I get to conquer the Federation (SW and ST Crossover/SI)

[Jaenera Targaryen]

I walked down the carpeted aisle, past raised platforms atop which stood Imperial Guardsmen, the room’s half-light shining off their crimson armor. Carbines were held across their breastplates, but despite standing at parade ground stillness with eyes straight ahead, I had no doubts they could have their guns aimed at me in an instant. And me getting shot to bits in the next instant.

Despite what the films said, Imperial Stormtroopers really were the best troops in the galaxy. And only the very best ever got selected for the Imperial Guard.

Well, not the very best. Those got selected for even higher position.

Reaching the end of the aisle, I sank to one knee, head bowed with my right hand held over my chest. “You summoned me, Your Excellency?” I asked in a deferent tone.

High above on the dais, a lanthanide-plated throne turned from where its occupant had been looking through the great stained glass window behind the dais. “Ah yes,” Galactic Emperor Palpatine said with his usual gentle and grandfatherly tone. “Admiral Targaryen…rise, my friend. We need not speak with each on our knees.”

“By your command, Your Excellency.” I said, before rising to my feet, ramrod-straight with gloved hands held behind my back.

The Emperor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, a disarming smile playing on his lips. I stayed silent, knowing that despite the Emperor’s familiar style of address, he was just being gracious because it suited him, and not because he cared for me in any real way. The Star Wars films and novels got that part of his character right.

Now, if only they got the other parts right. Despite what was shown in the films, the Emperor was not a withered, walking corpse with sickly-yellow eyes and drooping skin, who wandered around in a black cloak and hood. If anything, he looked like he did in Revenge of the Sith, a balding old man in red-colored robes of state trimmed with black .

Then again, he might have just used some advanced technology, or Dark Side powers to fix the damage caused by Mace Windu…

…anyway, that wasn’t really important, and I’m not stupid enough to pry. I’ve had – and still have – better things to do than elaborately-commit suicide.

“You’re quite an interesting character, admiral.” The Emperor finally said. I stayed silent, waiting for the Emperor to elaborate. “Women are rare in the ranks of the military, and especially so in the officer corps. And yet, here you are, and an admiral, no less.”

The Emperor paused and chuckled. “An admiral with no ships under her command.” He pointedly said, and despite myself, I felt my face tighten ever so slightly with indignation. Okay, I might have the advantages of having watched all the Star Wars films (including – unfortunately – the so-called sequels though thankfully it seems this was the Legends universe) and read much of the novels, but even their most detailed descriptions could have only helped me ever so much.

And that’s assuming I remembered them word for word. And I don’t.

More to the point, I really had to work my butt off and study myself dizzy just to get through the Imperial Naval Academy. And again and again and again to get myself to where I am now.

The Emperor might be the Emperor, but still…

…it rankles.

The Emperor though, just seemed amused. “It seems I’ve hit a nerve.” He remarked.

I immediately bowed low. “I apologize for my impudence.” I said. “I accept full responsibility, and any punishment Your Excellency deems fit for me.”

The Emperor actually laughed at that, and waved me off. “Not at all,” he said. “While it has not escaped my attention that your father has had to pull strings on your behalf several times in the past, your current rank is not entirely without merit.”

I stayed silent, and the Emperor tilted his head. “You wish to say something?” he asked.

“Forgive me, Your Excellency.” I began. “But my thoughts on the matter are…improper, for one of Your Excellency’s subjects.”

“Then speak.” The Emperor commanded. “I will judge whether they are proper or not.”

I bit my lip at that, but I couldn’t really say no, could I? Still, I had to word this carefully, or else…

“I find COMPNOR’s official stance on gender roles limited at times when it comes to recognizing and rewarding merit.” I finally said.

The Emperor snorted, and looked amused once more. It seems I made the right decision, pushing blame onto COMPNOR instead of the Empire in general.

“True,” the Emperor conceded. “COMPNOR has its uses, but unfortunately has also inherited some of Vandron’s idiosyncrasies.”

I stayed silent once more, while the Emperor sat back in his throne, a grandfatherly smile playing over his lips. “Tell me, my friend,” he began once more. “Would you care to assist me in ridding one of those idiosyncrasies?”

I bowed low. “I am your servant.” I said.

The Emperor chuckled. “The matter has yet to be made public, or released for general consumption within the Admiralty,” he said. “But an opportunity has arisen…yes, a great opportunity in more ways than one.”

The Emperor paused and chuckled again. “Admiral Targaryen,” he began. “Should you accept this role I offer you, you will take a combined force of our military through a wormhole that has opened in the Belsavis System, and establish an Imperial demesne in the other galaxy beyond. A demesne from which further campaigns to expand the New Order to new places and peoples will be launched from.”

I couldn’t help it, my eyes widened, and my mouth fell open. Was this what Q had mentioned in that dream on that night so many years ago, before I woke up not in a hospital bed, but as a child once more, in a curtained four-poster in the family villa? If it was…

…then damn it, it was time to pay up. I didn’t way to die back then, so I accepted his offer without really thinking about it but now…

…oh Force…this is really happening…

The Emperor chuckled at my appearance, though thankfully not able to know what I was through my thoughts. That had been one of Q’s ways to sweeten the deal: in addition to me not dying after that damn drunk driver had plowed through the pedestrian crossing, he made sure no one could ever find out what I was.

Something to be really thankful for, otherwise they’d have pried my head apart for what I knew, and that was before the Emperor got personally involved with his alchemy and whatnot, figuring how self-inserts work. Though I’m sure he’d know soon enough in such a case. Transfer Essence was one of his powers, if I remember correctly.

“…I…I am honored that you have such confidence in my abilities, Your Excellency.” I finally managed to say.

“You may be inexperienced in commanding fleets, admiral,” the Emperor admitted. “But the reports I have received from the Admiralty indicate you are an excellent staff officer. And you did serve with distinction as a junior officer, hunting down pirates along the Mid Rim.”

“I participated in a number of anti-piracy campaigns as a junior officer, yes,” I admitted. “But as Your Excellency says, as a senior and flag officer, I know only the role of a staff officer…”

“…and how will commanding officers perform their duties properly,” the Emperor interrupted, still with that grandfatherly tone. “Without a dutiful and competent staff to manage the details for them?”

“…I see your point, Your Excellency.” I said with a bow.

The Emperor smiled grandly. “I will not lie to you, my friend.” He said. “This campaign will test you, both as your first fleet command, and as I have foreseen. But, great achievements cannot come without overcoming equally-great challenges. Tell me, admiral: do you think you have what it takes to demonstrate the…obsolescence, of Vandron’s idiosyncrasies…?”

“…I know I do, Your Excellency.” I said after a moment drawing myself back up to parade posture.

“Good, good,” the Emperor said, before his smile acquired a hint of menace to it. “You are as I have heard from your father. I look forward to hearing of your successes as much as he does, I am sure.”

“I will make every effort to be worthy of your trust, Your Excellency.” I said with another bow, but feeling a pit of dread open up in my stomach. That was a thinly-veiled threat if I’d ever heard one, aimed not just at myself, but also at my father.

I absolutely cannot mess this up.

“Excellent!” the Emperor said while clapping his hands with approval. “Then you may go, admiral. On your return to the admiralty, you will receive the relevant paperwork to confirm your appointment, after which you may begin with your new responsibilities.”

I bowed once more to the Emperor, who waved me off before turning his throne away, back towards the window behind him. I turned sharply under the watchful, outwardly-inhuman gazes of the Sovereign Protectors around the Emperor’s throne, and marched back down the way I came.

Force…I’ve got my work cut out for me.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

I marched down one of the hallways in the family residence on Imperial Center, the walls finished with pale-blue plaster, and hung with oil portraits in gilded frames at regular intervals. There were also marble busts or glazed porcelains on hardwood plinths, which were probably even more expensive than what was standing on them.

Crystal chandeliers provided bright and even light, while the thick, red carpet on the floor muffled all footsteps. And at the far end of the hallway, flanking a pair of wooden doors, were a pair of family guards, dressed in matching high-collar jackets and trousers of blue, with gold epaulets and a gold trimmed sash of white from their right shoulder to their left hip. Matching caps rested on their heads, bereft of any symbol or device, and both men saluted me as I approached.

I saluted them both instinctively, and then they both opened the doors for me. I stepped inside, and they closed it behind me as well.

My father’s sitting room was a well-furnished one, if still as elaborate as the rest of the residence, if not even more so. The walls were decorated with frescoes of idyllic scenes of pastoral life on distant Valyria, while hardwood shelves were stacked with books and other materials. There were portraits, sculptures, and busts, the first of those in gilded frames, and the latter all on hardwood plinths.

The floor was paneled with milky marble, shot through with swirling patterns of dark color. Chairs upholstered in red sat next to hardwood tables along the windows, looking out over the greenery of the grounds and then the towering security wall beyond, and more chairs and a couch stood in the middle of the room, around an even larger table.

Under them was one of the most expensive things in this house, practically priceless if my father was to be believed. A Ziostian carpet, made and obtained by the family during the Galactic Cold War some 3000 years or so ago.

How they managed to keep it hidden for so long from the Jedi and their obsession with destroying anything involved with the Sith was mind-boggling…

…though the fact that it had been kept in stasis for those millennia and then buried in the family vault on Valyria until recently might have been a major factor. That, and it was just a carpet. It wasn’t a holocron or an amulet or a sword or whatnot that could have been tainted by the Dark Side.

It was a carpet, primarily red, but also with elaborate, abstract embroidery in gold, white, and black.

“Welcome back.” Count Aelor Targarven said, sitting on the couch and working at a portable terminal, financial data scrolling past quickly. “I hear you were summoned to the upper palace today. Did something happen?”

Of course my father would have heard about that. He might only be of mid-rank as far as the nobility were concerned, but the Targaryens and the rest of the 40 Families of Valyria were old enough to be ranked among the so-called Old Houses, alongside such illustrious names as Organa, Vandron, and Garonin, among others.

He had a place in Court, and with it eyes and ears of his own. He also knew that entry to the upper palace was restricted to those with Court rank, or received special permission, and of course, palace staff and security. Even flag officers who didn’t have permission were limited to the lower palace, located underground and containing the Admiralty, the General Staff, and the Imperial High Command among other critical locations.

“The Emperor summoned me to an audience.” I said, taking off my officer’s cap before letting my hair loose of the ponytail it was usually held up in. Platinum strands immediately fell over my shoulders, which even now I couldn’t help but feel wonder at.

I’d been a brunette in my past life, and back then I’d always held a fascination for blonde hair. Oh, I’d experimented with hair dye and even bleach a few times, but it never satisfied me, never quite achieving that sense of wonder I felt at the sight of naturally-blonde hair.

In this life though, I was platinum-blonde, and despite having decades to get used to it, it still felt so amazing to look at in a mirror.

My father looked up in concern at my words, and soon rose to his feet to approach me. Genuine concern, for me and my health, and not just at how my audience with the Emperor might affect our fortunes at Court and elsewhere.

I smiled at him. “I’m just fine, father.” I said reassuringly. “His Excellency was most gracious, and the audience went as well as could be expected.”

My father sighed with relief, though he still reached out and squeezed my arms reassuringly. Though the memories of my other (?) father never completely faded, this man had filled that role for decades now, and had not only raised me and made sure I wanted for nothing, had also been there for me whenever I needed him.

Nor did he expect me to conform to some…backward, expectation of prim, proper, and ‘ladylike’ behavior.

So long as you know and understand what you’re doing, I’ll leave it up to you.

This whole family is your inheritance, so please do as you think best.

No matter what happens, I won’t regret it.

You shouldn’t be too concerned about House Targaryen. Instead, use House Targaryen as a tool, and think only of expanding your horizons.

Alright?

There was no question about it. Regardless of what had once been in another time and place, this man was my father here and now, and not simply because of bonds of blood.

“And?” father prompted. “What did the Emperor wish to speak to you about?”

“Uh…” I hesitated, only to give way to the concern in my father’s eyes. “Father, did you mention to His Excellency my…difficulties, in the past with…um…gender roles, in general Imperial society?”

Father’s eyes widened in surprise. “I have…a few times…” he admitted. “But always in passing, and never as a matter of course, much less as a serious subject for conversation. No offense…”

“None taken,” I reassured father again. “You never know when and where COMPNOR might be listening.”

Father nodded in agreement. “Why do you ask though?” he asked with some worry. “It has something to do with why the Emperor summoned you, didn’t it?”

“…His Excellency seems to consider COMPNOR’s opinions on gender roles a…idiosyncrasy…” I carefully said. “…and from the sound of things, His Excellency wishes for me to be model case to bring an end to it.”

“…unsurprising…” father admitted after a moment’s thought. “The Emperor might allow Lord Vandron free reign when it comes to setting COMPNOR’s policies, and even to rise to such influence as it currently possesses, but I dare to say the Emperor has his own opinions on the trends they set.”

“That much is obvious, at least when it comes to gender roles,” I said. “Considering Ysane Isard’s favored position not just in the Ubiqtorate, but also as a member of the Imperial Court.”

“Quite…” father agreed with a nod. Then folding his hands behind him, he stepped back, taking a deep breath while looking up at the frescoed ceiling, depicting the legendary Fourteen Flames of Ancient Valyria, bathed in golden light from the room’s chandelier. “I am glad for you. It seems you finally have the opportunity to prove your abilities beyond question, and with the Emperor’s support at that. Though, you must be careful as well.”

Father paused, and regarded me evenly with his violet eyes. I blinked, and met his eyes slightly-deferentially. Then he raised a hand, and put it on my shoulder.

“This will put you at great risk, and in more ways than one.” He said.

“Father?”

“Should you succeed,” father began. “Then you will be an unspoken criticism of Lord Vandron’s policies, and an indirect sanction from the Emperor himself. Indeed, I dare to say that may just be an angle of the Emperor’s design here, a means with which to check Lord Vandron’s great power and influence, and thus maintain the balance between the various factions within the Imperial Court.”

I blinked at that, and meeting father’s eyes resolutely, nodded. “And there is also the how the Emperor wishes for you to become a model case.” He continued. “No doubt it is a matter of great importance, but also of equal risk. Or am I wrong?”

“No,” I said with a shake of my head. “You are right. As His Excellency said, no great achievement comes with overcoming equally-great challenges.”

“That is undeniably true.” Father said with a nod. “That said, I still pray to the gods of our ancestors, or to any interested beings that exist out there, that you not only succeed, but come out of this sound and safe.”

“…father…”

Father sighed and shook his head. “When you decided to join the navy,” he began. “I knew and prepared myself for the possibility of you laying down your life in the line of duty. And I have been thankful that you have always returned in one piece, each and every time you went out to hunt pirates all those years ago.”

“And I will return again,” I said firmly. “With victory in hand. Lord Vandron will be displeased, but while I must and will watch my back, I will not cower, but stand proud. I will become Countess Targaryen in time, will I not? How can I do any less then, when our ancestors would turn in our graves if I did?”

Father chuckled and shook his head, before gently taking my chin and then kissing me on the forehead. “As fiery as ever,” he said. “Your mother would be so proud…but enough of this gloomy matter. Go and freshen up, then we’ll have dinner together. You can even tell me all about the Emperor’s command over our meal.”

I smiled and gave my father a small bow. “By your command, father.” I cheekily said.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“…the Emperor’s orders are clear and beyond question.” The holographic recording of the message from Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin said firmly as it floated above my desk in my office at the Admiralty. “You will have full authority with regard to the expected campaign through the Belsavis Gateway, and the New Territories beyond. Moff Zokor of the Bozhnee Sector has been appraised of the situation, and guarantees full cooperation and support. Requests for manpower, equipment, ships, and supplies among others, will be expedited as per Executive Directive 9066-6M. Nevertheless, in light of our positions and responsibilities with regard to the Bozhnee Sector and the greater Oversector Outer, we will expect monthly progress reports, in addition to the reports you will be sending to Imperial Center…”

“Grand Moff Tarkin sure loves the sound of his voice.” I thought to myself. I made sure to listen and understand, though. Grand Moff Tarkin might like the sound of his voice, but he was no fool, and he ran a tight ship in Oversector Outer. Well, up to a point: The Rebel Alliance operated with relative freedom out there, and to no small amount of annoyance for Grand Moff Tarkin.

Together with his…obsessive-compulsive, style of authoritarian government, I can understand why he was so…ruthless, at trying to stamp the Alliance out.

Not that it made the (future) destruction of Alderaan by the Death Star any less stupid. Even if Alderaan was one of the biggest covert supporters of the Alliance in the Core Systems, that was precisely what it was: A Core World. And not just any Core World, but one of the oldest and most respected, with a place in galactic history dating back to before the founding of the Galactic Republic twenty-five thousand years ago.

Still…that was a matter for the future. More importantly, Grand Moff Tarkin wasn’t just grandstanding, he was making sure I knew and understood my place, that despite having been granted – and by Imperial Decree no less – full authority over the coming campaign, as Grand Moff of Oversector Outer and answering directly to the Emperor himself, his was still the greater authority in this region of the galaxy. His including Moff Zokor was a subtle demonstration of that.

Normally, as a mere moff who answered to the Imperial Ruling Council and not directly to the Emperor, my authority would have superseded that of Zokor’s. My mandate came directly from the Emperor, after all.

