Chapter 13
Jaenera Targaryen
Well-known member
“The Federation flagship has been destroyed!” the report came from the sensor station. “Internal detonation…it appears to be the decoy!”
I pumped my fist in triumph. “Now, all ships!” I ordered while sweeping an arm forward towards the bridge windows and the enemy fleet beyond. “Maximum battle speed! Counterattack!”
Ion engines burned hot as the Imperial Fleet surged forward, turbolasers blazing in emerald lances through space. Explosions erupted across space as Section 31 vessels were destroyed one after the other, their attempts to withdraw in order failing as they were simply overrun by the Imperial Fleet.
I narrowed my eyes while looking back and forth between the bridge windows and the tactical display. “Tone down the artillery fire.” I ordered. “Let’s not have friendly fire incidents, shall we?”
“Yes, admiral.” Torrhen said with a nod before tilting his head. “Shall we launch space-combat fighters.”
“Make it so.”
“Very good, admiral.”
The chief of staff went to relay my orders, the intensity of the turbolasers falling off in less than a minute. By then, however, V-Wings and TIE Fighters were pouring out of the fleet’s hangars bays, and swarming the Section 31 ships.
“Standby ion cannons.” I ordered. “Target the nearest ships. Stormtrooper battalions, prepare to board. Prioritize enemy officers and computer systems, noncoms and enlisted are nonconsequential.”
“Yes, admiral.” The Stormtrooper commander in charge of the boarding actions replied before closing the channel.
I then focused on the tactical display, watching as the Courageous knocked out the shields on a pair of Akira Class Medium Cruisers. Then the Star Destroyer fired its ion cannons, energy surges flaring over the enemy cruisers’ hulls even as their engines and running lights went dark. Assault boats quickly flew over, latching with magnetic bolts before blowing their way into the ship with blasting charges.
“Now, we should get some answers.” I said grimly to my staff officers who nodded in agreement. “Don’t hold back, Agent Thorn. I don’t care if you have to melt their brains down, find out everything they know.”
“Leave it to us, admiral.” ISB Agent Thorn said with a nod.
I nodded back, then drew myself up. The battle was still ongoing, but it might as well be over. The Section 31 ships had no way to retreat, and if they weren’t simply being blown apart by turbolaser fire or proton torpedo strikes, were being disabled by ion cannons for boarding.
As for the ground battle…
…Orion reinforcements had arrived at the Citadel, and with their fleet lost, the Section 31 troops on the ground were trapped between Imperial Stormtroopers and angry Orion defenders. In short, they were about to be reamed from front and back, the sorry bastards.
Then again, this was Section 31 we were talking about. If anyone deserved to get stomped flat and then smeared against the ground before being burned with the Sun through a magnifying lens, it was those hypocritical sons of bitches.
Say what you will about the Empire, at least we didn’t deny we were an autocratic regime out to restore order to a chaotic galaxy behind the barrel of a gun.
“We’re receiving reports of the enemy abandoning various ships.” Sara spoke up. “Your orders, ma’am.”
“We will follow the Alderaan Conventions.” I replied. “We haven’t had reason to raise black flags, at least not yet.”
“When the enemy gets desperate…” Torrhen murmured.
“Understood, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod. “We’ll tractor the escape pods in, and secure the prisoners for interrogation and processing.”
I nodded, and folding my hands behind my back, looked up and through the bridge windows. The battle was already winding down, but there were still quite a few Section 31 diehards who refused to give up.
That much was clear, especially at the sight of a burning Miranda trying to ram a Dreadnought, only to splatter itself against the cruiser’s particle shields.
“Fine then.” I thought. “You want to be martyrs, then be my guest. I will indulge you in that much, Section 31 worms.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Section 31 officer didn’t look any different from any other Starfleet officer. He wore the red and black of the command division, with communicator badge on his chest and rank pips on his collar. Both had been confiscated, however, and the man strapped to an inclined table in a brightly-lit room aboard the Courageous.
