little bees,
swarm around, Keria.
For her heart is full of sweetness,
a tender scent escapes her blossom-gown.
On the heath, there blooms a little flower
and it's called: Keria.
Back at home, there lives a little maiden
and she's called: Keria.
That girl is my faithful little darling
and my joy, Keria!
When the heather blooms in a reddish purple,
I sing her this song in greeting.
On the heath, there blooms a little flower
and it's called: Keria.
In my room, there also blooms a little flower
and it's called: Keria.
Already In the grey of dawn, as it does at dusk,
It looks at me, Keria!
And it is as if it spoke aloud:
"Are you thinking of your fiancée?"
Back at home, a maiden weeps for you
and she's called: Keria.
Then a whistle was blowing and the Centauri were rising to their firing positions, letting loose with their infantry repeaters, sending pulses of phased plasma down range with electronic shrieks, while the heavy repeater gave staccato thump-thump-thump. Out of the black and white swirling smoke and brown clouds of sprayed dirt strides some sort of giant metallic monster.
Two, maybe three stories tall, sixty, maybe seventy tons if it was a pound, green and black tiger stripes with digital hazing broke up its lines, but it was vaguely Centauroid shaped, with great blaster-cannon for arms, a boxy missile launcher above the far shoulder, and an anti-missile system and search-light over the near. A war horn sounded as the upper torso of the iron giant slewed over to point at the next trench over and the tracers from heavy slug-throwers and almost blinding eye-searing pulses of photon-guns played over the trench, where blood and dirt flew up into the air.
An electronic static roar sliding into the sound of a giant pane of glass shattering echoed out, the distinctive sound a shield-bubble popping, followed by a great clang as literal tons of reactive armour plates detonated, showering the Centauri in the trench with debris that was nearly hot enough to burn them. With a rapid clanking and winding and roaring, a Centauri Hexus-Janus appeared, twin railguns slewing to reacquire the giant walker that surprisingly was not only still moving, but was itself pivoting to bring the arm mounted cannon to bear.
With a blinding actinic flash and a sound like a clap of thunder over the wailing of a banshee, the front of the Hexus sagged and ran like water, then burst into flames. Then the giant walking death bringer fired the second cannon and this time the thunder-clap of the particle beam detonating on the Hexus was echoed with a roaring secondary explosion of hydrogen fuel tanks and stored missiles. There was another resounding clang as yet more armour blocks rippled in sympathetic detonation from the hit and the warhorn sounded again as the great metal beast stalked past the line of ruined trenches, stomping almost contemptuously on the burning Centauri armored fighting vehicle and the crew struggling to escape the licking blue flames as it passed out frame.
Suddenly the camera fell to the floor of the trench as a trooper tackled the unseen cameraman. The reason why soon became apparent as the entire trench, or at least the part the now sideways pointed camera could see, filled with angry flames that stuck to whatever they landed on and burned white-hot. Out of the flames stepped another smaller metal giant, the scale was difficult to judge, but no less than eight imperial feet tall, no more than twelve at the most. Enameled in a pixelated green and black tiger-striped scheme like it’s larger brother and it was utterly unphased by the impact of infantry blaster bolts that flashed across its chest-plate. In response it swept an infantry support photon beamer across the trench. The beam itself was technically invisible, but the secondary thermal effects made a roaring, ripping sound as the air itself glowed with sympathetic fluorescence and mercifully unseen, behind the unblinking eye of the camera, Centauri voices screamed piteously.
The armoured figure paused then to observe the effects of it’s own weapon fires, then it rocketed away on pillars of flames, flames that swallowed the camera as the screen finally went static.
Warmaster Jah’dur set her ration can down on the low table between herself and her guest, the tin spoon rattling inside. She had the appearance of a Dilgar female half her actual age, striking and handsome features with distinct and proud clan markings in her luxurious fur.
“What do you see then Dal’shan?” asked Jah’dur.
“Fearsome attackers with strange gear, but quite developed storm tactics. We would have handled that assault quite the same, only using GEV blowers and our infantry havemuch lighter kit overall, that trench would have taken a section if not a whole platoon. It must be supported by a powered exoskeleton, there’s no other way... Our front-line Killwraith cyborgs might be able to take them one on one, but I wouldn’t bet on it just from this. Do you know who these new ones are?”
“I do. My sources tell me they are called ‘Hu-mans’ and that they call their polity a ‘Star League’. They fought quite ferociously and aggressively, but in the end they accepted the surrender of General Reefa and by all accounts have handled their prisoners with honour and dignity. Like we used to.”
“Those days are over Jha’dur.”
“For some of us, they will never be over.”
“How did you get this footage, I am sure it’s quite classified?”
“I have many friends among the Centauri and the Narn for that matter as well as the other minor powers, my anti-agapic sees to that.”
“I take it you think the balance of power has changed?”
“Dal’shan, it was changed already when the Sith first came to our part of the Galaxy, fifty years ago, as I remember telling you at the time. And your father. Now it is all but shattered in pieces”
“Well, the Sith seemed content to settle into their sieges and obviously at the time they had the patience for a long drawn-out campaign. It seemed like we had time to study them and their marvelous gear, to learn and grow stronger without committing ourselves.”
“Something has changed.”
“It seems the Sith have found a client that can fight with more spiritedness, aggression, and daring than the Narn but with more discipline and technical-tactical adroitness than the Drazi.”
“Like us,” pointed out Jha’dur.
“Like us,” agreed Dal’shan.
“I fear we are out of time, Dal’shan.”
“My Father agrees with you actually.”
“How is your Father, how is the Emperor?”
“Still sickly. Still refusing your treatments. Says he wouldn’t want to live forever anyway. But he also sees the writing on the wall. I am told that the Sith’s new clients, these ‘Hu-mans’ as you call them, are moving a space station to the DMZ between the Narn and the Centauri and are calling for ambassadors to attend them. Something about a peace under the Sith, under something called a Grand Moff.”
“I have heard the same.”
“And you would have us send someone?”
“I think so. The Narn are going, obviously. The Centauri for similar reasons. The Hurr and the Grome and the Lumati too,” said Jha’dur, “Not that it matters.”
“Not that it matters,” agreed Dal’shan, “But I am also told the Minbari will be sending someone as well.”
“You see? If the Boneheads are sending a representative then we must as well.”
“Father agrees. Who did you have in mind?”
“I think it would be a good opportunity for Ari.”
“Father had in mind someone else, someone with more experience, someone from the council, someone with a… reputation” said Dal’shan as he looked pointedly at Jha’dur.
“No. No! Not I, what do I know about diplomacy?”
“Who better to project strength? We know that the Sith value it.”
“Fine, but your Father owes me one.”
“We all do Jha’dur, we all do.”
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