But Grand Moff Tarkin said Moff Zokor had a say, and as a grand moff, that was practically equal to an order from the Emperor himself. Unless the Emperor said otherwise of course, but what were the chances of that?

“…on a final note,” Grand Moff Tarkin said with a wintery smile. “Rest assured that Senator Borre of the Bozhnee Sector has been informed of the situation and his expectations thereof. You may proceed with your campaign plans without fear of undue and unnecessarily-restrictive oversight from the Imperial Senate.”

I snorted, and then actually smiled. Now there’s something I completely agreed with: no interference from those busybodies in the Imperial Senate who didn’t know a damn thing about waging war. While I might have welcomed a diplomatic resolution with the Federation had circumstances permitted, circumstances did not permit it, and so I’d rather get this over and done with without some prima donna, bleeding-heart politicians running around and making a mess of things.

“Though, I wonder how Grand Moff Tarkin dealt with Senator Borre.” I mused. “Bribery doesn’t seem his style…blackmail, maybe? Or an under-the-table deal of some kind, favor for a favor in the future, or something like that…oh well…none of my business, I suppose.”

Shrugging and turning off the holoprojector, I picked up one of the dataslates on my desk, and gave its contents a quick read-through. I did that for the next forty minutes, signing off on orders, reports, and updates, while sending off a number of messages and looking up various subjects on my terminal.

Then there was a knock on my door, and I set aside the report I’d been reading about a requisition order for 200 merchant freighters as part of the expeditionary force’s logistics train. “Enter.” I curtly said.

The doors slid open, and my adjutant, Lieutenant Sara Londes, entered with a salute, followed by a man with a flag officer’s rank plaque and code cylinders. “Please excuse the interruption.” Sara said as I stood and returned her salute. “But Rear Admiral Yaggos has arrived, and you asked earlier that he be shown in on his arrival.”

“Yes, of course” I said, saluting the rear admiral, who saluted back. “You may return to your station, lieutenant.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said while saluting, and then turning sharply left my office. I gestured to one of the seats in front of my desk, and sat down on my chair, hands folded over my lap.

“So,” I began. “How was the journey back to Imperial Center?”

“Without incident, thank you.” The man said with a curt nod. I smiled and nodded.

“I see.” I said, before taking one of the dataslates on my desk. “Torrhen Yaggos…born 28 BrS, graduated tenth in the Naval Academy Class of Year 2, served as a military policeman for the Republic Navy in the lead up to the Clone Wars, stationed on a variety of ships and bases across the galaxy. At the start of the war, you transferred to logistics, and served as a staff officer at Republic High Command for the rest of the war. At war’s end, you entered the academy at Corulag, and graduated two years ago majoring in logistics. And until a few days ago, you were the commanding officer for the Onderon Naval Base.”

“That is an accurate summation of my military career thus far.” Torrhen said with a nod.

“Then I will get straight to the point.” I said, and sitting forward, placed my hands on the desk. “Rear Admiral Yaggos, I would offer you the position of Chief of Staff for the Imperial Expeditionary Force that I will be leading into the New Territories.”

The man sat silent for a few moments, and then taking a deep breath, drew himself up. “I accept.” He said.

“You won’t even ask about the details before doing so?” I asked with a small smile. “And you’ll be comfortable serving under someone younger than you are?”

“The latter should be of no concern to a military officer.” Torrhen answered. “If high command has determined you are suitable for a command role, then it is not my place to question their judgment.”

“I see. And the details?”

“…seeing as this is the first time I’ve ever heard about the New Territories, much less an expedition therein, I can reasonably assume you would not have given me any answers unless I accepted your offer first.”

“And you think you can back out even after I tell you all about them?” I asked.

“Permission to speak freely, ma’am?” Torrhen asked back.

I sat back in my seat. “Granted.” I said.

“This expedition,” he began. “No matter where it’s headed or how, is likely to be incredibly-dangerous, if it hasn’t been publicly-announced yet, or even released to the Admiralty in general. But danger and death are a given when it comes to being a soldier, no matter the time or place. We don’t go out of our way to find them, but when we do find them, then we face them as we must. And if soldiers’ lives must be lost…then it must be made sure the losses count for something.”

I stared at the man for several long moments, and then nodded. “I see.” I said. “Very well said, rear admiral.”

“May I ask a question, admiral?” Torrhen asked.

“By all means.” I invited him.

“Why did you select me as your chief of staff?” he asked.

“You had seniority among the list of qualified candidates I was presented.” I answered. “There’s also your background in logistics, which I consider to be the most important part of any campaign or expedition. And then there’s your wartime experience in the Clone Wars. Even if not on the bridge of a ship, or on a battlefield except perhaps during the Battle of Coruscant, it’s still a valuable one, especially as it was in a role overseeing the whole combat zone that was the galaxy during that war. Based on all that…it wasn’t a difficult decision.”

“…I see.” Torrhen said after a long moment. “Come to think of it, admiral, you too have a background in logistics, do you not?”

“So I do.” I said with a nod. “Though unlike you, I lack combat experience aside from hunting some pirates along the Mid Rim, and that was years ago. And managing logistics across the galaxy in peacetime is completely different from doing so in war.”

Torrhen chuckled. “It seems we complement each other well, admiral.” He said. “I look forward to serving under you.”

I nodded back. “As do I.” I said, before bringing up some classified data, and unlocking them with my code cylinders. “Now then, I will explain our upcoming expedition, so you can begin with your new responsibilities as soon as possible, rear admiral.”

“By all means, admiral.”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

The Belsavis Gateway was rather underwhelming, truth be told. I’d expected a wormhole to be, well, dramatic in appearance, like that wormhole near Deep Space Nine. A circular pattern of golden waves rippling out from a central point, said central point a shaft of blinding light bursting out into space and leading into, well, the wormhole. A space between spaces, if that meant anything.

Okay, maybe that was unfair. The Belsavis Gateway had its moments, specifically when ships were going in or out of the wormhole. If they went in, the wormhole had the appearance of a golden spiral, falling inwards to a central point. If they went out…okay, then the Belsavis Gateway had an appearance matching that of Deep Space Nine’s wormhole, if slightly more subdued.

Though only if you looked at it from the front or back. Look at it from the side – assuming you could achieve a perfect perpendicular angle – and the wormhole was actually invisible. In fact, when the wormhole was at rest, you wouldn’t even know it was there, just a circular patch of empty space rippling like a pond of oily water, distorting any light falling on it.

In hindsight, maybe I was being even more unfair, as to my knowledge the wormhole at Deep Space Nine was completely invisible when inactive. In contrast, the Belsavis Gateway had at least some visibility when at rest.

I blinked as the Belsavis Gateway came active, and a pair of Carrack Class Light Cruisers emerged, returning from another patrol of the system on other side. The rest of the flotilla followed soon after, six CR90 Corvettes.

Ten such patrol flotillas were present on the other side of the Belsavis Gateway at any one time, for a total of one hundred and eighty ships. Yes, they were light ships, but quantity was a quality of its own.

Especially since while a Carrack had armament typical for its size and class, its speed and endurance were comparable to fighters and capital ships respectively. If anyone on the other side decided to make trouble, the sheer number of CR90s backed by a solid force of Carracks would be enough to deal with them.

Or if they couldn’t, help was only a simple subspace transmission away, and a fast attack force would arrive in less than an hour.

Yes, subspace transmissions. That caught me by surprise too, but apparently Star Wars also used subspace communications. In fact, they were the primary means of FTL communications between civilian starships, as ever since the rise of the Empire the holonet had been restricted for military and government use.

Even then, from the Deep Core to the Mid Rim, sector, system, and planetary governments supplemented their holonet communications with localized subspace networks, and further networked them with each other for increased coverage and range. And on the Outer Rim, where the holonet had never been extended, subspace communications were the only FTL communications available, barring courier ships.

Military and government ships too kept secondary subspace communication capabilities, just in case.

The sound of footsteps shook me out of the reverie I tended to fall into while standing on the command deck of my Star Destroyer, the result of the hypnotic sight of the starscape beyond the great transparisteel windows, and the background hum of computers and men at work across the bridge. I turned and accepted the offered dataslate from my adjutant with a nod.

“The 62nd Patrol Flotilla has completed its current assignment,” Sara said, summarizing the report she’d just given me, like the good staff officer that she was. “No incidents to report, all ten probe droids deployed as planned.”

“And how many probe droids have we sent out so far?” I asked while flipping through the dataslate.

“Thus far we have deployed a total of eight hundred probe droids through the other side of the wormhole.” Sara answered. “Hyperspace mapping is proceeding as planned, and we have discovered a number of inhabited worlds on the other side. Still no contact with a local government, though.”

“Assuming they know there’s someone to contact.” I pointed out.

That was actually something that made me curious. If I remember right, didn’t the Federation have a subspace sensor network spread across their whole territory? They should have detected us and the Belsavis Gateway by now.

Of course, I could just be overestimating the Federation’s capabilities. Space was vast, and from what I recall things slipped through their nets even in areas where the Federation kept an especially close eye out, like along the Neutral Zone.

Perhaps the subspace network didn’t cover the whole of Federation territory, and only contested space? If so, we might have emerged in the Federation’s metaphorical backside, a knife aimed at their back without them realizing it.

That, or we were in another part of the galaxy. That was fine. I wouldn’t mind blowing the Jem’Hadar out of the stars, before bombing them and their so-called Founders back into the Stone Age. Oh, I didn’t completely buy into COMPNOR’s tripe about Human supremacy and all that, but there were just some species that were so…

…vile, that I couldn’t help but wonder if COMPNOR had a point.

The Hutts for one. Trandoshans for another. Then there were the Anzati (though I’ve never met one, and I never wanted to), plus the Sand People (again, I’ve never met them, but whenever I remember poor Shmi I couldn’t help but cheer Anakin – Lord Vader – on as he slaughtered them like the animals that they were)…

…and in the Star Trek universe, there’s the Kazon, the Borg (except Seven and those other drones on Voyager, but only because they weren’t really drones anymore), and the aforementioned Dominion…

…anyway…

“What’s the status of the fortifications on the other side?” I asked.

“We should be finished within the next seventy-two hours.” Sara replied. “Assuming nothing interferes with construction, of course.”

“That’s what the monitors are for.” I said. “And their escorts, of course. Inform the engineers I want those Golan-IIs operational within seventy-two hours. They can fine-tune and everything else afterwards so long as they’re combat-capable and the CGTs are up and running.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod, and at my returning nod, smartly strode off to relay my orders.

Turning back to the windows, my eyes homed in on the nine Golan-II Battle Stations on this side of the Belsavis Gateway, positioned around the wormhole in such a way to cover for each other and ensuring any enemy that managed to get through the wormhole wouldn’t be able to find any blind spots to pass through or attack one or more battle stations from. Not that I was so stupid as to rely completely on static defenses, of course.

I refuse to become the Star Wars version of Field Marshal Maurice Gamelin, who gambled everything on the Maginot Line and ended up handing France to Hitler on a silver platter neatly tied up with a pretty pink bow.

Each Golan-II had been assigned supporting forces composed of six Victory-I Class Star Destroyers. Old ships, slow by modern standards, but very reliable for all that, and still packing firepower, shields, and armor worthy of the designation ‘Star Destroyer’.

Perfect for the role of monitors, they provided tactical flexibility for the Golan-IIs, while adding additional firepower against any potential enemy. And then there were the escort forces, eighteen CR90s for every two Victory-Is as screens, and another four Nebulon-Bs each to cover their rears.

Of course, this assumed any enemy that came through came with the intention of fighting and securing this side of the wormhole. Alternatively, they could just go to warp or hyperspace the moment they passed through…

…well, there was the reason I had six Detainer CC-2200s – the first class of what would be known as interdictor cruisers – around this area of space, and another twelve hanging further back just in case. Any ship that tried to escape to warp or hyperspace after running the wormhole would be facing an unpleasant surprise.

Of course, they could just blow their way out of the trap by knocking out the interdictors, but considering the weight of firepower built up around the wormhole, what were the chances of that?

Still, best not to take chances. Two Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers each guarded a single interdictor, screened by another eighteen CR 90s, and with their rears guarded by Nebulon-B Escort Frigates.

At the thought of the sheer amount of firepower I had available – and that was before the rest of the expeditionary force was factored in – I smiled at a thought coming to mind, a memory from my past life, a quote from Philippe Petain, Marshal of France.

Firepower kills.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several days later, when I was conducting an inspection of one the Golan-II Battle Stations set up on the other side of the Belsavis Gateway, Starfleet finally came calling.

“What a strange design…” Sara mused next to me, as we stood on the station’s command deck, looking across space to where a trio of ships hung in space.

After spending decades living and making a name for myself in the Star Wars universe, I was inclined to agree. I guess I just got used to the style of starships there, that here in the Star Trek universe – or was it galaxy? – their style of ship design came off as strange. That, and the part of me trained and experienced as a navy officer began looking for weaknesses in the general design.

The struts connecting the nacelles to the engineering block were obvious weaknesses. The same went for the bridge between the saucer-shaped main hull and the cylindrical engine section. Granted, the same could be said for a Star Destroyer’s bridge tower, but the bridge tower had mass, something that the bridge between the main hull and the engine section of Federation starships didn’t quite have.

The ship’s bridge was dangerously-exposed on top of the dorsal hull, though in that case I can’t really complain. The same could be said about the command decks of Imperial warships, after all.

And finally, the design of Federation ships as a whole made for big targets from the front, and weren’t very efficient when it came to pointing as many guns as possible at an enemy. Then again, Federation ships were exploration and science vessels first, and warships second.

Something that would haunt them here and now, to be sure.

“We’re receiving a transmission.” One of the communications crew reported. “But it’s not in any language we recognize.”

“Unsurprising,” I said. “We’re no longer in our galaxy, after all. It’d be unreasonable, stupid even, to assume the people here speak Basic.”

“What should we do, admiral?” the station commander asked.

I hummed in thought, crossing my arms over my chest while thinking it over. I recognized two of the ships, Excelsior Classes if I remember right, flanking the one in the middle and forward. That one I couldn’t recognize, but I’d bet money based on that alone that we were probably in the 24th Century.

The Excelsior Class had been the most advanced ship in Starfleet during the 23rd Century, and probably numbered only a few vessels. And it’d be at the head of any force like what we were facing now, not providing escort duty.

Of course I could be wrong, but I don’t think I am.

“Status of the unknowns?” I asked.

The station commander conferred with the sensor station, and returned to me after a few moments. “Their shields appear to be down, and their weapons are offline.” He said. “They’re repeatedly sending the same message to us though, and sending us a fairly-large data packet.”

“Containment?” I asked.

The man nodded. “As per standard cyberwarfare procedures for all receiving ships and facilities.” He said, and I nodded back in approval.

Not that there was anything to worry about, that data packet was probably just a first contact package, and the repeating transmissions greetings and requests for diplomatic negotiations. “…brave men…” I murmured.

“Ma’am?” the station commander asked.

“Unless these people are completely incompetent,” I said. “They’d have noticed the sheer amount of firepower present here. And yet, here they are. With their shields down and weapons offline…a shame…but we have our orders, and our duty to fulfil to the Empire.”

“As you say, ma’am.” The station commander said with a nod.

“Signal the Courageous.” I ordered.

“Ma’am?” the station commander asked, looking and sounding confused.

“Golan-II’s don’t have ion cannons, commander.” I said. “But Imperial Class ships do. Signal Courageous, and have them use the ship’s ion cannons to knock out those ships’ systems. Then target their engines with turbolasers. Leave them dead in the water. Afterwards, have Stormtroopers board and capture as many crew and officers as possible. I want prisoners to interrogate, and computers to dissect.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The station commander said, rushing to relay my orders.

“Well…” I thought to myself. “It’s not like I can avoid having to go to war, and fighting Starfleet. That was part of our pact, wasn’t it, Q? Might as well get it over with.”

I turned my eyes to my flagship, the Imperial Class Star Destroyer Courageous. Imperial-I Class to be specific, as the Imperial-II wouldn’t be laid down for another fifteen or so years. The same went for the Executor Class Star Dreadnought, with the Mandator and Mandator-II being the most fearsome vessels in the fleet today.

I’d been tempted to request a Mandator-II for a flagship, but instead decided to stick with an Imperial instead. I hadn’t really done anything of note, so asking for a Star Dreadnought might made have me look out of place. Oh, I’m sure the Emperor would have been amused, but the rest of the powers-that-be though…

…yeah, never mind.

I looked on as blue beams of light lanced from the Courageous, and struck all three ships. Lights flashed across their hulls, even as their engines, windows, and running lights went dark, and then green bolts flashed across space, striking at the drifting Federation vessels’ engine sections.

Explosions of flame and debris fountained into space…

…and then I was shielding my eyes, as did Sara and everyone else looking through the command deck’s windows.

“What the hell happened?” the station commander demanded from his bridge crew, technicians, junior officers, and enlisted hurriedly checked their stations.

“If I may say so, admiral,” Sara began. “Those ships’ reactors must have gone critical.”

“So it would seem, Sara.” I said, while rubbing a temple with my fingers.

Federation warp cores and their famous volatility. And hypermatter is supposed to be even more dangerous than antimatter? Ha!

“Well, there goes my prisoners and sliced computers.” I said with a sigh. “That said, there are other sources of information, as per the operational plan.”