The Imperials then left him alone to stew for a couple of hours in silence, after which Agent Thorn personally went to interrogate the man, who seemed to be the highest-ranking among the prisoners the Empire had collected after the battle.
“Commander Jerome Rice,” the immediately said as the ISB agent stepped into the room, but leaving the door open behind him. A pair of Stormtroopers could be seen standing guard outside, while a soft hum could be heard from just out of sight. “Serial Number…”
Thorn looked amused as the prisoner spouted a series of numbers and letters before repeating his rank and name, and then his serial number once more. “Ah, yes.” Thorn said with a soft clap of his hands. “The classic name, rank, and serial number method of resistance…believe me, I’ve seen it before, and it doesn’t work. They all talk eventually, including you.”
The prisoner tried to speak, but Thorn cut him off while pacing in a circle around him. “This doesn’t have to be hard, you know.” Thorn said. “You could cooperate willingly, and we could come to a mutually-beneficial arrangement. Amnesty, for starters. Asylum, perhaps? Or, if you’re unwilling to make a long-range relocation, we could arrange for you and your family to disappear under different identities. Depending on your talents, we might be able to find a place for you within the Imperial hierarchy.”
Thorn paused, and nodded once at the impassively-staring prisoner. “So,” he continued. “How about you spare yourself a lot of pain and hardship, myself of valuable time, and answer my questions.”
“Commander Jerome Rice, Serial Number…”
Thorn sighed. “Alright then,” he said, before gesturing at the door. “If that’s the way you want it…”
He trailed off then, as a spherical IT-0 Interrogator Droid floated into the room, even the prisoner pausing his rambling at the ominous black machine. Then his eyes widened, at the syringes extending from the droid’s utility arms.
“Let us begin.” Thorn grimly said, before gesturing for the Stormtroopers to seal the room.
To Rice’s credit, he didn’t make a sound as the droid injected him with pain enhancers and mental inhibitors. He just stared straight ahead, teeth clenched as the droid scanned him repeatedly to find his body’s weak points.
He screamed for the first time when the droid applied pressure to his genitals.
He screamed again and again and again as the droid worked on his joints. The finger joints first, then the ones between his toes, a surprisingly-sensitive part of the Human body. His knees followed, then his elbows, and then his shoulders.
“Have you reconsidered your position?” Thorn asked conversationally after barely twenty minutes of pure agony.
The prisoner’s answer was a gobbet of spit on the ISB agent’s face. Thorn sighed. “Have it your way, then.” He said, before gesturing for the droid to continue.
This time, the prisoner wasn’t afforded the mercy of screaming, barely able to breathe as his speckled with micro-hemorrhages while the droid worked on his neck. More drugs followed, first causing the prisoner to temporarily go blind, followed by a non-lethal blood toxin that had him screaming and convulsing, adding to the torment of his already-ravaged joints.
“Come, come,” Thorn offered. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You can end it anytime you want. It’s all entirely up to you.”
The prisoner glared, and Thorn sighed. The screaming continued, until finally, after an hour of excruciating agony, the prisoner finally broke.
“…p-p-please…” he sobbed openly crying. “…I’ll…I’ll talk…I’ll tell you everything you want…just please…please make the pain stop…”
“Then let’s begin with your name.” Thorn said.
“I…I already told you…” the prisoner began, only for Thorn to interrupt.
“Yes, you have.” He said. “But, I must confirm it, and we all need to follow proper procedure. Now, tell me your name.”
“I…I am Jerome Rice, Captain of the Federation Starship…”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“In all honesty,” Thorn began while reporting to me and the rest of the senior staff present at Orion. “I’d say overall the interrogations were a failure. About half our prisoners died during questioning, while half of what was left turned into drooling idiots before we could get anything useful out of them. Mind you, though, what we did get turned out to make for interesting reading.”
“Agreed.” I said, already looking through the collected data on my dataslate. “That said, securing them will have to wait until after Operation Blue. I’d rather not spread our forces out too thin. That said, one of the…ahem, Section 31 assets, can be secured either as part of that operation, or in its immediate aftermath.”