“As you say, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod. I looked back out the windows, to where the cooling debris of three Federation vessels destroyed by warp core breaches drifted fast and free through space.

Then I was turning, as the station commander approached with a dataslate. “Our turbolasers cut through their hull like it wasn’t even there.” He said. “We must then have compromised their main reactors, resulting in their destruction.”

I nodded slowly while going through the report. “We don’t know if those were their best ships,” I began. “Or if they were even warships in the first place. For all we know they could have been diplomatic couriers.”

“And even if they were warships,” Sara pointed out. “Their shields were down.”

The station commander looked skeptical. “Even if they were up against a Star Destroyer,” he said. “Those were surgical strikes. Against vessels of comparable role based on size…say, a Vindicator, they’d have caused damage, but would never have destroyed it. If those were warships, then I’m not impressed at all.”

“That may be so commander,” I said with a nod. “But let’s not get carried away with assumptions. Let’s do this properly, and show these people the full might of the Imperial Navy. It may seem like overkill now, but in the long-term, I’m sure it will only contribute to our cause.”

“Shock and awe.” Sara remarked, and the station commander nodded with a small smile.

“I see your point, ma’am.” He said.

I nodded back at him. “In any case,” she said. “I’ll continue with the inspection another day, prepare my shuttle, I’m returning to the Courageous. Hopefully our experts can crack whatever data these people sent us, and give us something to show for all this trouble beyond a field of debris in space.”

“Yes, ma’am!”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“And there she is!” Q flamboyantly greeted me as I walked into my quarters aboard the Courageous, and wearing an Imperial Grand Admiral’s uniform to boot. No surprise there, I suppose. “The Traveler from Another World, the Reborn Wanderer, the Gallant and Noble Conqueror of the Stars, Herald of Reformation and Champion of the New Order, Galactic Imperial Admiral Jaenera Targaryen!”

“Q…good to see you again, I suppose.”

Q tutted while waving a finger in the air. “If you’re going to say that,” he said while pacing around. “You should be more enthusiastic about it. Especially after all the trouble I went through to sweeten the deal, like making sure not one of your galaxy’s showboating telepaths and reality-renders figures out what you are. Especially that pompous old prune you call an Emperor. Or for that matter, giving you the appearance you were so very enamored with. Valyrians…I’ll admit your kind are exotic enough for Humans but still…”

Q trailed off with a shrug as he sat down in a nearby chair. “Considering you haven’t been in touch since we made that deal decades ago,” I said while taking off my cap and then sitting down opposite him. “I wasn’t really expecting you.”

“Now that’s quite an oversight on your part.” Q said while tapping his fingers together. “Still, you do seem to be living up to your end of the bargain, so I suppose I really have nothing to complain about.”

“Conquer the Federation, huh?” I said softly. “And? What about the rest of the Alpha Quadrant? Or this galaxy?”

Q laughed. “Our agreement was only to spare your life, and be reborn into another one with your sense of self effectively-unchanged,” he said. “Among other terms, in exchange for you steamrolling the grand and wonderful Federation. So long as that’s done, then our agreement’s done. You are free to live your life as you please. Though that makes me wonder, what will you do with your life?”

“What will be will be.” I said with a shrug, before smiling at the look of disappointment on Q’s face. “Though, I’ll take advantage of any opportunity I can get.”

Q pursed his lips at that, locking his fingers together while pressing the index ones against his chin. After a few moments, he shrugged. “A better answer than what I’d have gotten from some other characters.” He said. “Well, in that case, I’ll be taking my leave. I only really came here to say hi, see how an old friend was doing, and pass a few reminders along if needed. Glad to see the last isn’t, so…well then…”

“Wait!” I said, even as Q prepared to snap his fingers to leave. “Before you leave, I have a question.”

“And that is?”

“What’s your angle in this, Q?” I asked. “I remember enough – though I’ll admit it’s not very accurate, considering it was literally in another life, and some details are probably very different much like in the Emperor’s case – to know that you don’t actually act on a whim. At least, not completely, though even then there’s something else to it.”

“And she gets it!” Q said, clapping his hands, his applause joined by countless more as I found myself no longer in my quarters, but in the Imperial Senate on Imperial Center. Only instead of senators, the people in the surrounding alcoves were just ordinary people, as though an audience to a presentation or a play. And Q was no longer wearing a grand admiral’s uniform, but the Emperor’s robes of state. “You’d be surprised how so many people smarter than you are only able to see the surface. You? You’re just a girl in a dead end job who was dying because of a drunk driver who got reborn as a noblewoman-turned naval officer for an autocratic galaxy-spanning empire. Those other people were talented diplomats, experienced explorers, brilliant scientists all in one, born to a diverse culture that promotes a utopian society in pursuit of an idyllic future…but you managed to figure something out they couldn’t. And for that I’ll give you a straight answer.”

There was a flash of light, and we were on a beach…somewhere. “I told you earlier, didn’t I?” Q asked from where he was lying on a folding chair, sipping at a cocktail while staring at the sunset through a pair of sunglasses. You are the Herald of Reformation and Champion of the New Order. I think the people in this galaxy can learn a lot from you and those who follow you.”

“The New Order isn’t really…wait, no…look beneath the surface…”

“Admiral, you continue to impress.” Q said while toasting me and taking a long drink, before light flashed and we stood in my quarters again. “Yes, please, continue the thought.”

“…the New Order…” I hesitantly said. “Doesn’t necessarily have to mean the Emperor’s New Order. It can be anything I make of it, here and now, with the power I have to make it happen.”

“Congratulations!” Q said, taking my hand and shaking it vigorously. “Though you really should be more confident, you’re an Imperial Admiral for crying out loud. That aside, good on you for figuring it out! Yes, that’s what I want you to do. I want you to teach these people a few things, most important of all, how to live.”

I raised an eyebrow at that, and then snorted as I realized what he meant by that. “Easier said than done,” I said. “But doable.”

“Then I look forward to seeing how you do it.” Q said with an expectant smirk. “Until next time…right now, I’ve got things to do, and people to see. Bye-bye now.”

“Yeah…and thanks, for saving my life and giving this chance to start over.”

“Ah…gratitude…so very rare…and so very much more appreciated because of that…”

There was a flash of light, and then Q was gone. Alone with myself, I sighed, and walked off to get a change of clothes.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

Preceded by TIE Fighter squadrons, Imperial dropships burned through the planet’s atmosphere, escorted by close-flying Skipray Blastboats. Breaking through the upper atmosphere in a matter of minutes, they homed in on the colony below, sprawling out along the shores of a narrow sea cutting into the depths of a hot and arid peninsula.

Stormtrooper Sergeant GG-1792 checked his blaster carbine, followed by his armor’s seals, before looking out the viewport as they approached the drop site. The dropships were flying in now, Skiprays still flying close, though smoke was rising across the colony from where TIE Fighters had launched strafing runs.

Then he was gripping his harness, as particle beams of some kind lanced up from the colony, splattering against the Skiprays’ shields or scoring burns against the dropships’ armor. “Hang on back there.” The pilot spoke over the general frequency. “Taking evasive action.”

“Acknowledged.” GG-1792 said. He kept an eye on the viewport, watching other dropships and Skiprays weaving back and forth, then two of the latter were opening fire with their dorsal laser cannons. A third opened fire with proton torpedoes, the impacts flooding an entire block with crimson plasma that had the surrounding buildings all but literally melting in on themselves.

He saw AT-STs advancing up an elevated road cutting across the colony, accompanied by more Stormtroopers, the harsh desert Sun flashing brightly off their armor. Then GG-1792’s dropship was banking and turning in a wide circle, before slowing and coming to a halt over a square.

“Stormtroopers, move!” GG-1792 barked as the door hissed open, and kicking a coiled cable over the edge in the same breath. In the next moment he was sliding down, landing in a crouch and looking down his carbine’s sights. More Stormtroopers dropped down around him, and then the squad was advancing, moving from cover to cover as they hurried through an alley.

“Sergeant GG-1792,” Lieutenant Blyck began over the platoon frequency. “Your squad’s target will be a building housing a network server within the surrounding district. Eliminate all hostiles, and secure all the data backups. Hardware recovery is secondary. Once data backups are secure, standby for additional orders.”

“Acknowledged, lieutenant.” GG-1792 said as his helmet’s HUD displayed the objective marker on a small map. “Squad, proceed as ordered.”

“Acknowledged!” the squad chorused.

Making their way down the alley, they arrived at the server building, built at an unusual angle sloping up against a hill. Two Stormtroopers immediately moved to flanking positions, while a third Stormtrooper attached a breaching charge to the door. The rest of the squad assumed a semi-circular position, carbines aimed at the door.

“Breaching!” Lance Corporal CR-7954 said as he pressed the trigger, and blowing the door apart in a burst of flame, smoke, and debris.

“Hostiles!” Private LQ-3418 shouted a breath before the squad opened fire, gunning down two men behind a makeshift barricade a short distance from the door. The barricade had been battered by the door’s destruction, but it had held, not that it did the men behind it much good. They were slow, either poorly-trained or inexperienced, lacked armor of any kind, and armed with only side-arms.

“Humans?” Corporal IB-3631 said in confusion as her fire-team took point. The dead men certainly looked like it, though their long-sleeved uniforms, mostly black but for the yellow around their shoulders and chests that might obscure non-Human features.

“Looks like it, ma’am.” LQ-3418 said.

“Never mind that for now.” GG-1792 cut in. “Focus on the mission, and leave that stuff to the eggheads after the battle.”

“Yes, sir.” The squad chorused, as they moved up.

“Switching to thermal.” Senior Private ER-7760 said as he took the lead, cautiously moving with an eye looking down his carbine’s sights. “Ambush up ahead. UX-5999, put a thermal detonator around that corner up ahead. I’ll cover you.”

“Standby…” Senior Private First Class UX-5999 said while taking his thermal detonator from behind his waist, and typing in his personal code, armed it with a five-second delay. “…fire in the hole!”

The thermal detonator flew through the air, struck the wall at an angle, and flying off, exploded a couple of seconds later. “Advancing!” ER-7760 and UX-5999 chorused as they charged forward, and entered a large room with two long tables in the middle, flanked by a pair of benches each. Two more corpses were slumped over the floor, smoke rising from burned flesh and cloth alike.

Thudding from the side caught the squad’s attention, and turning, opened fire without hesitation at a man in blue and black emerging from a side room. The man fell with a cry, side-arm falling with a clatter. “CR-7954,” GG-1792 barked. “Check that room. HQ-2553 and HS-9997, cover him.”

“Yes, sir.” They chorused, the three Stormtroopers moving off as the rest of the squad surrounded the door on the far side of the room. As they moved in, ER-7760 noticed something behind a crate, and raising his carbine fired once.

Smoke rose into the air as a blue-skinned alien with a pair of tentacles or whatnot above his eyes fell from where it’d been hiding behind a crate, wearing a red and black uniform. “…that’s a pretty bad spot for an ambush.” LQ-3418 remarked.

“Not an ambush,” IB-3631 said. “Hiding…though still a bad spot for all that.”

“Thermal shows five hostiles in the other room.” ER-7760 said. “Watch your fire, looks like all the servers are in there.”

“CR-7954,” GG-1792 said. “Stay back for now. We’ll need you to get those backups. No point in getting shot at before you get a chance to finish our orders.”

“Acknowledged, sir.”

“Corporal, take your fire team to other side of the room, and clear it out.” GG-1792 continued. “We’ll take care of this side.”

“Yes, sir.”

“HQ-2553 and HS-9997, take cover behind that server.” GG-1792 said. “We’ll cover you from here. Ready…move!”

Exposing the bare minimum of his body around the doorframe, GG-1792 opened fire with his carbine along with two other Stormtroopers. Down the hall, a trio of men in red and black took cover behind a barricade, and returned fire as best they could. HQ-2553 and HS-9997 dashed across the space between the door and the nearest server, and taking cover, added their fire to the rest of the fire-team’s barrage.

“Corporal, move!” GG-1792 barked.

“Moving!” IB-3631 shouted, and rushing past with her fire-team to the far side of the room. Making it there in one piece, the sounds of more gunfire filled the air, as the corporal flanked the enemy’s position. Less than a minute later, and the position across the room came under fire from the side, gunning down the three men behind the barricade in a matter of seconds. “Clear!”

“All clear, no casualties.” GG-1792 said while taking his fire-team to rendezvous with the corporal.

“No casualties, but we came close.” IB-3631 reciprocated. “LQ-3418 took a hit to the face. If not for his shields, he’d be dead.”

“Lucky him,” GG-1792 said before turning to the squad’s baby. “Watch yourself, private. Our armor’s shields take a lot of time to recharge.”

“Yes, sir.” LQ-3418 said with a nod, and the sergeant was turning away.

“CR-7954, start on those backups.” he said. “This battle isn’t over just yet.”

“Yes, sir.” The lance corporal said, stowing his carbine before pulling out his slicing kit. As the other Stormtrooper worked on the servers, the sergeant made contact with the platoon commander.

“Servers are secure.” GG-1792 reported. “We are securing backups as we speak, standing by for new orders.”

“Acknowledged, sergeant.” Lieutenant Blyck said. “Hold position until data is secure, then rendezvous with the rest of the platoon at the following coordinates.”

GG-1792 nodded as his HUD updated his map. “Acknowledged, sir.” He said, before turning back to the lance corporal. “Hurry up over there, CR-7954. We’ve got new orders once you’re done.”

“Understood, sir. Working as fast as I can.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Rear Admiral Genn Arnarr was standing on his flagship’s bridge, when the captain moved up to him. “Admiral,” the man began. “We’ve detected twenty-four ships dropping out of light-speed, and moving on an intercept course.”

“So the locals have responded in force.” Genn said with a nod. “As expected; signal the fleet, take a line formation, and prepare for engagement.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain said before hurrying off. The rear admiral turned back to the windows, eyes narrowing at growing specks of light in the distance.

“They’re fast.” His adjutant remarked.

“Yes…” Genn agreed with a slow nod. “…I wonder…”

“Sir…?”

Genn did not reply at once, instead focusing on his fleet’s tactical disposition. At the heart of it was what Admiral Targaryen had called a fast attack force, composed of either four Star Destroyers or Heavy Cruisers, and escorted by at least six Light Cruisers and sixteen Corvettes. Then there were the supporting elements, powerful flotillas of at least one Star Destroyer or Heavy Cruiser escorted by at least sixteen Corvettes.

For his part, Genn’s fast attack force was centered around four Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers, and included three support flotillas for a total of seventy-seven ships. Not quite a full fleet by the standards of the Clone Wars, but certainly more than most commanders had to work with when hunting down pirates or rebels.

And just as certainly more than able to take control of the colony below, and fend off the natives’ response.

“Status of the enemy fleet?” Genn asked as his adjutant received a report from a fellow junior officer.

“It appears to be composed of sixteen ships of the Bogey-Two type,” the adjutant replied. “And eight ships of the Bogey-One type.”

“Prioritize the Bogey-Ones.” Genn immediately said. “Based on the previous engagement at the Belsavis Gateway, the Bogey-Ones are likely the enemy’s heavy-hitters. The rest are probably just escorts. Either way, blow them out of the stars.”

“Yes, sir.”

Genn nodded and then narrowed his eyes. “Send out a squadron of TIE Fighters.” He said. “Have them focus on the enemy’s lead ship. Let’s see how those ships respond.”

“Yes, sir.”

Genn nodded again, and looked back out the windows. Barely a minute later, and he watched as a squadron of twelve TIE Fighters soared out in the direction of the enemy. They reached engagement range in less than fifteen minutes, and spreading out, opened fire on the lead enemy ship.

Laser rounds splattered against the enemy’s shields…

…and on the flagship’s bridge, Genn, his adjutant, and the captain gaped. “Are those really capital ships?” the captain breathed. “They’re maneuvering like fighters!”

“I suspected they were more agile than most.” Genn said, biting back the bitter taste of surprise. “But not this fast. Pull the remaining fighters back. Those ships are well-shielded, the fighters’ cannons won’t be of much use.”

“Yes, sir.” The captain said before relaying the order. In the distance, the remaining fighters received the retreat order, and zoomed away, having lost half of their number to the enemy’s orange-colored particle beams. But even as they retreated, one of the enemy ships launched a volley of flashing torpedoes, shooting down another four TIE Fighters with ease.

“Ten fighters lost.” The captain reported with a grimace. “The enemy ships have reformed their formation, and are closing at high speed.”

“Their sacrifice is not without benefit.” Genn said. “I suspect the enemy’s doctrine follows a principle of being able to move quickly while striking hard, at the expense of durability. Signal the fleet, all heavy cruisers are to focus fire on one ship at a time, and destroy them one by one. Light cruisers and corvettes are to guard our flanks, and force the enemy ships into the heavy cruisers’ line of fire. Has the enemy launched fighters?”

“No fighters, sir.” The adjutant replied as the captain relayed the admiral’s orders.

“Hold off on launching additional fighters for now.” Genn said. “Keep them on standby though, along with TIE Bomber squadrons.”

“Yes, sir.” The adjutant said. The minutes ticked by, and then Genn’s eyes narrowed as the enemy ships closed. “Here they come: engage!”

The Imperial Fleet opened up, turbolasers filling the void of space with emerald-green lances. The enemy ships danced clear of most of the shots, and returned fire with their own particle beams.

“Direct hit on our shields.” A bridge crewman on the flagship reported to his section chief. “Minimal energy lost…another direct hit…another direct hit…whatever those beams are, they’ve less power behind them than a single turbolaser strike.”

Then a volley of torpedoes raked the flagship’s dorsal shields, and this time, the cruiser shook from the force of explosions. “Particle shielding down to seventy-two per cent!” the same crewman from before said. “Sir, their particle beams are nothing special, but those torpedoes of theirs are comparable to our proton rockets!”

“Haven’t you gotten the range in yet?” the captain roared at the weapons section.

“Our gunners are compensating as we speak, sir.” The section chief reported.

Moments later, and a trio of batteries on the flagship focused on the closest enemy vessel. Then they fired, along with several other batteries from the other cruisers in the fast attack force. Lances of green smashed into the enemy ship’s shields from multiple angles, the shields holding against the first few impacts, then collapsing, caused the ship to crumple as turbolasers blew huge chunks clean off the saucer-shaped dorsal hull. Molten holes in the cylindrical ventral hull leaked plasma, air, and bodies, the ship losing speed and falling out of formation before another volley of turbolasers reduced the ship to a blinding flash of light in space.

The battle continued, and within the next fifteen minutes, two more enemy ships had been knocked out of the enemy battle line, struggling to get away. Cover from the remaining ships kept them safe…at first.

“Launch fighters and bombers.” Genn ordered. “Have the former fly interference for the latter, and sink those retreating ships with proton torpedoes. And signal our escorts: feel free to close the door behind us.”

The adjutant smiled in understanding. “Yes, sir.” He said.

In response, twelve CR90 Corvettes banked along their x-axes, and bringing over a hundred turbolasers to bear, fired a volley each at the two retreating ships. Molten holes were burned straight through the two ships, plasma and debris spraying into space, before they exploded into blinding flashes of light.

Elsewhere, TIE Fighters and TIE Bombers took their revenge, the former strafing retreating ships while the latter launched volleys of proton torpedoes. One of the enemy ships had its entire dorsal hull torn apart by a volley of proton torpedoes, while another was sent reeling as a TIE Fighter blew out the ship’s bridge section.

In just over forty minutes of battle, all twenty-four enemy ships were destroyed. No Imperials ships were lost, though twenty TIE Fighters and twelve TIE Bombers were destroyed. And more importantly, at least thirty enemy escape pods were scattered across the battlefield.

“Secure those escape pods and their occupants.” Genn ordered. “I’m sure they can tell us a few useful things.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The blasting charge blew the door and part of the frame inwards, and the Stormtroopers charged in. Three of them went down, courtesy of six men behind a barricade to the left, who while still lacking armor of any kind, now carried heavy rifles instead of just side-arms.

None of the dropped Stormtroopers were actually dead, though. Their shields and armor took the brunt of the blasts, though they were out of the fight until they could spend some time in a bacta tank.

Other Stormtroopers laid down a withering volley of suppressing fire, lying prone or crouched on the ground, while another Stormtrooper tossed a thermal detonator over the barricade. It exploded, killing all six defenders, and even tossing the bloody and burned corpse of one of them at the Stormtroopers. Pulling their injured out of the way, the Stormtroopers moved on.

“Kriff,” ER-7760 cursed. “Server room up ahead. Thermal indicates six more men inside, taking cover behind the stacks.”

“Watch your fire.” GG-1792 ordered. “Take them out one by one.”

Stepping through the doors, the Stormtroopers split in two, one fire-team going to the left and another to the right. Three each took cover just around the nearest stack’s edge, and then exposing themselves the least they could, laid down suppressing fire.

The remaining Stormtroopers inched their way along the walls, firing precise shots as they flushed the enemy out of cover. One more Stormtrooper went down, his breastplate melted through, but alive for all that.

“Room clear!” ER-7760 said loudly. “Main control room on the other side of those doors, multiple hostiles.”

“ZI-3668,” GG-1792 ordered. “Break the window on the right down, and set up that E-Web. Cover us!”

“Yes, sir.”

Superior Privates ZI-3668 and IX-2236 holstered their carbines, and blowing the window open with a side-arm, set up the heavy weapon. Some of the defenders noticed, and made to stop them, only to run into a volley of fire from the other Stormtroopers.

In less than a minute, the E-Web was ready, and laying down a murderous volley of fire. Consoles exploded while partitions simply turned to molten chunks under the volley of fire. “Corporal!” GG-1792 ordered. “Take your fire-team, and secure that room over there as a strongpoint! The rest of the platoon is coming in, so we hold our position, and catch the enemy in a crossfire once the lieutenant arrives!”

“Yes, sir!” IB-3631 said, before taking point. Barely avoiding fire from the defenders, she skidded to a halt in a crouch against the wall to one side of the office door. It hissed open, exposing an alien in red and black aiming at her, but the corporal was faster.

The alien cried out as IB-3631’s blaster blew his chest out, and then the two women in the room screamed as IB-3631 gunned them down as well. “Clear!” she shouted, leading her fire-team into the room. Blowing out the window on the right, she and her fire-team opened fire took cover behind the low wall, while firing through the window.

Despite the Stormtroopers’ superior firepower and strong positions, the defenders somehow managed to hold on for several more minutes, before the doors to the left of IB-3631’s position blew open. The rest of the platoon poured out, opening fire as they went, then a rocket flew across the room and blew up the defenders’ main point, sending bodies in yellow and black flying. Soon after, another E-Web opened up, and in less than two minutes, the room was clear.

“Room secure!” Lieutenant Blyck said, distinctive with his colored pauldrons, unlike the rest of the Stormtroopers in uniform black and white. “Sergeant, secure the upper level. We’ll handle the rest down here.”

“We have wounded in the back…” GG-1792 began.

“We’ll take care of them, now move, sergeant.” The lieutenant interrupted.

“Yes, sir.” GG-1792 said with a nod. “Let’s move, squad!”

The squad followed their sergeant as he trotted through the ruined control room, and then through a pair of doors on the far side of the room. They went down another hallway, through a pair of doors, and into a wide room with glass walls looking to the outside. There, they saw AT-STs standing watch outside, along with another dropship bringing in more troops.

“Smell that?” IB-3631 asked.

“Smell what?” CR-7954 asked.

“Smells like victory to me.” IB-3631 replied.

“That it does,” GG-1792 agreed. “But let’s not celebrate just yet. Double-time Stormtroopers!”

“Sir, yes, sir!” the squad chorused, following the sergeant up the stairs, across another wide room, and through a pair of doors, down another hallway.

“Thermal’s got nothing through most doors except the last one.” ER-7760 said. “Three heat signatures, plus a lot of electronics.”

“CR-7954,” GG-1792 began. “Set up a blasting charge.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lance corporal set up the blasting charge, and then blew the door open. The Stormtroopers charged in, fanning out with carbines aimed at the trio of Humans inside. Two were male, one in red and black, and the other in blue and black. The only woman was also in blue and black, and then the man in red and black spoke unintelligibly at them before raising his hands in the air. At that, his two subordinates did likewise.

“Secure the prisoners, and then the room.” GG-1792 ordered.

Stormtroopers pulled out stun-cuffs, and binding the prisoners, forced them out at gunpoint. The rest of the squad fanned out, checking the room for any sign of traps or other surprises.

“Room secure!” IB-3631 shouted.

“Acknowledged.” GG-1792 said, before reporting on the platoon frequency. “Upper level secure, lieutenant. Awaiting new orders.”

“Acknowledged, sergeant.” Lieutenant Blyck said. “Hold position, and standby for relief.”

“Acknowledged.”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Sara said after getting to her feet, to my left and addressing the gathered admirals and senior staff officers. “At this time, two weeks into our campaign, our expeditionary force has succeeded in securing twelve colonies with individual populations of less than one million each, along with two hundred industrial outposts with individual populations of less than ten thousand each. We’ve also engaged the local navies, of the self-proclaimed United Federation of Planets, a total of twenty-four times, and emerged victorious in each and every battle.”

The lieutenant paused to regard her audience, and then glancing back at her dataslate, continued her report. “Federal casualties stand at six hundred and eighty-nine ships,” she said. “Amounting to three hundred and seventy-six Excelsior Class Medium Cruisers, one hundred and forty-one Akira Class Medium Cruisers, ninety-four Miranda Class Frigates, seventy Nebula Class Medium Cruisers, and eight Galaxy Class Medium Cruisers.”

Again, the lieutenant paused to regard her audience. “Our own losses stand at two hundred and seventy-six ships,” she said. “Amounting to one hundred and thirty-eight CR90 Corvettes, sixty-six Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers, fifty-five Nebulon-B Escort Frigates, and seventeen Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruisers. We’ve also lost 35 GR-35 Medium Transports to commerce raiders launching hit and run strikes during resupply and in-system transit operations.”

The lieutenant again paused before continuing. “Ground losses currently stand at one thousand, two hundred and thirty-two dead or missing,” she said. “And three thousand, seven hundred and eighty-five injured, from both the Imperial Army and the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps. We’ve also lost five hundred and one ground vehicles of various models, including one AT-AT. Interestingly, most ground casualties were not sustained from combat with formal members of the Federation ground forces, but with local militias and irregular units. In particular, Orion and Andorian units are of exceeding effectiveness.”

A murmur ran through the gathered officers, but it was wordless, and quickly stopped. Unsurprising: not one person here was non-Human. More than a few bought into COMPNOR’s Humanocentrist tripe, almost certainly resulting in disgust and offense that the local Humans were of…inferior, combat ability, to non-Humans, at least on the ground.

And even those that didn’t buy into that tripe were appalled that militias and irregulars were of greater effectiveness than proper soldiers.

Me?

Not really that surprised: Andorians were warriors on par with Klingons. And the Orions had conquered a great, star-spanning empire when the Vulcans were still figuring out how to make bronze, and while that empire had collapsed millennia before the Time of Awakening, there was a reason the Federation for all their…puritan, opinions on various topics, gave the Orions a great deal of leeway.

A lesson I did not intend to forget.

“…primary combat forces now number an estimated total of two thousand ships,” Sara continued. “Including a core force of over three hundred Star Destroyers of various classes.”

“Thank you, lieutenant.” I smoothly interrupted. “I believe the point has been carried across.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod, and returned to her seat.

Pressing a button in front of me, I had the holoprojector display a map of the surrounding space. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said. “Between data recovered from captured colonial databases, salvaged computers from destroyed or captured enemy vessels, interrogations of and defections from our prisoners of war, and of course, the contributions of no less than 3000 probe droids over the past few weeks, we now have a map of the surrounding oversector that will be become the New Territories. More than that, we also have the hyperspace routes through which our fleet can bring the Federation crashing down, and its worlds into the fold of the Emperor’s New Order.”

I paused, and adjusted the holographic projection. “At present,” she said. “Our holdings are primarily here, in the Orion Sector. We also have also extended feelers into the surrounding Antares, Omega, Archanis, Melona, Rigellian, Andorian, and Vulcan sectors. But as things stand, our holdings are spread thin. Our forces largely-uncommitted. And the damage we have inflicted on the Federation’s military-industrial complex, to say nothing of its core territories, effectively amount to nothing.”

Again, I paused, and swept my gaze across the gathering. The other officers gazed back with stoic discipline, though I noticed more than a few among the younger ones with hints of judging expressions on their faces. One, Rear Admiral Natasi Daala – yes, that Daala, and damn, I am so in deep shit if I get Grand Moff Tarkin’s protégé and mistress killed – had the opposite, a faint hint of anticipation on her face.

“But!” I said, raising my voice before pausing for effect. “Though it might seem to be otherwise, Operation Green has achieved all of its operational goals. We have secured our beachhead into this galaxy. We have acquired comprehensive data on the local astrography. We have charted hyperspace routes for our fleet’s use. Our limited strikes and gains thus far, as per intelligence’s psychological assessment of the Federation lacking understanding of and experience in total war, have lulled our enemies into a false sense of security. Finally, we have consolidated our logistics train, and we have concentrated our battlefleet. What can this be called if not the conditions for victory?”

There were plenty of nods this time, especially from older, more experienced men, who like me had had experience in the Clone Wars. It might only have involved organizing supply convoys and dispatching reinforcement personnel to one theater or another, but like General Clausewitz once said, only amateurs discuss tactics.

Strategists discuss logistics.

I rose to my feet, pacing around the table with a remote held in my hand. “But,” I said. “Victory is quite a fickle thing. One of the oldest and most important lessons to be learned in war, is that the victor is not the one whose plan works the most, but one whose plan fails the least. Therefore, it is necessary to ensure the collapse of the enemy’s position if we are to claim victory. Such is the thrust of our upcoming operations, conducted in part simultaneously.”

There was a chorus of confusion at that, and I triggered the remote to adjust the hologram once again. “First among those will be Operation Yellow,” I said. “The naval assault on the Federation capital: planet Earth, in the Sol System.”

There was thunderstruck silence at that, and then a grizzled and grey-haired Imperial Army general narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Naval assault,” he echoed. “Not invasion?”

“An invasion at this time is premature.” I said. “It would only serve to stiffen enemy resistance, and given the distance between our beachhead here and the Earth, our logistics would be nigh-impossible to sustain.”

“I see.” The general said with a slow nod. “So that’s how it is.”

“Hmm…what do you mean, general?”

“You mean to attack their capital, and inflict sufficiently-heavy losses on its defense and reinforcement forces,” the general elaborated. “And in so doing, shock them into a brief period of panicked confusion.”

“As should be expected from a veteran such as yourself.” I said with a curt nod. “Well done, general. You have deduced the goal of Operation Yellow.”

“…the enemy will recover quickly.” Vice Admiral Volo Orunitia of the Third Battlegroup mused. “We must move quickly, and decisively, to take advantage of their momentary weakness. Otherwise, such an attack would only serve to stiffen if not inflame the enemy’s determination to resist.”

“And that will be the point of the second operation,” I said, continuing to pace and again adjusting the hologram. “Operation Typhoon: once the attack on Earth is complete and our fleet has made a full withdrawal from enemy capital system, it will begin a two-week campaign aimed at destroying the enemy’s logistical and military infrastructure.”

Orunitia chuckled in amused approval. “I see.” He said. “So we basically land a solid blow on the enemy’s chin, and cause them to see stars. Then, while they’re still seeing stars, we land a fast-paced series of blows all over his body to keep him from recovering, and force him on the ropes. I like it.”

A titter of agreeing emotion ran through the gathering, then silenced as I flapped a hand to one side. “Typhoon will almost certainly achieve that end,” she said. “But we must not leave anything to chance. For that reason, Operation White will launch before Operation Yellow, and will continue until the end of the campaign.”

Again, the hologram adjusted, and a murmur arose from the gathered officers. “Continuing with Admiral Orunitia’s comparison,” Vice Admiral Baku Tucker of the Sixth Battlegroup remarked. “Operation White will be like spiking the enemy’s water during the fight. Not enough to make him keel over, but enough to keep him from fighting at his fullest.”

I shrugged. “We’re at war.” I said. “And the whole point behind strategy is to win before a battle even begins.”

Again, a titter of agreement ran through the gathering. “Once Operation Typhoon has run its course,” I said. “Then we will launch Operation Blue: the invasion of the Federation capital and other key worlds, including Vulcan and Andoria.”

I paused and smiled disarmingly, before spreading my arms while standing next to my chair at the head of the table. “Simple and easy, yes?” I asked, and a murmur of laughter echoed across the gathering. I briefly closed my eyes and chuckled, before pulling back my seat and sitting down. “Well, that’s the overview. Now, we go into the details. All battlegroup, flotilla, and task force commanders may now unlock their dataslates, and review their assigned orders for the next fifteen minutes. Afterwards, we will openly discuss the details of the operational plan, in which case I actively welcome any and all reasonable critiques and suggestions.”

Again, I smiled disarmingly, and taking off the edge that came with the word I emphasized. The other officers murmured and nodded their agreement, and then picking up their dataslates, began reviewing their orders.

As for myself…I braced myself. From personal experience, the following meeting would be a long one.

And I would not be disappointed.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Admiral Daala,” I called, and gesturing for the younger woman to follow. “Please, speak with me for a few moments. I understand you need to prepare your forces for your assigned role in Operation Yellow, but I’m sure you can spare a few moments.”

“I believe I can, admiral.” Daala said with a nod, and I led the way to one side of the conference room, where transparisteel windows looked into the depths of the void.

For several long moments, we stood silent, staring into space…

…or at least, I did. Daala just stood to attention to one side. Noticing, I smiled and gave her a vague wave. “At ease, admiral.” I said. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

“I…yes, ma’am.” She said, with a hint of confusion, but relaxing ever so slightly, regardless.

I chuckled at the sight. “I’ll be frank, admiral.” I began. “It’s refreshing to see I’m not the only ranking officer of the female sex present. While there are plenty enough women in the military, few ever climb higher than junior officer rank.”

“Unfortunately true, ma’am.”

I hummed in thought and regarded the younger woman before me. Perhaps a bit of shock will be enough to get some emotion out of this one.

“I am aware about the rumors between you and Grand Moff Tarkin,” I said, and noted with internal satisfaction the way Daala’s jaw tightened and her green eyes all but flashed with anger. “But let me say here and now that I care nothing for that. Even if it’s true, I’m not exactly one to judge, as I had to ask my father to pull strings for me to avoid getting sidelined to some backwater post.”