“Pluto…” Torrhen rumbled.
“…officially there’s only supposed to scientific research facilities and supporting infrastructure on that planet.” Imperial Intelligence Agent Wolf said. “But then again, what better way to hide Pluto’s true nature from the rest of the Federation?”
“It’s pretty much Section 31’s MO when all is said and done.” Thorn agreed. “You could even say that’s what Section 31 is. A centuries-old conspiracy aimed at building a…utopian society, only since by definition utopia is something that cannot actually exist in reality, it depends on lies and deception, smoke and mirrors basically, to even give the impression of existing.”
“Pluto’s scientific facilities are all just a cover for that massive prison under the surface.” Wolf said. “Hundreds of millions of political and cultural prisoners kept in cryogenic stasis, with many prisoners dating back centuries.”
I snorted and smiled vindictively. “Well then,” I began. “Shall we break them all out while we’re at it? Blow away the smoke and shatter the mirrors, as it were. Show everyone what utopia actually is.”
“It would certainly make postwar reconstruction and integration much easier.” Wolf agreed.
“And it would also assist in the implementation of Plan Zerek.” Thorn said.
I nodded. “Very good then.” I said. “Let us draft a plan for securing the Pluto Maximum Security Containment Facility, and how it and its prisoners may be used as part of our mission here in the New Territories.”
“Perhaps we should take a break to each organize our thoughts on the matter?” Torrhen offered.
I considered the proposal, and then nodded in agreement. “Reasonable,” I said before getting up, the other officers doing likewise. “We shall reconvene on this matter in one hour. On a related note, while concrete action on other Section 31 assets must be deferred until after Operation Blue, when we reconvene, I would be most interested in your opinions and proposals thereof.”
“Yes, ma’am!” the officers chorused, and I nodded.
“If there is nothing else, dismissed!”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Meetings on the future of the campaign aside, there were other equally-important affairs that needed to be handled. For one, there was the signing of the Treaty of Orion, under which the Orion Syndicate submitted to the sovereignty of the Eternal Throne of the Galactic Empire. In return, the Council of Matriarchs were recognized as the collective planetary governor of Orion and its associated domains, with full rights and responsibilities guaranteed to subject states under the Imperial Charter.
And while Senatorial representation was pending pacification of the New Territories, to say nothing of further integration into the Galactic Empire, the matriarchs were quite sanguine about this. They were under no illusions at the impotence of the Imperial Senate, and as such, had little expectations of any benefits Senatorial representation would bring them.
If anything, they were more curious in how long the Imperial Senate would exist as an institution, before the Galactic Emperor dissolved it one way or another.
The signing of the treaty was a surprisingly modest affair, Imperial officers standing to attention on one side of a large stateroom, while Orion matriarchs and ladies stood opposite from them. Journalists and other dignitaries made up the audience, while broadcast droids both Orion and Imperial recorded the event for posterity.
I signed on behalf of the Empire, while Orion’s First Councilor, Matriarch Jayhnaa, signed for the Syndicate. Then closing the folders holding the treaty documentation, we exchanged our copies, before holding hands as cameras flashed.
Normally, a formal reception would follow, but first…
…execution time.
“What does Imperial Law say about this?” one officer asked Imperial Ambassador Ubbal Lee.
“So long as it doesn’t contradict the Imperial Charter,” Lee began. “Nor does it compromise Imperial interests, local planetary laws take precedence.”
“And…the Alderaan Conventions…?” the officer asked.
“Unlike the officers and men of their fleet,” Lee replied. “The prisoners below were wearing neither formal uniforms, nor battle equipment bearing proper identification of their allegiance. They are thus arguably partisans, and thus not protected by the Alderaan Conventions.”
“…makes sense.”
“In any case,” Lee continued. “Section 31 doesn’t officially exist, and the word from Earth in light of this battle and the attempted murder of the Council of Matriarchs is that the organization is composed of rogues unaffiliated with Starfleet much less the Federation.”
“And so the Orions are free to execute them.” The officer grimly said.
“Technically the Federation never said as much.” Lee pointed out. “But it’s not like they could do anything about it either way. They’re too busy putting out fires at how they’re seen as unable to control fringe extremists among their forces, to say nothing of how various member states now fear they might be held at gunpoint by the Federation. In contrast, we at least are willing to negotiate terms of surrender.”
“Huh…well, all the better for us, then.” The officer said with a shrug.
“Quite.” Lee said with a nod. “It’s certainly made my job easier. Both the Federation bumbling to this extent, and that the only ground forces to survive were all noncoms or the odd junior officer not worth retaining for interrogation. The Orions will have the blood to sate their losses from the battle.”
“Well, I can’t say I don’t sympathize with them.”
“I’m not surprised you feel that way, major.”
All conversation still then, as a pair hulking Orion males began beating a pair of drums, each as wide as an AT-ST was tall. Guards in ceremonial armor led the prisoners onto the raised platform, each of them wearing a penitent’s white robes, chained at the wrists and ankles while also collared at the neck.
A crowd of over a hundred thousand jeered as the prisoners were marched along, throwing a hail of spit, insults, and crude projectiles at the condemned. One by one, they were gathered atop the platform, before a horn blew long and deep. At the sound, the crowd fell silent, before trumpet drew attention to a herald.
The herald announced the names of the condemned one by one, and listing the crimes for which they were to be executed: conspiracy to murder the Council of Matriarchs, bomb attacks with the goal of terrorizing and killing the citizens of Orion, destruction of private and public property, armed assault against members and defenders both of Orion’s sovereign government, and resisting arrest for the aforementioned crimes.
Finally, the herald then announced that should any of the condemned plead for mercy the matriarchs would now hear their appeals.
There was a long moment of silence, and then to the shock of most of the prisoners, several of their members sank to their knees and begged for mercy. Shock turned to rage, other prisoners launching themselves at their former comrades, savagely beating them with shouts of ‘traitor’, ‘coward’, and other such insults.
Matriarch Jayhnaa gestured, and the guards separated the prisoners, those who sought clemency receiving it as they were led away. The drums began to beat, but the guards stood silent and still, while above the councilors and their guest of honor, Admiral Targaryen sat in similarly quiet anticipation.
In their landing, the Imperial officers glanced at their personal chronometers, and then at the Orion Sun as it slowly descended to the horizon. A strong wind was blowing in from the sea, waving through the twelve flags of the cartels currently holding seats on the council, as well as the Imperial and Syndicate flags raised higher than any of them.
And as the Sun’s disc touched the horizon, the guards took a prisoner and led them to the chopping block. There, they were forced to their knees, their chains pulled through hoops in the ground to hold them in place, their struggles and defiant shouts as nothing to the bloodthirsty braying of the crowd.
Then the first of the condemned paled, wetting himself in terror as the reality of his situation sank in, as a hulking Orion walked up with a massive axe. The man’s face was hidden behind a black hood, but through eyeholes in the mask cold and merciless eyes glared down at the condemned.
“P-p-please…we…I…I was just following orders…” he babbled out, but it was too late, and the council would hear no further pleas for mercy.
The pleas rose to terrified and frantic shrieks even as the axe similarly rose, and then fell with a thud. The dead man’s head rolled as blood flowed freely in a stream of crimson against the stone floor.
The crowd went wild, droids flying around to record and broadcast events as they went, the execution beaming out across the known universe live and uncensored.
Cheers and chants filled the air as the dead man’s body was dragged away, while his head was raised atop a spike-tipped pole. Then another prisoner was dragged towards the chopping block, flailing against chains and screaming defiance against his fate.
It didn’t matter. Barely a minute later, his head joined his comrade’s atop a pole, his blood cooling on the stone as yet another prisoner was brought forward for execution.
“So…what exactly do they do with the bodies of the dead?” an officer asked.
“Since the families aren’t likely to claim them, cremation.” Lee answered shortly. “The ashes are then scattered over the sea.”