Daala now blinked in confusion, and hesitated for a couple of moments. “…I had heard of that, ma’am.” She said. “Your father is a nobleman, I believe? And with a place at the Imperial Court?”

“He is and does.” I confirmed with a nod, before narrowing my eyes. “But I did not truly need his influence to get where I am now, if not for a certain…idiosyncrasy, quite common these days. His Excellency would not have entrusted such an important task to me had that been the case.”

Daala sighed, and finally seemed to relax halfway through. “I do see your point, admiral.” She said. “Despite the rumors about me and Grand Moff Tarkin, he would not have supported my career to the extent he has if I did not meet his standards.”

“I would think not.” I agreed. “Considering the state of the Outer Rim as a result of the Clone Wars, if not centuries of mismanagement even long before the Clone Wars began, bringing order and stability to the region requires both ruthlessness and talent in both military and civic affairs. And Grand Moff Tarkin has long proven he has them all.”

Daala nodded in agreement. “I will say here and now that I did not assign you as commander of Operation Yellow’s Special Attack Force to curry favor with Grand Moff Tarkin’s protégé.” I continued. “But I will admit it I did it out of sympathy for your position, and wanting to give a fellow woman a chance to prove she’s more than capable of getting the job done. Especially when said fellow woman has all the qualifications for the role.”

Daala smiled and gave a curt nod. “My apologies,” she said. “A part of me wants to be offended at the notion I deserve sympathy. But I suppose that’s just my long-wounded pride talking. Thank you for the opportunity, ma’am. I won’t let you down.”

The younger woman saluted, and I smiled and saluted back. “Carry on, admiral.” I said.

“Yes, ma’am.” Daala said, before smartly turning and leaving.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Sovereign Class Starship Enterprise-E broke Earth orbit, and quickly building up to three-quarters impulse, headed out into space. Finishing with a report, Captain Jean-Luc Picard put the dataslate down before looking out his ready room’s windows, regarding the gigantic fleet assembling over the planet with distaste.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” a familiar and most unwelcome voice asked, and Picard glanced in its direction so fast he almost gave himself whiplash.

“Q.” he said.

“The one and only.” Q said with a flamboyant gesture, sitting on a chair and wearing a Starfleet Admiral’s uniform.

“What do you want, Q?” Picard asked. “I have no time for your games. If you haven’t noticed, we are currently facing a crisis. One that could eclipse the Borg in terms of the threat it poses to the future of Humanity!”

Q looked taken aback, even just a little bit hurt. “Captain, I’m shocked.” He said. “Is that really the way you address old friends?”

Picard didn’t bother to dignify that with a response, and Q shook his head in disappointment, before getting up and beginning to walk around the ready room. “Well,” he began. “If you really want to know, I did notice. In fact, that’s why I said what I said earlier.”

Q gestured out the windows, at the Federation assembling the biggest fleet it’s ever assembled in its history, to face the biggest threat it’s ever found facing. “The really amazing thing is that lessons do get through those thick skulls of yours.” he said. “Given the way you people floundered against the Borg, or those unruly little shapeshifters from the other side of the galaxy, I’d have imagined against the Empire you’d also keep trying to talk your mouths off, wasting time and effort with halfway measures, and somehow getting through it all by sheer luck, go back to being a bunch of lazy, entitled children playing around with toys and big words.”

The nigh-omnipotent being smirked as he saw Picard flush and seem to swell up ever so slightly with indignation. “Instead,” Q continued. “You people actually decided to pull your heads out of the sand, and go all the way.”

Q paused, and then narrowed his eyes. “Then again,” he concluded. “Considering the Empire is led and dominated by Humans, I wonder what it says about your kind, that you only finally decided to take things seriously when facing yourselves.”

“Enough games, Q.” Picard snapped. “What do you know about the Empire?”

Q waved dismissively. “I know enough.” He said, smirking at the increasingly-annoyed expression on Picard’s face. “Enough to know that they’ll be a perfect test for your kind. Who will rise and who will fall? Just what and how will the future of this galaxy turn out to be?”

Q paused again, and chuckled. “You shouldn’t feel so distasteful about your Starfleet’s response.” He said. “You’re actually making the right choice.”

“It’s barbaric!” Picard finally exploded. “It might be necessary to sink to the Empire’s level in order to survive against them, but the precedent it sets…the cost that must be paid…it will haunt the Federation for generations to come! It will cast a shadow over our children and our children’s children!”

“In that case, why not just surrender?” Q asked. There was a flash of light, and they were standing on a platform floating amidst the clouds, over a city that stretched as far as the eye could see. Hovercraft of all kinds flew in endless streams along set routes between skyscrapers, while in the skies above, Picard discerned the bright light of orbital construction on a degree he’d never thought possible. “If you value your pacifist ideals so much, that the prospect of survival and even success at their expense makes you feel so abhorrent, why not stick with those ideals to the very end, even if it means falling on your knees for their sake?”

“…it’s a Faustian Bargain either way.” Picard admitted after a long moment, walking along the edges of the platform. “Surrender, and our ideals become meaningless, as our society is crushed and rebuilt in the conquerors’ image. Fight, and gain the chance to preserve our ideals, but staining them with spilled blood, spilled blood which they stand against. But, one offers more hope than the other which offers none. And that is what you fail to understand, Q. For all your power and ‘cosmic perspective’, you don’t truly understand Humanity, what truly drives us all: hope. What we must do is barbaric, there’s no question about it. Its legacy will weigh succeeding generations down, a difficult hurdle they must face and overcome. But they will overcome it, and move past its shadow to a new day. That, is why we will fight. That is why I will fight. For the hope of that distant day in the future, even if I never see it in my lifetime.”

Q clapped his hands slowly, nodding his head in approval. “A pretty speech, captain.” He said, and then there was another flash of light. Once again, they were in a different place, but which Picard realized after a few moments was on Earth, centuries ago. He recognized that much from his historical studies, and the way people around him dressed and how the vehicles looked like.

“But despite what you might think,” Q said, watching as paramedics worked frantically to save a dark-haired woman’s life, her lightly-tanned skin turned pale from loss of blood, the same blood that soaked her clothes and pooled around her. “I understand hope quite well. Better than you know, in fact. And it’s not nearly as noble a thing as you say. I daresay it’s a double-edged sword, even.”

“…what are you saying Q?” Picard asked after a moment. “What you do you know? Did you have a hand in this, much like you had a hand in unleashing the Borg on the Federation?”

Q just smiled, and with another flash of light, they were back on the Enterprise-E. “Hope might be a double-edged sword,” he said. “But like you said, a new day will eventually come. The question is, what will that new day really bring?”

And before Picard could respond, Q snapped his fingers, and he was gone.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“Hey!”

“What’s up?”

Lieutenants Junior Grade Timothy Doe and Gerald Jenkins greeted each other as they took their stations in Starfleet Headquarters. Both of them wore the yellow and black of Starfleet’s Operations Division, and in their cases, had the responsibility of monitoring portions of Starfleet’s subspace communications network for any issues that might develop. In fact, their whole section shared that responsibility, and over multiple sectors at tat.

Doe yawned even as he got started on his station. “Just a bit short on sleep.” He said. “Damn Imperials…ever since they came through that wormhole of theirs and started causing trouble, no one’s gotten a proper night’s rest.”

“Yeah, I hear that.” Jenkins agreed, also working on his station. “Still, it can’t be helped. From the look and sound of things, it’s war. Though with all the losses we’re taking, plus that huge fleet Ross and Paris are assembling in orbit, it’s going to be nothing like fighting the Dominion or the Borg.”

“No disagreement there.” Doe said with a nod. “It’s like the Romulan Wars all over again.”

“…not really the best description, Tim.” Jenkins said after a moment. “We had our asses kicked in that war. We got lucky at Cheron. If we’d lost there, the Romulans would only have been a single warp jump away from Earth.”

“Point about how that war went at first,” Tim said. “But I disagree with how we only got lucky at Cheron. The Romulans might have kicked our asses up to that point, but we broke their backs in that battle. We got everything back at Cheron”

“Yeah, except we had to give up the right to use cloaks.” Jenkins said.

Doe snorted. “Cloaks are flashy, but overrated.” He said. “You can’t fight with them on, remember?”

“Right, right…” Jenkins conceded. “…I guess it’s not too out there that we’d do better now than we did in the Romulan Wars. We’re still fresh out of the Dominion War, and there was the Borg invasion a few years back. We’ve got plenty of ships, and everyone’s ready and willing to fight.”

“Yeah, but we’re cutting manpower reserves to the bone.” Doe said. “Science and other non-military assignments are gutted, if not effectively-defunct. And I’m not too sure about all those androids that command’s been deploying to supplement our crews with.”

“What’s the problem with them?” Jenkins asked.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Doe said. “I’ve got nothing against synthetics in general, but from what I know…most synthetics ever made until now were all one-of-a-kind models, fine-tuned and precision-built to the highest caliber. That, and given time and opportunity to slowly and steadily develop their sense of selves. You could say, they were people in their own way, and not really machines.”

“But…?” Jenkins prompted.

“The new series of androids are all mass-production models.” Doe answered. “Designed for general-purpose use that’s good at everything if not the best or worst at anything. Simple programming with limited if no ability to develop a sense of self beyond optimum performance in their assigned role. In short, they’re machines, built en masse to help operate our ships and fight our battles.”

“And that worries you?” Jenkins asked.

“It doesn’t worry you?” Doe asked back.

“Well, no.” Jenkins said with a shrug. “I mean…they’re not really synthetics, the way proper androids are. More like…I don’t know, simulated people or whatnot from holodecks. Besides, it’s not like we’re making them simply because we can, but because we need them to fight against an enemy of everything the Federation and Starfleet stand for. An enemy that’s coming and willing to tear down everything we’ve built.”

“…point.” Doe conceded. “But I still don’t like it.”

“…well, everyone’s entitled to their own opinion, so I’ll respect yours.” Jenkins said with a nod. “Anyway, moving on…what’s your plan for when the fighting stops?”

“Well, you already know I was hoping to get a long-term stint on a deep space posting.” Doe pointed out. “Get a few papers done on the effects of minimal gravimetric effects on the spatial plane and how it can be applied to affect warp and subspace mechanics. Not too sure how feasible it’s going to be now, though. We’ll be stretched thin once the fighting ends, I don’t imagine any long-term, deep space exploration and research missions getting launched until we build back up. Wouldn’t want the Romulans or the Dominion getting any ideas then, would we?”

“Or the Cardassians deciding to make another run at Bajor and Deep Space Nine.” Jenkins concurred. “Shit man, that sucks.”

“It can’t be helped, right?” Doe said with a smile and a shrug. “I might as well make the best of it. Who knows? I might find an opportunity, somehow, somewhere.”

Jenkins laughed. “That’s the spirit.” He said, and Doe grinned.

“What about you, though?” he asked. “What’s your plans for after the war? Still planning to stick it out here on Earth?”

“Well, you know me.” Jenkins said with a shrug. “Family first. I can’t really bear to be away from Anna and little Mikey for too long. Maybe when Mikey’s older, I might see what opportunities are available.”

“That,” Doe knowingly said. “Or a chance to move to one of the more-developed colonies turns up. Right?”

“Like I said,” Jenkins said with a grin. “You know me.”

“That I do.” Doe said, before the two of them shared a laugh. It was laughter cut short as flashing alerts began popping up all over their screens, accompanied by insistent alarms, causing the two men to focus sharply on their stations.

But they weren’t the only ones. In their whole section, alarms could be heard from every station, the duty officer rushing from one station to another to confirm the situation before heading over to his own station. Even as he frantically busied himself, sirens began to sound and lights began to flash against headquarters.

“This…this can’t be happening.” Doe whispered. “The subspace communications network across the whole of Federation space is being cut. But…how…?”

“…the Empire, how else?” Jenkins breathed before sharing an apprehensive glance with his friend. “They’re coming.”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Report!” Admiral Owen Paris barked as he strode into the situation room in Starfleet Headquarters.

“The subspace communications network has been cut at numerous locations across the whole of Federation space.” Lieutenant Reginald Barclay immediately said. Tapping controls at a console, he brought up a map of Federation space, then marked out the network in white, before marking severed sections in red. “The computers are rerouting through undamaged portions of the network, but it’s already having a detrimental effect on our ability to communicate with the rest of the Federation. Or indeed, letting the rest of the Federation communicate with us and each other.”

“More than that,” Admiral William Ross added, adjusting the image to add time values to the damage being inflicted on the network. “Based on these values, it’s clear that this is a sustained effort to knock out our interstellar communications.”

“…they seem to be focusing on unmanned relays in deep space,” Paris mused after a long moment studying the map. “And leaving manned relay stations near or inside star systems alone.”

“Makes sense,” Ross said with a nod. “Manned relay stations have defensive abilities, unlike the unmanned relays. That could delay them, long enough for local defensive forces or our own forces to respond. Putting myself in the enemy’s shoes…I imagine these attacks on our subspace communications network are being conducted by small, fast-moving groups of light warships. Not really able to stand up to the reinforced squadrons and flotillas we’re now sending to the field.”

Paris nodded in agreement. “In any case,” he said. “Even if they ignore the manned relay stations, most of the network is composed of unmanned relays anyway. Destroy enough of them like what they’re doing, and the network will be compromised regardless.”

“Like slicing a cake up and taking away every other portion.” Barclay remarked, before flushing and looking down at this station from the unimpressed gazes of the admirals.

“I’ve already dispatched the Fast Response Force to start deploying emergency relays as quickly as possible.” Ross said, and not even flinching when Paris gave him a concerned look. “I know, it’s not really ideal, given our previous plans for the Fast Response Force. But we can’t lose the ability to communicate with the rest of the Federation, or our allies, for that matter.”

Paris sighed and nodded. “Agreed…on both counts.” He said, before narrowing his eyes with mixed frustration and anger. He, Ross, and the rest of the staff officers stared at the map in silent contemplation for several long moments, while around them other officers worked furiously at their stations.

Then, Paris sighed again. “It really drives the facts home, doesn’t it?” he asked no one in particular. “The sheer scale of what we’re facing. It’s not just the numbers, though that helps, as it gives the Empire more ships and men to use against us.”

“A civilization tens of thousands of years old,” Ross said softly. “With technology to match such a vast expanse of time, and led by Humans of all species…but where did they go wrong?”

A pensive silence hung over the gathering. “We can figure that out later.” Paris eventually said. “Even with our enemy’s numbers, plus their superior understanding and application of quantum slipstream technology, an operation of this scale can only be ancillary to an even bigger operation. One that’s either to launch shortly, or is launching even as we speak.”

“Your orders, sir?” Barclay asked after making a dry swallow.

“Sound the alarm across the network, or what’s left of it.” Paris ordered. “Cases Red, Crimson, Ruby, Scarlet, and Garnet are imminent.”

“And Case Emerald, sir?” Barclay asked.

“Let’s hold off on that for now.” Paris said. “Even at their closest, the Empire is nearly a full sector away, and Vulcan still stands. I doubt they’d risk anything that could cause Case Emerald to go into effect.”

“Yes, sir.” Barclay said, already tapping away at his console.

“Will,” Paris began, turning to the younger admiral. “I want you to take the Cerberus, and head out on the field to assume direct command of the Fast Response Force. Stay in contact as best you can, but otherwise…you know what to do.”

“Yes, sir.” Ross said with a nod, before extending a hand to Paris, who took and shook it firmly. “Good luck, sir.”

“Likewise.” Paris said with a nod, and with a nod of his own, Russ left the situation room. Now the lone flag officer in the room, Paris stared flintily at the map.

“…your orders, sir?” Barclay hesitantly asked after a few moments.

“…the enemy will most likely strike at Orion, as we expect them to.” Paris said after another moment. “But given the scale of the enemy’s operation here, plus what we know of their numbers and FTL capabilities, they also have the option of striking more than one critical target at the same time.”

“…Vulcan and Andoria…in addition to Orion…” Barclay breathed.

“I don’t think they’ll attack three critical targets at the same time.” Paris disagreed. “From what intelligence has been able to get from what few prisoners we have, the enemy commander, Admiral Targaryen, prefers to concentrate her forces as much as possible, to maximize the effect of her overwhelming numbers. But, from what we can see here and now, she also recognizes the value of controlling the initiative. She will not want to excessively limit her offensive options, as doing so risks giving us the time to take the initiative from her.”

Barclay looked on in silence, and then Paris looked at him. “She will attack Orion, in order to secure breathing space around the Orion Wormhole.” He said. “At the same time, she will attack Andoria, and secure her left flank before making a move on Vulcan, which will be the jumping-off point for an attack on Earth.”

“…I’ll alert our forces in the Andorian and Orion Sectors then.” Barclay said after a moment of near-panic.

“Make it so, lieutenant.” Paris said, while looking back at the map, and crossing his arms over his chest.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I stared at the chronometer on the tactical display, watching it countdown to zero and the beginning of our operation. The fleet had come out of hyperspace in deep space within the Terran Sector, taking advantage of the sheer vastness of the interstellar void to hide the fleet’s presence so close to the Federation capital, assembled in the shadows to strike at the enemy’s heart.