“Ah…I see…”
The axe fell and yet another prisoner met his end, the crowds cheering as another head rose on a pole and more blood spilled on the ground.
I pumped my fist in triumph. “Now, all ships!” I ordered while sweeping an arm forward towards the bridge windows and the enemy fleet beyond. “Maximum battle speed! Counterattack!”
Ion engines burned hot as the Imperial Fleet surged forward, turbolasers blazing in emerald lances through space. Explosions erupted across space as Section 31 vessels were destroyed one after the other, their attempts to withdraw in order failing as they were simply overrun by the Imperial Fleet.
I narrowed my eyes while looking back and forth between the bridge windows and the tactical display. “Tone down the artillery fire.” I ordered. “Let’s not have friendly fire incidents, shall we?”
“Yes, admiral.” Torrhen said with a nod before tilting his head. “Shall we launch space-combat fighters.”
“Make it so.”
“Very good, admiral.”
The chief of staff went to relay my orders, the intensity of the turbolasers falling off in less than a minute. By then, however, V-Wings and TIE Fighters were pouring out of the fleet’s hangars bays, and swarming the Section 31 ships.
“Standby ion cannons.” I ordered. “Target the nearest ships. Stormtrooper battalions, prepare to board. Prioritize enemy officers and computer systems, noncoms and enlisted are nonconsequential.”
“Yes, admiral.” The Stormtrooper commander in charge of the boarding actions replied before closing the channel.
I then focused on the tactical display, watching as the Courageous knocked out the shields on a pair of Akira Class Medium Cruisers. Then the Star Destroyer fired its ion cannons, energy surges flaring over the enemy cruisers’ hulls even as their engines and running lights went dark. Assault boats quickly flew over, latching with magnetic bolts before blowing their way into the ship with blasting charges.
“Now, we should get some answers.” I said grimly to my staff officers who nodded in agreement. “Don’t hold back, Agent Thorn. I don’t care if you have to melt their brains down, find out everything they know.”
“Leave it to us, admiral.” ISB Agent Thorn said with a nod.
I nodded back, then drew myself up. The battle was still ongoing, but it might as well be over. The Section 31 ships had no way to retreat, and if they weren’t simply being blown apart by turbolaser fire or proton torpedo strikes, were being disabled by ion cannons for boarding.
As for the ground battle…
…Orion reinforcements had arrived at the Citadel, and with their fleet lost, the Section 31 troops on the ground were trapped between Imperial Stormtroopers and angry Orion defenders. In short, they were about to be reamed from front and back, the sorry bastards.
Then again, this was Section 31 we were talking about. If anyone deserved to get stomped flat and then smeared against the ground before being burned with the Sun through a magnifying lens, it was those hypocritical sons of bitches.
Say what you will about the Empire, at least we didn’t deny we were an autocratic regime out to restore order to a chaotic galaxy behind the barrel of a gun.
“We’re receiving reports of the enemy abandoning various ships.” Sara spoke up. “Your orders, ma’am.”
“We will follow the Alderaan Conventions.” I replied. “We haven’t had reason to raise black flags, at least not yet.”
“When the enemy gets desperate…” Torrhen murmured.
“Understood, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod. “We’ll tractor the escape pods in, and secure the prisoners for interrogation and processing.”
I nodded, and folding my hands behind my back, looked up and through the bridge windows. The battle was already winding down, but there were still quite a few Section 31 diehards who refused to give up.
That much was clear, especially at the sight of a burning Miranda trying to ram a Dreadnought, only to splatter itself against the cruiser’s particle shields.
“Fine then.” I thought. “You want to be martyrs, then be my guest. I will indulge you in that much, Section 31 worms.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
The Section 31 officer didn’t look any different from any other Starfleet officer. He wore the red and black of the command division, with communicator badge on his chest and rank pips on his collar. Both had been confiscated, however, and the man strapped to an inclined table in a brightly-lit room aboard the Courageous.
The Imperials then left him alone to stew for a couple of hours in silence, after which Agent Thorn personally went to interrogate the man, who seemed to be the highest-ranking among the prisoners the Empire had collected after the battle.
“Commander Jerome Rice,” the immediately said as the ISB agent stepped into the room, but leaving the door open behind him. A pair of Stormtroopers could be seen standing guard outside, while a soft hum could be heard from just out of sight. “Serial Number…”
Thorn looked amused as the prisoner spouted a series of numbers and letters before repeating his rank and name, and then his serial number once more. “Ah, yes.” Thorn said with a soft clap of his hands. “The classic name, rank, and serial number method of resistance…believe me, I’ve seen it before, and it doesn’t work. They all talk eventually, including you.”
The prisoner tried to speak, but Thorn cut him off while pacing in a circle around him. “This doesn’t have to be hard, you know.” Thorn said. “You could cooperate willingly, and we could come to a mutually-beneficial arrangement. Amnesty, for starters. Asylum, perhaps? Or, if you’re unwilling to make a long-range relocation, we could arrange for you and your family to disappear under different identities. Depending on your talents, we might be able to find a place for you within the Imperial hierarchy.”
Thorn paused, and nodded once at the impassively-staring prisoner. “So,” he continued. “How about you spare yourself a lot of pain and hardship, myself of valuable time, and answer my questions.”
“Commander Jerome Rice, Serial Number…”
Thorn sighed. “Alright then,” he said, before gesturing at the door. “If that’s the way you want it…”
He trailed off then, as a spherical IT-0 Interrogator Droid floated into the room, even the prisoner pausing his rambling at the ominous black machine. Then his eyes widened, at the syringes extending from the droid’s utility arms.
“Let us begin.” Thorn grimly said, before gesturing for the Stormtroopers to seal the room.
To Rice’s credit, he didn’t make a sound as the droid injected him with pain enhancers and mental inhibitors. He just stared straight ahead, teeth clenched as the droid scanned him repeatedly to find his body’s weak points.
He screamed for the first time when the droid applied pressure to his genitals.
He screamed again and again and again as the droid worked on his joints. The finger joints first, then the ones between his toes, a surprisingly-sensitive part of the Human body. His knees followed, then his elbows, and then his shoulders.
“Have you reconsidered your position?” Thorn asked conversationally after barely twenty minutes of pure agony.
The prisoner’s answer was a gobbet of spit on the ISB agent’s face. Thorn sighed. “Have it your way, then.” He said, before gesturing for the droid to continue.
This time, the prisoner wasn’t afforded the mercy of screaming, barely able to breathe as his speckled with micro-hemorrhages while the droid worked on his neck. More drugs followed, first causing the prisoner to temporarily go blind, followed by a non-lethal blood toxin that had him screaming and convulsing, adding to the torment of his already-ravaged joints.
“Come, come,” Thorn offered. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You can end it anytime you want. It’s all entirely up to you.”
The prisoner glared, and Thorn sighed. The screaming continued, until finally, after an hour of excruciating agony, the prisoner finally broke.
“…p-p-please…” he sobbed openly crying. “…I’ll…I’ll talk…I’ll tell you everything you want…just please…please make the pain stop…”
“Then let’s begin with your name.” Thorn said.
“I…I already told you…” the prisoner began, only for Thorn to interrupt.
“Yes, you have.” He said. “But, I must confirm it, and we all need to follow proper procedure. Now, tell me your name.”
“I…I am Jerome Rice, Captain of the Federation Starship…”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
“In all honesty,” Thorn began while reporting to me and the rest of the senior staff present at Orion. “I’d say overall the interrogations were a failure. About half our prisoners died during questioning, while half of what was left turned into drooling idiots before we could get anything useful out of them. Mind you, though, what we did get turned out to make for interesting reading.”
“Agreed.” I said, already looking through the collected data on my dataslate. “That said, securing them will have to wait until after Operation Blue. I’d rather not spread our forces out too thin. That said, one of the…ahem, Section 31 assets, can be secured either as part of that operation, or in its immediate aftermath.”
“Pluto…” Torrhen rumbled.