“Much like the First Air Fleet had hidden in stormy weather amidst the vastness of the Pacific, in the lead-up to the Pearl Harbor attack.” I thought to myself. “Or should I compare ourselves to Lord Nelson’s fleet, hidden in plain sight in the North Sea, striking and sinking the Danish Fleet at harbor to deny it to France and Napoleon Bonaparte?”

Internally smiling a bittersweet smile at the thought, I continued to let my eyes lingers on the High Galactic numerals ticking down. “Earth…” I thought to myself, thinking of our destination, where we would fight the first truly large-scale engagement of this campaign. “…my home in a past life…Humanity’s home in this time and space…”

As the time ticked down to the last ten seconds, I gave a sigh. “…homecomings are supposed to be sweet and heartwarming affairs…” I thought. “…but this homecoming here and now…I’d say it’s bittersweet, but it’s actually more bitter than sweet.”

The chronometer counted down to zero, and both my adjutant and chief of staff turned towards me. I nodded at them both. “Signal the fleet.” I ordered. “The word is yellow.”

Miles Xen, Captain of the Courageous, turned to the bridge. “The word is given,” he said. “Yellow.”

The signal was sent to all ships in the fleet, over a thousand-strong, with a powerful core of over three hundred Star Destroyers. Mostly old Venator Class Star Destroyers, dating back to the recently-ended Clone Wars, but that was a small price to pay to get as many Star Destroyers as I could get.

With the Clone Wars’ end, ship construction had scaled down, focusing less on quantity and more on quality. This was evident in the new Imperial Class Star Destroyer. For all that members of the Imperial Senate – such as Mon Mothma of Chandrila – bitterly criticized the large numbers of ships ordered over the next several years by the Navy Ministry, a look at the bigger picture would actually show less Imperials had been ordered compared to the number of Venators ordered at the height of the Clone Wars. And that would still be the case even if that order for ships was renewed after the current order had been completed. It only seemed otherwise because the Imperial was bigger, faster, and more heavily-armed compared to the Venator, and thus more expensive.

In fact, Sector and Oversector Fleets nowadays were actually shrinking, for all the howling of the pacifists in the Imperial Senate, seeing only the obvious as older classes were replaced by new ones. Unsurprising, in hindsight: with the Confederacy of Independent Systems crushed, and the Imperial Navy returning to peacetime roles, there was no need for the several thousands of ships that made up Sector and Oversector Fleets during the Clone Wars, when forces of up to a thousand Star Destroyers were a common sight.

That, and the Emperor probably didn’t want his moffs and grand moffs getting too big for their boots with the encouragement of having huge fleets at their disposal.

Still, Venator Class ships were no joke, for all that other Imperial commanders were hurrying to phase them out and replace them with newer Victory-II and Imperial Class Star Destroyers. For one thing, they had superior point-defense capabilities to any other class of Star Destroyer in service, and carried more fighters and light craft.

Which I thought rather strange, and not for the first time either. Especially when you think about the fact that Imperial fighter doctrine was essentially just to swarm the enemy with overwhelming, huge numbers of fast, agile, but lightweight and unshielded (if still well-armed) TIE Fighters.

And yet the Victory series and the new Imperials had smaller carrying capability compared to the old Venators. How very strange…

…no matter. Other Imperial commanders might be rushing to send Venators to be placed on reserve lists, mothballed, or outright scrapped, but I needed plenty of ships, and between my experience in logistics at the Admiralty, support from the Emperor and surprisingly, Grand Moff Tarkin as well, I managed to get extended leases on service lives for plenty of Venators as part of my expeditionary force.

Not that I was under any illusions that this state of affairs would continue indefinitely. I needed to get results, and fast, or my ‘sponsors’ would start getting impatient at the cost of my health. And once the campaign was over, I doubted the Emperor would allow me or anyone else to keep such a huge force together.

That said, (real) results should start coming soon.

And the campaign was far from over. In fact, it was only really starting to begin right now.

Looking out through the bridge windows, I watched Vice Admiral Tyron-Hu Tye’s Fifth Battlegroup breaking formation, advancing ahead of the fleet. Minutes later, the ships of the battlegroup seemed to accelerate impossibly fast for an instant…

…and then they were gone, jumping into hyperspace for the few minutes-long trip to the Sol System, the vanguard of Operation Yellow flinging itself as a spearhead driving deep into the Federation’s heart.

“May the winds flow fast and true, as your wings carry you high, flying through Valyrian skies.” I softly said in High Valyrian, and drawing the attention of my staff officers.

“Ma’am?” Vice Admiral Torrhen Yaggos, my Chief of Staff, asked.

“It’s an old benediction,” I said. “Going back to before the Valyrian Freehold joined the Galactic Republic between three…four thousand years ago. The old priests used it speak it while sending off our ships to sail the stars, to fight against each other, the Hutts, and others encroaching on our space. Those priests are all but gone now though…but even now, some of us still remember, and speak the words when we head out into space, or to war.”

I paused, and gave a short chuckle. My staff officers stayed silent, all of us staring at the tactical display. Minutes ticked by, and then new data began coming in through subspace, of the Fifth Battlegroup emerging from hyperspace three planetary diameters from Earth. Other data included information about the enemy fleet present, the planet’s orbital defenses and facilities, and the battlegroup’s disposition.

“And so it begins.” I murmured, narrowing my eyes as the bridge hummed to greater activity.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“Admiral on the bridge!” the shout went out from the yeoman on duty, as Fleet Admiral Taela Shanthi stepped out of the turbolift, and onto the bridge of her flagship, the USS Thunderchild.

“At ease.” She said, stepping off the upper deck and down to the command deck. “Report.”

“An enemy fleet dropped out of quantum slipstream approximately forty thousand kilometers from the planet.” Captain Matsuda answered. “Our sensors can’t get precise scans thanks to the enemy’s jamming all frequencies, but based on visual alone, we count at most three hundred ships. Mostly of types we’ve seen before, and identified by our prisoners as Vindicator and Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruisers, along with Nebulon-B Class Escort Frigates and CR90 Corvettes. However, we’ve picked a small number of bigger ships at the heart of the fleet, at most a hundred in number, though precise numbers are probably smaller than that. We think those are the ‘Star Destroyers’ the prisoners mentioned, and which we’ve never seen before.”

“How much bigger?” Shanthi asked.

“The smallest is bigger by half than our Galaxy Class Starships.” Matsuda replied. “The biggest is around a mile long, and while we can’t get precise scans, we’re getting enough data to indicate those mile-long ships are putting out enough energy comparable to smaller, main-sequence stars.”

“As we suspected then,” Shanthi said while taking the command station, Matsuda sitting down beside her. “Star Destroyers are battleships. Signal Picard on the Enterprise to standby on reserve, and await my orders.”

“Ma’am?” Matsuda asked.

“Something’s not right here.” Shanthi mused. “Lieutenant Anderson, is there no way to get around the enemy fleet’s jamming?”

“I’m still working on it admiral.” The sensor officer responded. “I’ve been trying to bypass through the upper theta and lower delta bands, but the enemy’s jamming is simple and…elegant, in its methodology. They’re just…flooding, the frequencies with high-power emissions. They’re simply drowning everything out with noise.”

“…brute force methodology…” Shanthi murmured. “…not the most efficient method, but one that’s almost always certain to work.”

“And how very fitting for an autocratic state.” Matsuda said.

“…Lieutenant-Commander Stanton,” Shanthi called to the tactical officer. “What’s the status of the enemy fleet?”

The officer briefly cross-referenced his reply before speaking. “They’re holding position at their dropout point,” he said. “And maintaining a diamond formation. Their shields are up, and weapons online. However, I do not detect any fighter launch of any kind.”

“Confirmed,” Anderson chimed in. “The enemy fleet isn’t launching anything at all.”

The fleet admiral and flag captain shared a concerned glance between them. “Could they be waiting for us to make the first move?” Matsuda asked.

“…possible,” Shanthi admitted after a moment. “But even if it is, I’d rather not dance to the enemy’s tune. I assume long-ranged communications are jammed, but what about short-ranged communications?”

“It’s choppy,” Ensign Brennan at the operations station replied. “But short-range communications are up and running.”

“Get me Starfleet Headquarters.” Shanthi ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.” Brennan said. A moment later, and the viewscreen was displaying a situation room in Starfleet Headquarters, with Admiral Paris taking center stage.

“What do you think, admiral?” Shanthi asked. She might outrank Paris, but Paris had seniority on her, and she wasn’t so proud that she wouldn’t ask for much less ignore the second opinions of her peers and colleagues.

“I suspect this is a probe by the Empire.” Paris replied. “They’re testing Earth’s defenses for when they launch a full-scale attack. But more than that, this is also probably a spoiling attack. A way to pin the Home Fleet down, and to focus our attentions to here and now instead of responding to their assault on our communications infrastructure across the whole of Federation space.”

“Or operations against other core worlds, like Orion and possibly Andoria or Vulcan.” Shanthi added.

Paris nodded in greement. “I think so too, admiral.” He said.

Anything further was cut off as alarms began to sound, both in Starfleet Headquarters and on the Thunderchild’s bridge. “Admiral,” Stanton warned. “The Imperial Fleet’s begun to move. While maintaining relative distance, they’re moving to flank us to starboard.”

“Incoming fire!” Anderson barked.

“Bring up tactical!” Shanthi ordered, the viewscreen shifting to tactical view.

“Looks like ranging shots to me.” Matsuda said.

“Ranging shots will give way to firing for effect soon enough.” Shanthi retorted. “Signal the fleet, take Tactical Formation Carousel Four, operating at twenty-minute intervals. Also, let’s keep our distance, and not be too aggressive for now.”

Matsuda raised an eyebrow at that. “A prudent call, admiral.” He cautiously remarked.

Shanthi gave him a look. “Like I said,” she began. “I’d rather not dance to the enemy’s tune. But we need to act regardless, so we’ll do that in a way that gives us at least a little breathing room plus space to step back and look at the overall situation as the battlefield develops.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Matsuda said with a nod.

“All ships have adopted the shield modifications, right?” Shanthi then asked.

“That’s correct.” Matsuda confirmed. “That should improve our shield’s effectiveness against turbolasers or even just plasma weapons in general by five to twenty-five per cent. That said, output is still going to be a problem, with bigger turbolasers or plasma cannons still having the potential ability to just power through our shields.”

“One thing at a time, captain.” Shanthi said, narrowing her eyes as the first combat formation of the Home Fleet opened fire. Phasers at first, ineffective against the shields of any Imperial vessel bigger than a frigate, though more effective against armor. Here and now though, they were used to measure the range, as well as to poke holes into the Imperial Fleet’s escort screens.

And then once the range was gotten, photon torpedoes flashed through space. To counter the Imperial Fleet’s jamming, Starfleet had reprogrammed their torpedoes to simply keep flying towards the general location of the enemy fleet as indicated on launch. Once they were close enough for short-ranged sensors to be able to burn through the jamming, they automatically targeted the closest enemy vessel, improved IFF systems making sure no cases of friendly fire could occur.

It wasn’t a perfect solution, as shown both in simulations and in previous skirmishes with the Imperial Navy. In particular, the torpedoes being programmed to target the nearest enemy vessels meant torpedoes more often than not tended to saturate some enemy ships while ignoring others.

This made them a less-efficient weapon than hoped and expected, a particularly-serious problem given how photon and quantum torpedoes were the only weapons that Starfleet had that were truly effective against Imperial capital ships. In response, production of both types of torpedo had been expanded (more so the former than the latter due to the extremely-advanced technological requirements needed to produce the latter), and efforts were underway to begin producing plasma torpedoes as well. Cruder than either photon or quantum torpedoes, true, but they packed more power than the former, and easier and faster to produce than either.

Again, not very ideal, but given the crisis facing the Federations, needs must.

Similarly, proposals were floating around to increase production of tricobalt devices, and to make carrying them standard practice for Federation vessels. Another proposal called for Starfleet to begin deploying subspace weapons as weapons of last resort, though the Federation Council was balking at the notion.

Truth be told, Shanthi wasn’t very enthusiastic about using subspace weapons either, even in a last-resort role. Even if it allowed the Federation to defeat the Empire, the consequences of their use might be such that ‘victory’ would be completely meaningless in the end. It was essentially very much a case of burning down a house to get rid of termites.

“The enemy’s returning fire.” Matsuda worriedly said.

“Status…?” Shanthi prompted.

Matsuda didn’t reply at once, focusing on his console for the next few moments. And then he grimaced, shaking his head at the fleet admiral. “Even with the shield modifications,” he said. “The Mirandas and Excelsiors still can’t hold up against the kind of firepower the Imperials are throwing out.”

“It was a mistake keeping those ships for so long.” Shanthi said with a sigh. “Don’t get me wrong, they served well and respectably, and it seemed like the right decision at the time. But now we are paying the price for limiting the designing and construction of new classes, in favor of repeatedly-refitting and extending the lifespans of obsolescent classes from a century ago.”

“Something to keep in mind when this is all over.” Matsuda said.

“If we come out on top when this is all over.” Shanthi grimly corrected, and glared at the captain at his expression of shock. “We’re at war, captain. War on a scale we haven’t seen in centuries. We’d best face facts and accept reality, and everything it implies for us all. Otherwise, we’d be going into this with one eye covered, and one hand tied behind our backs. And there’s no way we’re coming out of it that way, much less on top.”

“I…I see your point, ma’am.” Matsuda hesitantly said, before alarmed beeping from his console drew his attention. “Damn…the first combat formation is taking losses. We’re not even ten minutes into the battle, and we’ve already lost six ships, and three more forced to retreat after taking critical damage.”

“Which ships?” Shanthi asked. “Just the classes will do.”

“Four Excelsiors, and two Mirandas have been lost.” Matsuda answered. “All three retreating vessels are Nova Class.”

“And the enemy?”

“We’ve managed to destroy three CR90s, and forced another six to fall back.” Matsuda said. “We’ve also inflicted moderate damage on two of the modern Vindicator cruisers.”

Shanthi bit back a curse at the lopsided losses. It might just be the heat of battle getting to her, but damn…

…subspace weapons were really tempting right now.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On the command deck of the Imperial Class Star Destroyer Iron Duke, Vice Admiral Tyron-Hu Tye stared at the tactical display along with his staff officers and flag captain. They watched as the formation they’d been fighting up until now fell back in good order, covering their withdrawal with torpedo volleys, even as another, fresh formation moved up, and smoothly resumed the battle.

“Well,” Commodore Gentti Valhoun, the battlegroup’s Chief of Staff, began. “That explains why the enemy fleet split into four. Three formations hang back to the rear, while one formation engages us in a gunnery and ordnance duel.”

“It certainly seems that way, doesn’t it?” Tye said with a nod. “Based on intercepted communications from the start of the battle, and how long we engaged the previous formation before it withdrew, it seems the enemy plans to shift their formations around every twenty standard minutes.”

“It’s a smart plan.” Valhoun said with a nod. “It conserves their combat strength, especially since it seems the enemy fleet commander has adopted a conservative stance towards the battle. And after a formation is withdrawn from the front lines, they have ample time to conduct field repairs, restock on munitions, evacuate the wounded, receive reinforcements, and if necessary, refuel.”

“With all due respect sir,” Captain Risshik Yung of the Iron Duke responded. “That’s only because the operational plan calls for us to adopt a similarly-conservative stance towards the battle as well, at least at first. If we launch a full attack, the turbolasers on our Star Destroyers and heavy cruisers have more than enough range to hit the enemy’s rear echelons, and well within acceptable values for accuracy.”

“Be that as it may, captain,” Tye said. “Within the present circumstances on the battlefield, the enemy commander is conducting themselves competently…so far.”

The conversation stilled as they watched another volley of torpedoes head their way. Point-defenses opened up while TIE Fighters swooped around on an intercept course, and even succeeded in shooting down a fair number of torpedoes.

Tye smiled at the sight, and shook his head. “I have to admit, sir,” Valhoun began. “When Admiral Targaryen issued the order to deploy fighters to intercept incoming torpedoes given the enemy’s preference for mass torpedo volleys, I thought her…desperate.”

“It does run counter to accepted fighter doctrine, doesn’t it?” Tye asked. “Still, it works, and our lady admiral just might be on to something there.”

“She might have spent the Clone Wars making sure guns, rations, and reinforcements went where they needed to be and as soon as possible,” Yung remarked. “But she knows how to fight a war. And to be honest, she had an important role as well. Soldiers can’t fight on an empty stomach. And I for one wouldn’t want to go up alone against gun-wielding battle droids with only a stick in my hand.”

A ripple of laughter echoed around the tactical display, everyone present having fought to some degree or another during the Clone Wars. “In any case,” Tye said. “We have our orders, so let’s conduct our assigned role with all we’ve got. And cheer up, captain. You’ll have the opportunity to show what your ship’s capable of soon enough.”

Yung nodded. “As you say, sir.” He said.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Starfleet’s Home Fleet’s second combat formation was falling back and the third combat formation moving forward when the Imperial Fleet also began reforming their formation. “What are they doing?” Shanthi asked.

“…from simulations on the way they’re redeploying their squadrons,” Matsuda grimly said. “They’re reforming into a spindle formation. Admiral, I think they’re planning to break through our center.”

“…so the Imperials plan on making a cavalry charge?” Shanthi mused to herself. Narrowing her eyes in thought, she rubbed her chin for several moments before coming to a decision. “In that case, we’ll draw them in.”

“Admiral?”

“Signal the fleet,” Shanthi ordered. “Take Formation Elastic Three. If the Empire wants a fight, then by God we’ll give them one, and beat them into the floor at that!”

Matsuda smiled at the admiral’s fervor while relaying her order. Within minutes of the order’s dispatch, the Home Fleet was redeploying into a loose, cloud-like formation, squadrons layered into screens across a large area of space in all axes. This gave both the advantage of depth, and flexibility to respond to any situation that might arise.

Meanwhile, the Imperial Fleet continued its reorganization, forming up into a spindle with their heavily-armed, armored, and shielded Star Destroyers to the front and center. Smaller, lighter ships made up the bulk of the formation to the sides and rear, screening the hard core and tip of the formation.

Then ion engines blazed white and hot, the Imperial Fleet throwing itself forward, preceded by staggered volleys of turbolaser fire, far greater than during the earlier phase of the battle. Explosions erupted across space as smaller and lighter Federation vessels went down, but the Home Fleet didn’t waver, returning fire with torpedoes and phasers.

More explosions erupted across space as smaller Imperial vessels went down, denting and cracking the sides of the formation. But the center and tip held firm, with even tricobalt devices and quantum torpedoes proving less effective than expected against Star Destroyer-grade shielding.

Heavy turbolasers returned fire, followed by concussion missiles from Victory Class Star Destroyers present. Then for the first time in the battle, a Galaxy Class ship, the Missouri, exploded as a concussion missile punched through the engineering deck and literally blew the warp core open.

Taking casualties at a suddenly-increased rate, the Home Fleet began falling back. Encouraged by the enemy’s seeming loss of heart, the Imperial Fleet pressed the assault, launching more TIE Fighters and TIE Bombers to engage the enemy at close range. This proved the undoing of the Venator Class Star Destroyer Black Prince, when quantum torpedoes collapsed the hangar shields and punched into the ship’s heart.

Fuel and munitions for the attack craft stored in the hangar exploded, and blew the Black Prince in half. The sight of the Imperial battleship reduced to a pair of burning hulks caused cheers to break out across the Home Fleet.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“The enemy has us surrounded on three sides,” Tye’s adjutant warned. “And are commencing full bombardment.”

“Don’t falter!” Tye snapped, even as the Iron Duke trembled from photon torpedoes striking her shields. “Maintain the formation, and move combat-capable ships to the outside while bringing crippled ships to the inside! Status of our air wings?”

The Iron Duke shook again as more torpedoes hit her shields. “TIE Fighters are concentrating on providing CAP as ordered!” the adjutant replied. “Similarly, TIE Bombers are launching torpedo runs on enemy capital ships as ordered!”

“How much longer until phase two begins?” Tye demanded.

“Six minutes and ten seconds,” the adjutant said. “The fleet should be jumping to hyperspace within the next few minutes.”

The Iron Duke shook again, and light flashed through the bridge windows as the command tower’s shields took fire, a volley of photon torpedoes. “What are you doing?” Captain Yung demanded. “Divert power to turbolasers, and return fire! Turn those enemy ships to scrap!”

Deep in her bowels, the Iron Duke’s power systems hummed as main power was diverted to the heavy batteries, supplementing their built-in power systems. Those same batteries traversed and elevated their turbolasers, targeting computers tracking a pair of Nebula Class Medium Cruisers.

“Fire!” Gunnery chiefs roared, moments before gunners pulled their triggers. A volley of emerald beams lanced through space. They staggered one of the Nebulas, but the ship was able to escape. The other was not so lucky, its shields collapsing and allowing the turbolasers to shred one of its nacelles. Chunks of burning hull followed as part of the main hull was blown away, only interference from other Starfleet vessels allowing the stricken Nebula to limp away.

“Admiral,” Tye’s adjutant began. “The fleet’s entered hyperspace. Phase two is about to begin.”

“Just a few more minutes then.” Tye ground out before the Iron Duke shook again. “A few more minutes.”

Outnumbered and surrounded on three sides, the Imperial Fleet fought on, exchanging fire with turbolasers, proton torpedoes, and concussion missiles against Starfleet’s phasers, photon and quantum torpedoes, and tricobalt devices. Ships exploded one after another, the fleet’s escort screens taking a bloody beating as CR-90s and Nebulon-Bs went down one after another, and to a lesser degree, so did Carracks and Vindicators.

Surprisingly, among the fleet’s lighter vessels, the Dreadnoughts held out the best. Average in terms of firepower, obsolescent in terms of electronics, and slow in terms of mobility, but their endurance was far above that expected of mere heavy cruisers, just short of Star Destroyers, in fact.

“The fleet should come out of light-speed shortly.” The adjutant tightly said. “…three…two…one…”

The Imperial Fleet dropping out of hyperspace was a sight for sore eyes for the Fifth Battlegroup. It was also like a blow to the gut for the Home Fleet. In an instant, the tactical calculus had completely changed, with the Empire now enjoying a minimum of twenty per cent numerical advantage on the battlefield, with over a thousand Imperial ships present.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Receiving tactical data from the Fifth Battlegroup.” Sara said to me. “Transmitting to the rest of the fleet.”

“Then let’s use it while Starfleet’s still getting their bearings back.” I said. “Fleet: volley fire, three times!”

Staggered volleys were launched from the fleet’s heavy batteries, lancing across nearly a hundred thousand kilometers of open space and smashing into Starfleet’s lines. Explosions erupted across space, the agile maneuvers of Starfleet’s vessels turning chaotic and haphazard as they struggled to recover. At the sight, I pointed at the windows on the Courageous, enjoying the moment of theater as I gave the order.

“ALL SHIPS, FOLLOW MY LEAD: CHARGE!”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“The fleet has assumed a semi-circular formation,” Torrhen reported. “Extending along the positive and negative y-axes as planned. Furthermore, our position is within one planetary diameter of the Federation capital planet.”

“And the status of the Fifth Battlegroup?” I asked.

“They have successfully conducted a tactical withdrawal,” Torrhen replied. “And have assumed position to our right flank, between our First Battlegroup and the adjacent Sixth Battlegroup. Though I must point out, admiral: given their role as the fleet’s vanguard, the Fifth Battlegroup is depleted and represents a weak point in our lines which the enemy may take advantage of.”

“I certainly hope they do.” I said. “It’d just as certainly give us the chance to give their Home Fleet a very bloody nose.”

“As you say, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod, well-aware of the alternative course the third phase of Operation Yellow might take.

“Now then,” I said, drawing myself up and holding my gloved hands to my back. “Signal the fleet: Star Destroyers are to hold back, and concentrate on long-range bombardment. No need to be too aggressive, just destroy each and every enemy ship in range. Other ships are to engage frontally in sequential rotation, advancing by flotilla to deliver a full barrage before withdrawing, covered by the next flotilla on rotation. Rinse and repeat.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod, and moving to relay my orders.

“Simple and elegant, ma’am.” Sara remarked on my other side.

“I suppose it gives that impression, doesn’t it?” I asked. “But at the end of the day, we’re just playing to our strengths. And we’re able to handle a battle of attrition better than they are, to say nothing of gunnery duels.”

“As you say, ma’am.” Sara agreed.

I nodded, and then narrowed my eyes. “Once the fleet engagement is proceeding as planned,” I began as Torrhen returned. “Give the word: pave the road.”

The older man gave a wolf-like smile. “Opening the door wider for the Special Attack Force, yes?” he asked.

“That’s the idea.” I said.

“Understood, admiral.” He said with a nod. “Given the usual chaos of the battlefield, I’d say it’ll take between ten to fifteen minutes before we give the word.”

“Good…very good…” I said with a smile, glancing at the tactical display and at the large number of Venators in the fleet, and the unpleasant surprise (for the enemy) that they represented.

TIE Fighters and TIE Bombers were cheap, fast, and easy to mass-produce, but both the Imperial Navy and the galaxy were very big places. Even now, four years after the end of the Clone Wars, there were still plenty of older (and more capable) attack craft still in service. And too many Imperial commanders were all too eager to replace those veteran designs and their pilots and crews with newer TIE series attack craft and green pilots, aiming to distance themselves from the memory of the Galactic Republic, all to curry favor with the sycophants infesting the Imperial Court on Imperial Center.

Idiots…their flattery of the Emperor and his New Order might buy them favor in the short-term, but in the long-term?

It won’t do them much good against the Emperor’s displeasure when they get sent to do something and fail miserably at it. Or more likely, the Emperor would palm them off to Lord Vader, who’d then strangle them en masse for being a bunch of incompetent bootlickers who kissed asses all the way to command rank.

I’m not particularly sadistic, but having encountered all too many of the new breed of officers rising through the ranks these days…

…I can’t really say I don’t share the Emperor’s amusement at the thought of those morons choking to death at a gesture from Lord Vader.

Anyway…

…much like with the Venators, if other officers were all too eager to send veteran pilots and crews with their older attack craft to reserve lists or force them into early retirement, I was also just as eager to get them assigned under my command. Now, here’s to hoping they teach the new bunch piloting TIEs more than a few lessons.

No need to hope they do well. They’re veterans, after all.

That they’d do well should go without saying.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Attention, attention, all pilots to their attack craft. This is a combat alert. Attention, attention, all pilots to their attack craft. This is a combat alert. Attention, attention…”

Pilots rushed from their ready rooms to the nearest elevators, which then carried them to the main hangar, where their attack craft were waiting. It was a bit of a wait, which the pilots endured with an air of relaxed stoicism, mixed with an undercurrent of cautious excitement and anticipation.

After all, it’d been years since they’d flown in actual battle, for all that they’d kept their skills sharp as best they could in that amount of time.

“So,” Sub-Lieutenant UF-5153, nicknamed ‘Cable’ by his brothers, spoke up. “We finally get to see some action after so long. Glad to see not everyone’s forgotten about us.”

“It’s the new breed, Cable.” Lieutenant FK-8290, nicknamed ‘Incident’ by his brothers, replied. “Those who fought back in the war haven’t forgotten us. And from what I know, just about everyone at the top on this theater are men and women like us.”

“Hmm…guess this is our chance to show the new breed that without us they wouldn’t be sitting in their comfortable little spaces right now.” Cable mused.

“If you want to think like that, by all means.” Incident replied. “Just remember: when you’re out there in space, make sure to get the job done, and get back safe.”

“Thanks for the reminder, LT.” Sub-Lieutenant QG-9225, nicknamed ‘Clue’, quipped, and a ripple of laughter went through the clone pilots. Then the doors opened, and they rushed out, pulling their helmets on and attaching it to their personal life support units.

Jogging down the vast length of the Star Destroyer’s hanger, they split as they reached their assigned berths, climbing up and into the cockpits of their ARC-170 Starfighters. Technicians finished final diagnostics, before disconnecting power cables and fuel lines. Equipment was stowed, safeties withdrawn, and then technicians and droids were clearing away.

Then the whole hangar shook, as the bay doors slid open, exposing the starlit void above, and the blue orb of the nearby planet. Engines ignited across the length and width of the hanger, ARC-170 Starfighters and Y-Wing Bombers launching in sequence one after another.

“Wolf-Three,” the flight operator spoke through the speaker in Cable’s helmet. “You are clear to launch.”

“Acknowledged, Delta-One.” Cable said, before guiding his ARC-170 out of its berth with practiced ease. And then opening up on the throttle, rocketed out of the hangar, picking up speed and falling into formation with the rest of the squadron.

“Wolf Leader to all squadrons.” Wing Commander LE-7183, nicknamed ‘Burner’, began over the wing frequency. “I won’t repeat our orders, because I know you lot know enough to listen during the briefing. So let’s go out there and win this one for everyone who fought in the Clone Wars, alright?”

“Kote, mhi vode!” the war cry roared from all members of the wing. Then all wings banked hard, swinging out to a new course that would take them around the battlefield, and to their true targets, to the enemy’s rear and flanks.

“Delta-One to Wolf Wing.” The scratchy transmission came several minutes later. “Com-Scan has detected multiple small craft on an intercept course, assumed to be enemy fighters.”

“Acknowledged, Delta-One.” Burner replied. “Wolf Leader to all squadrons, you heard the man. This wouldn’t be fun without a proper dogfight, so lock S-Foils in attack position, and standby to engage.”

“Acknowledged, Wolf Leader.” Cable said while locking his S-Foils in attack position. “You heard that, Chemistry, Agent?”

“Just make sure you fly us straight, Cable.” Cable’s rear gunner, Sub-Lieutenant CM-7433, nicknamed ‘Chemistry’, replied. “I’ll watch our backs like I always have.”

“Hear, hear.” Sub-Lieutenant KO-4249, nicknamed ‘Agent’ and Cable’s forward gunner, added while bringing up the targeting computer.

“I’ll leave it to two you then.”

“Likewise.” The other clones chorused.

Lines and numbers flickered over the screen, before locking onto multiple targets. “Package armed, standing by.” Cable said.

“Package armed, standing by.”

“Package armed, standing by.”

“Package armed, standing by.”

Clone pilots reported in near-simultaneously, moments before Burner gave the order. “Engage!” he barked.

Red lights flared across the battlefield as Imperial attack wings launched a mass proton torpedo volley at range. “Incoming torpedoes!” a clone shouted.

“Looks like they’ve got the same ideas we do.” Burner hissed. “Break formation, and reverse acceleration! It’s a dogfight! OYA! OYA!”

The Imperial attack wings did as they were ordered, breaking formation into groups of three and scattering to throw off the enemy torpedoes’ guidance systems. Green light flashed across space as tail gunners opened up, aiming to shoot down torpedoes even as fighters danced and rolled across the battlefield.

“So much for the initial volley.” Cable growled as he and his wingmen pounced on the tail of a Federation fighter, which began weaving back and forth to throw them off. “…not bad…not bad…but not good enough!”

Agent intuitively pulled the trigger an instant before the targeting computer locked on. Green lances speared across space from the wingtip cannons, pulsing out strobe-like into space. The first few pulses flew vainly into the void, but the rest hit true, splattering against the Federation fighter’s shields repeatedly before they collapsed.

Then the laser blasts smashed into the fighter’s rear hull, melting through before following blasts tore the fighter up. “One down!” Cable cheered.

“And dozens more to go.” Chemistry hissed, opening up with the tail gun as Federation fighters closed on their tail.

Hissing himself, Cable barrel-rolled, causing phaser blasts to miss repeatedly. Twice they struck true, their fighter kept from being destroyed only by their shields. Growling at the hits, Cable wove back and forth across the battlefield, mindful of the orange beams lancing out at them from the Federation fighters behind.

Then one of the fighters was blown up by one of Cable’s wingmen, and reversing acceleration, while rolling to one side, Cable allowed the remaining fighter to overshoot. “Got you, you bastard!” Agent hissed while opening fire.

Amazingly, the Federation fighter evaded Agent’s fire, before trying to pull the same stunt Cable just did. Then a pair of proton torpedoes turned the fighter into space trash, and Cable was grinning.

“Thanks, Gate.” He said.

“No problem.” Sub-Lieutenant XS-6707, nicknamed ‘Gate’, replied. “Just watching my brothers’ backs, that’s all.”

“Hey,” Cable’s other wingman, Sub-Lieutenant ET-7130, nicknamed ‘Chance’, protested. “No thanks for me?”

Cable launched before banking to the side, his wingmen following. “No worries,” he said. “Drinks are on me later! OYA! OYA!”
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Fusion-powered laser beams lanced from defense satellites in staggered intervals, onboard computers ensuring there were always satellites firing even when others were recharging their weapons array. Imperial Y-Wings rolled and banked across the battlefield, avoiding the energy blasts before firing off a salvo of proton torpedoes.

Secondary weapons on the satellites came online, point-defense lasers lancing out at incredible rates. Torpedoes exploded before they could come close, but the Y-Wings pressed the assault, laser cannons blazing.

Satellites exploded as lasers met their mark, before stricken Y-Wings plummeted off-course, smoke, plasma, and debris trailing from wrecked engines. “I’m losing it…AAAAAAAAA-!” Sub-Lieutenant CT-9401, nicknamed ‘Hammer’ screamed before another satellite turned his Y-Wing into burning scrap flying through space.

“Hammer…!” Sub-Lieutenant YT-4640, nicknamed ‘Midnight’, shouted before his moment of inattention allowed a defense satellite to land a solid hit.

Imperial Y-Wing squadrons were taking serious losses as they assaulted Earth’s orbital defense grid, but the grid itself was taking heavy losses. Enough so that only an hour after the fighter launch, Y-Wings broke through the defense satellites towards the orbital defense stations responsible for providing cover to an area that included a portion of the West Coast of the United States.

Phaser beams and point-defense weapons blazed from the stations’ defenses, unlucky Y-Wings taking hits and reduced to drifting scrap. “Double power to forward deflectors!” Lieutenant-Commander AF-9107, nicknamed ‘Laughter’ barked into his helmet’s mouthpiece. “Stay on target, and standby on proton torpedoes!”

As acknowledgements came in, Laughter brought up his targeting computer, watching the reticule narrowing in as the distance closed. Several times his Y-Wing shook as point-defense fire slammed into its deflectors, but they and the fighter held firm, until finally the targeting computer locked in.