“…officially there’s only supposed to scientific research facilities and supporting infrastructure on that planet.” Imperial Intelligence Agent Wolf said. “But then again, what better way to hide Pluto’s true nature from the rest of the Federation?”
“It’s pretty much Section 31’s MO when all is said and done.” Thorn agreed. “You could even say that’s what Section 31 is. A centuries-old conspiracy aimed at building a…utopian society, only since by definition utopia is something that cannot actually exist in reality, it depends on lies and deception, smoke and mirrors basically, to even give the impression of existing.”
“Pluto’s scientific facilities are all just a cover for that massive prison under the surface.” Wolf said. “Hundreds of millions of political and cultural prisoners kept in cryogenic stasis, with many prisoners dating back centuries.”
I snorted and smiled vindictively. “Well then,” I began. “Shall we break them all out while we’re at it? Blow away the smoke and shatter the mirrors, as it were. Show everyone what utopia actually is.”
“It would certainly make postwar reconstruction and integration much easier.” Wolf agreed.
“And it would also assist in the implementation of Plan Zerek.” Thorn said.
I nodded. “Very good then.” I said. “Let us draft a plan for securing the Pluto Maximum Security Containment Facility, and how it and its prisoners may be used as part of our mission here in the New Territories.”
“Perhaps we should take a break to each organize our thoughts on the matter?” Torrhen offered.
I considered the proposal, and then nodded in agreement. “Reasonable,” I said before getting up, the other officers doing likewise. “We shall reconvene on this matter in one hour. On a related note, while concrete action on other Section 31 assets must be deferred until after Operation Blue, when we reconvene, I would be most interested in your opinions and proposals thereof.”
“Yes, ma’am!” the officers chorused, and I nodded.
“If there is nothing else, dismissed!”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Meetings on the future of the campaign aside, there were other equally-important affairs that needed to be handled. For one, there was the signing of the Treaty of Orion, under which the Orion Syndicate submitted to the sovereignty of the Eternal Throne of the Galactic Empire. In return, the Council of Matriarchs were recognized as the collective planetary governor of Orion and its associated domains, with full rights and responsibilities guaranteed to subject states under the Imperial Charter.
And while Senatorial representation was pending pacification of the New Territories, to say nothing of further integration into the Galactic Empire, the matriarchs were quite sanguine about this. They were under no illusions at the impotence of the Imperial Senate, and as such, had little expectations of any benefits Senatorial representation would bring them.
If anything, they were more curious in how long the Imperial Senate would exist as an institution, before the Galactic Emperor dissolved it one way or another.
The signing of the treaty was a surprisingly modest affair, Imperial officers standing to attention on one side of a large stateroom, while Orion matriarchs and ladies stood opposite from them. Journalists and other dignitaries made up the audience, while broadcast droids both Orion and Imperial recorded the event for posterity.
I signed on behalf of the Empire, while Orion’s First Councilor, Matriarch Jayhnaa, signed for the Syndicate. Then closing the folders holding the treaty documentation, we exchanged our copies, before holding hands as cameras flashed.
Normally, a formal reception would follow, but first…
…execution time.
“What does Imperial Law say about this?” one officer asked Imperial Ambassador Ubbal Lee.
“So long as it doesn’t contradict the Imperial Charter,” Lee began. “Nor does it compromise Imperial interests, local planetary laws take precedence.”
“And…the Alderaan Conventions…?” the officer asked.
“Unlike the officers and men of their fleet,” Lee replied. “The prisoners below were wearing neither formal uniforms, nor battle equipment bearing proper identification of their allegiance. They are thus arguably partisans, and thus not protected by the Alderaan Conventions.”
“…makes sense.”
“In any case,” Lee continued. “Section 31 doesn’t officially exist, and the word from Earth in light of this battle and the attempted murder of the Council of Matriarchs is that the organization is composed of rogues unaffiliated with Starfleet much less the Federation.”
“And so the Orions are free to execute them.” The officer grimly said.
“Technically the Federation never said as much.” Lee pointed out. “But it’s not like they could do anything about it either way. They’re too busy putting out fires at how they’re seen as unable to control fringe extremists among their forces, to say nothing of how various member states now fear they might be held at gunpoint by the Federation. In contrast, we at least are willing to negotiate terms of surrender.”
“Huh…well, all the better for us, then.” The officer said with a shrug.
“Quite.” Lee said with a nod. “It’s certainly made my job easier. Both the Federation bumbling to this extent, and that the only ground forces to survive were all noncoms or the odd junior officer not worth retaining for interrogation. The Orions will have the blood to sate their losses from the battle.”
“Well, I can’t say I don’t sympathize with them.”
“I’m not surprised you feel that way, major.”
All conversation still then, as a pair hulking Orion males began beating a pair of drums, each as wide as an AT-ST was tall. Guards in ceremonial armor led the prisoners onto the raised platform, each of them wearing a penitent’s white robes, chained at the wrists and ankles while also collared at the neck.
A crowd of over a hundred thousand jeered as the prisoners were marched along, throwing a hail of spit, insults, and crude projectiles at the condemned. One by one, they were gathered atop the platform, before a horn blew long and deep. At the sound, the crowd fell silent, before trumpet drew attention to a herald.
The herald announced the names of the condemned one by one, and listing the crimes for which they were to be executed: conspiracy to murder the Council of Matriarchs, bomb attacks with the goal of terrorizing and killing the citizens of Orion, destruction of private and public property, armed assault against members and defenders both of Orion’s sovereign government, and resisting arrest for the aforementioned crimes.
Finally, the herald then announced that should any of the condemned plead for mercy the matriarchs would now hear their appeals.
There was a long moment of silence, and then to the shock of most of the prisoners, several of their members sank to their knees and begged for mercy. Shock turned to rage, other prisoners launching themselves at their former comrades, savagely beating them with shouts of ‘traitor’, ‘coward’, and other such insults.
Matriarch Jayhnaa gestured, and the guards separated the prisoners, those who sought clemency receiving it as they were led away. The drums began to beat, but the guards stood silent and still, while above the councilors and their guest of honor, Admiral Targaryen sat in similarly quiet anticipation.
In their landing, the Imperial officers glanced at their personal chronometers, and then at the Orion Sun as it slowly descended to the horizon. A strong wind was blowing in from the sea, waving through the twelve flags of the cartels currently holding seats on the council, as well as the Imperial and Syndicate flags raised higher than any of them.
And as the Sun’s disc touched the horizon, the guards took a prisoner and led them to the chopping block. There, they were forced to their knees, their chains pulled through hoops in the ground to hold them in place, their struggles and defiant shouts as nothing to the bloodthirsty braying of the crowd.
Then the first of the condemned paled, wetting himself in terror as the reality of his situation sank in, as a hulking Orion walked up with a massive axe. The man’s face was hidden behind a black hood, but through eyeholes in the mask cold and merciless eyes glared down at the condemned.
“P-p-please…we…I…I was just following orders…” he babbled out, but it was too late, and the council would hear no further pleas for mercy.
The pleas rose to terrified and frantic shrieks even as the axe similarly rose, and then fell with a thud. The dead man’s head rolled as blood flowed freely in a stream of crimson against the stone floor.
The crowd went wild, droids flying around to record and broadcast events as they went, the execution beaming out across the known universe live and uncensored.
Cheers and chants filled the air as the dead man’s body was dragged away, while his head was raised atop a spike-tipped pole. Then another prisoner was dragged towards the chopping block, flailing against chains and screaming defiance against his fate.
It didn’t matter. Barely a minute later, his head joined his comrade’s atop a pole, his blood cooling on the stone as yet another prisoner was brought forward for execution.
“So…what exactly do they do with the bodies of the dead?” an officer asked.
“Since the families aren’t likely to claim them, cremation.” Lee answered shortly. “The ashes are then scattered over the sea.”
“Ah…I see…”
The axe fell and yet another prisoner met his end, the crowds cheering as another head rose on a pole and more blood spilled on the ground.