“I have a lock!” he barked. “Torpedoes away!”

Laughter banked away as he fired off a volley of proton torpedoes, the surviving members of his squadron doing likewise. Point-defense guns blazed away, but while they managed to shoot a few of the torpedoes down, most struck true, exploding with enough force against the station’s shields to shake it.

“Did we get them?” Sub-Lieutenant SH-2863, nicknamed ‘Major’, asked.

“No,” Laughter growled. “It’s shields are barely holding, but they’re holding. We need to come around for…”

Laughter was unable to finish the sentence, as a group of fighters backed by a Defiant Class ship swung around and opened fire, destroying the entire squadron in less than ten seconds. But while this station was safe (for now), the other stations were having less luck dealing with the Imperial bombers.

The nearest one shuddered as its shields collapsed, the squadron which took it down soaring away to engage approaching Federation reinforcements. In their wake, another Y-Wing squadron roared in, proton bombs flashing as they were magnetically-launched from bomb bays and against the now-exposed defense station.

Explosions rippled across the station, even as ion cannon strikes disabled primary and secondary systems alike. Backup systems were too well-hardened to be taken down by bomber-grade ion cannons, but with power cut to the orbital systems and the emitters destroyed by torpedo strikes, the backup systems could only ensure surviving crew had the time to evacuate the station before it fell from orbit and into Earth’s atmosphere.

And still the assault continued.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I stared at the tactical display on the Courageous’ bridge, jaw set as I divided my attention between the orbital defenses and the Home Fleet. No doubt, the only reason the former hadn’t fired on us was due to the risk of friendly fire, our fleet’s heavy jamming keeping Starfleet from using their (usually) absurdly-precise sensors to deploy extremely-precise fire against us.

“…the orbital satellites are easy enough to take down,” Torrhen was saying. “But the defense stations are much more formidable. Less so compared to a Golan-II, but our Y-Wings are still taking quite a beating.”

I nodded slowly, and made a small smile of satisfaction as one of the remaining stations began to explode. “It seems we underestimated the enemy’s orbital defenses to a considerable degree.” I said. “We’ll have to keep that in mind in the future. Also…those new fighters of theirs…an unpleasant surprise…”

Especially in my case, as I’d assumed the Federation would depend largely on shuttlecraft plus a small amount of custom designs like Voyager’s Delta Flyer or that special runabout the Enterprise-E (and probably other Sovereign Class Starships) carried. Enough to match the TIE Fighter or even the V-Wings some Venators still carried, but less so ARC-170s or Y-Wings.

Those new fighters though…

…hmm…I think this called for quick thinking, or things would start going south pretty fast from here on out.

“When the fourth phase begins,” I began. “I want the Special Attack Force to capture at least one of those fighters. They represent a…variable, in our operational planning that we’ll need to take a closer look into.”

“I’ll give the order, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod.

I nodded back. “…only twenty minutes left until the third phase begins.” I said after a few moments. “The fleet battle is going well, but it’s ultimately a distraction.”

“Should we redeploy fleet elements to reinforce the attack on the enemy orbital defenses?” Torrhen asked.

I considered it for a few moments, and then shook my head. “No,” I said. “We’ll continue as planned. Our flyboys are doing well all things considered, so let’s trust in them until the very end.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod.

I continued to stare at the tactical display for several minutes, and then poked a finger into the hologram. “Those corvettes of theirs are pretty effective.” I remarked. “More agile than the CR90, and potentially-equal if they ever got their hands on more-effective beam weaponry.”

“Should we attempt to capture one of them as well?” Torrhen asked.

“…in the future, but not at present.” I said after a moment’s thought. “It’s much too risky right now, what with everyone on edge with the fleet battle. Not to mention the Special Attack Force essentially being asked to take a leap of faith. They might be too…unnerved, that they might make mistakes storming and securing even a corvette-sized vessel, and cost us a Star Destroyer by the Federation pulling a self-destruct in the hangar bay.”

“I see your point, ma’am.” Torrhen agreed.

I narrowed my eyes though. Those corvettes assisting in the defense of Earth orbit…

…they reminded me of…

…no, that couldn’t be right. The Defiant was a one-of-a-kind vessel, something they could never mass-produce, if only because it was built around a Romulan cloaking device. A cloaking device given to the Federation by the Romulans on the conditions that a) the Defiant would not be allowed to cruise in the Alpha Quadrant, b) use of the cloaking device was largely-restricted to reconnaissance operations, c) combat use of the cloaking device was limited to only against the Dominion and in the Gamma Quadrant, and d) any reconnaissance data would be shared freely and without restrictions with the Romulan Star Empire.

Any violation of those conditions would be considered an abrogation of the Treaty of Algeron, and a cassus belli for the Romulan Star Empire against the United Federation of Planets.

Ergo, they couldn’t be Defiant Class Starships, given the Federation’s asinine obsession with treaties to the left and right. They were even worse than the historical British Empire in that light.

Unless of course…

…the Treaty of Algeron was already null and void. That, or she was misremembering or misinterpreting her memories of her past life.

“…admiral?” I began, in an effort to shake my mind of out of its worry over the unexpected variable that a mass-production of the Defiant Class Starship represented.

“Yes, admiral?” Torrhen replied.

“…make sure the Special Attack Force is careful when they capture one of the Federation fighters.” I said. “Even if it’s only a fighter, a self-destruction is still going to cause a lot of damage.”

“I understand, ma’am.” Torrhen said. “I’ll be sure to inform Admiral Daala of that particular detail.”

“…good…very good…”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“More enemy ships dropping out of quantum slipstream, admiral.” Matsuda replied. “Approximately forty thousand kilometers from the planet. I can’t get precise numbers, not with all the jamming and battle debris, but I’d say they number at most a few hundred.”

“…how many ships do we have left?” Shanthi asked after a moment.

“Out of an estimated one thousand ships at the start of the battle, we’re down to about five hundred, give or take a few dozen plus or minus.” Matsuda replied. “And half of those are in no condition to continue battle.”

“…bring up tactical.” Shanthi ordered after another moment. She then spent several more moments studying the tactical display, and then shook her head. “The Imperial Fleet is englobing us. Unless reinforcements arrive soon, we’ll either be surrounded, or forced to withdraw to low orbit.”

“The Second and Third Fleets should be arriving within the next five hours, admiral.” Matsuda replied.

“By then we’d be dead and the enemy either gone or bombarding Earth to slag.” Shanthi said.

“Admiral…maybe…maybe we should withdraw to low orbit then?” Matsuda asked, before holding up his hands to urge the admiral to hear him out. “Yes, I know if we do that, we’d be all but literally fighting with our backs against the wall. Damaged ships would have little chance to withdraw from the battlefield, and at heavy risk of being dragged in by the planet’s gravity well and into the atmosphere. But those restrictions apply to the enemy as well, even more so given the larger size of their capital ships. And we’ll have the orbital defenses to back us up as well.”

“Maybe enough to hold out until reinforcements arrive?” Shanthi asked.

“Yes.” Matsuda said with a nod.

Shanthi briefly regarded the tactical display in silence, struggling the urge to lash out as she saw ships winking out with every passing minute as they were destroyed or forced to retreat. “It’s not a bad idea.” She said. “But I’m still concerned about the prospect of stray fire hitting the planet behind us.”

“I agree that’s a major concern,” Matsuda began. “But if we stay and fight here in high orbit, we’ll be wiped out in less than an hour. And then the enemy will be able to bombard Earth with impunity. I…I apologize, if this comes out as unworthy of a Starfleet officer, but…”

“…we need to pick our poisons, huh?” Shanthi interrupted. “Yes…I hate to admit it, but if it’s to keep Earth from getting bombarded, letting a few stray shots hit the planet is a small price to pay.”

Matsuda said nothing, and after a moment, Shanthi gave him a measuring gaze. After a moment, she nodded. “No matter the reasoning we use though,” she said, while working on her console. “It’s a line of thinking inappropriate for Starfleet officers. What is this war doing to us?”

Again, Matsuda stayed silent, while Shanthi began giving new orders. “This withdrawal will have to be conducted properly,” she firmly said. “Or those Star Destroyers will tear us to pieces.”

Tapping her console, she highlighted a portion of the Imperial Fleet’s right wing. “The enemy is withdrawing this formation from the battle.” She said. “That formation was their vanguard, and continued to fight as part of their battle line after the rest of fleet jumped in. Most likely, as an obvious weakness to draw us in and catch us in a crossfire between their center and the rest of their right wing.”

“And now the reinforcements are replacing them on the field.” Matsuda said with a nod. “But like our planned withdrawal, replacing formations on the field has to be done carefully.”

“And we’ll throw their care to hell and back.” Shanthi said. “We’ll concentrate fire on that section of the line, and tear it open. And while the enemy is trying to patch it, we’ll fall back.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Matsuda said, hurrying to relay her orders.

Shanthi settled back in her seat, grimly watching the battle continue. And then she noticed something, something that had her sitting up in alarm. “Lieutenant Anderson,” she began. “What are those outlying Imperial ships deliberately moving around the battlefield doing?”

The sensor officer immediately looked into the matter. “…I’m not sure, admiral.” He began almost a minute later. “Most of them are ships we’ve seen before: Vindicators along with CR90s and Nebulon-Bs. But the ships they’re escorting…we’ve never seen them before. However, based on computer simulations, they’re moving across the battlefield as though to cover all vectors of approach.”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” Matsuda immediately said.

“Neither do I.” Shanthi said. “Get me Picard.”

Immediately, Picard’s face appeared on the screen, the image shot through with static. “Jean-Luc,” Shanthi began. “I don’t know what the Empire is planning with those new arrivals, and I don’t know what to find out. Take out the squadron the furthest away, and work your way through. Just disrupting their formation is enough for starters, as they do seem to be trying to cover the battlefield’s approach vectors.”

“Under…admiral…handle it. Picard out.”

As Picard’s image winked out, Shanthi could only hope she was doing the right thing. Targaryen was proving to be a very dangerous enemy.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Ensign Perim,” Picard ordered his helm officer. “Bring us to the rear of the enemy squadron furthest from the orbital battle. Take us in at Warp One. Mister Worf, standby on phasers and quantum torpedoes.”

“Yes, sir.” Lieutenant-Commander Worf said at the tactical station.

“Engage.” Picard said with a gesture.

From their position in interplanetary space, the USS Enterprise-E made a pinpoint warp jump to the rear of an Imperial squadron furthest from the orbital battle. And it wasn’t alone. Two Nebula Class Starships served as the Enterprise-E’s vanguards, while screening its flanks and rear were four Akira Class Starships. Another ten Excelsior Class Starships added depth to the formation.

Despite being caught by surprise, the Imperial escorts moved quickly in response to the unexpected arrival of the Enterprise-E and her small flotilla. The Nebulon-Bs were the first to respond, the quartet of frigates bringing their turbolasers to bear and launching suppressing shots to buy time for the rest of the escort force to redeploy.

The Federation vessels rolled and wove around the frigates’ fire, and returned fire with phasers and photon torpedoes. Two of the frigates went down quickly, their shields collapsing before photon torpedoes blew them apart.

A third frigate was literally blown in half as a well-placed quantum torpedo from the Enterprise-E shattered the bridge linking the ship’s forward hull with the engine section to the rear. Precise fire from an Akira’s phasers destroyed the bridge and crippled the engines of the fourth frigate, and then the Starfleet vessels were flying past.

By now CR90s were in position to attack, and opened fire with turbolasers. Sheer weight of fire sent an Excelsior reeling, plasma venting from multiple hull breaches. Quantum torpedoes flashed from the Enterprise-E, and destroyed three CR90s, evening the score.

The two Vindicators present rolled along their x-axes, allowing them to bring all their dorsal turbolasers to bear. At the same time, they launched all their fighters, which flew away a good distance before coming around to attack from above and below, in a classic Marg Sabl maneuver.

On the bridge of the Enterprise-E though, all attention was on Lieutenant-Commander Data, as he noticed and ran scans on a series of spheres bulging out from the hull of the two Imperial vessels being escorted by the ships they were fighting. “…I am uncertain of the exact mechanics of their operation,” the android was saying. “But I believe when active those ships are able to generate a simulated gravity field.”

“A simulated gravity field?” Commander William Riker echoed in confusion. “Why would they want to deploy a simulated gravity field?”

Data worked at his station with a frown on his face. “Based on rough estimates,” he began after a few moments. “I suspect the simulated gravity field’s gravimetric flux shear would inhibit the formation of a warp field...or agitating the quantum barrier, prevent travel by warp or quantum slipstream respectively.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question though.” Counsellor Dianna Troi said. “Why would they want to do that?”

Alarmed beeping from the station drew their attention, the alarmed note of Data’s voice even more so. “The Imperial Fleet has deployed their simulated gravity field.” He said.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Daala stared out through the transparisteel windows on the command deck of her flagship, the Victory Class Star Destroyer Revenge. Through the windows, hyperspace swirled in an azure vortex, hypnotic and strangely-soothing, for all the tales told about so-called hyperspace madness.

Then blinking, she turned to her adjutant, Lieutenant Svent Krandor, who was visibly-fidgeting while also staring through the command deck’s windows. “Don’t be so anxious, lieutenant.” Daala said. “Admiral Targaryen’s a sharp commander, someone who doesn’t take risks without reason or a fair chance of success. Besides, you saw the simulations the same way I did. This will work.”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Krandor began. “Simulations are one thing. Reality is something else entirely. At the very least, we should have done at least one live test.”

Daala hummed as she gave her adjutant’s word fair consideration. His concerns might seem alarmist, defeatist even, but part of a good staff officer’s duty was to play the role of a devil’s advocate when given difficult or dangerous missions and orders. And he did have a point. Simulations and reality were completely different things.

“…if it fails, then we die.” Daala finally said. “But in that case, take comfort in knowing that Admiral Targaryen will face a court-martial for the loss of our ships and crews. And if she succeeds…well, we’ll be remembered as being the first to actually perform what may be called the Targaryen Gambit.”

“…as you say, ma’am.”

Daala nodded, and then turned back out to the swirls of hyperspace beyond the command deck’s windows. The minutes ticked by, the young woman letting herself be carried away by the hypnotic patterns of hyperspace…

…and it was with a faint hint of regret that she saw starlines stretch out to infinity before them, as they reverted back into real space.

And there before them, hanging in the void and dominating their point of view, was the blue orb of the Federation capital planet. Their flotilla had emerged from hyperspace exactly as the simulations predicted they would, in low orbit, and in a perfect position to conduct a precision orbital strike.

“…I don’t believe it.” Krandor softly said, eyes wide and voice filled with awe.

“Believe it.” Daala said with a nod and a smile. “Congratulations, Admiral Targaryen: The Targaryen Gambit has succeeded.”

Then turning to face the bridge, Daala raised her voice, and gave the order. “PREPARE TO BROADSIDE!” she roared.

Immediately the crew sprang into action, turbolaser batteries and concussion missile banks across the Revenge and her sister ship, the Terror, turning and opening as they prepared to fire. Capacitors hummed as energy was funneled from battery generators and the Star Destroyers’ main reactors alike, while metal clinked and hissed as concussion missiles were loaded into launch tubes.

“Target locked: Earth, United Federation of Planets’ capital, San Francisco.” The gunnery officer on the Revenge said. “All turbolaser batteries and missile banks standing by.”

“Enemy fighters and corvettes inbound.” Another officer warned.

“Have our escorts hold them off, and launch fighters.” Daala responded. “Aren’t there already Imperial fighter wings in this area of space?”

“…confirmed.” an officer replied after a moment. “Skull, Angel, and Solar Squadrons already moving to intercept.”

“Are we ready to commence bombardment?” Daala asked the bridge gunnery officer.

“Standing by, admiral.” The man replied.

“Then fire.”

“Acknowledged: commence bombardment.”

Within moments, Revenge and Terror unleashed a planet-scouring onslaught of turbolaser blasts and concussion missiles. What would normally have been reserved for a continental-scale bombardment as part of a Base Delta Zero operation was instead focused on a single city-sized target.

San Francisco was far from defenseless, featuring powerful deflector shields meant to protect against orbital bombardment. They covered not just the city and its suburbs, but even part of the surrounding countryside. There were environmentally-sealed bunkers for the civilians, loaded with enough food and emergency equipment to let them hold out for months if needed. And there were also torpedo launchers and phaser batteries, with enough range to strike into low orbit and beyond if needed.

But between the heavy jamming, the debris of the orbital battle, the battle itself, and the artificial mass shadow caused by the interdictors, targeting sensors and computers alike were left blind. Attempts to fire manually failed, the Starfleet gunners unable to override the safeties built into their systems. As the Imperial Fleet began its bombardment, the defense operators rerouted power from the weapon systems to the shields in a desperate effort to protect the city.

Turbolaser blasts tore through the upper atmosphere, accompanied by concussion missiles. Already, the former’s interactions with atmospheric molecules left trace amounts of heavy and radioactive byproducts in their wake. And then they struck against the deflector shield, sending waves of energy and radiation splattering across the atmosphere and the surrounding countryside.

Then they struck again, and again, and again, and again, and again. Every impact pumped energy and radiation into the atmosphere and surrounding land, the heat bloom alone throwing the regional if not the whole planetary weather system into chaos. But the waves of energy and radiation caused by the impacts were like those found in particle colliders, atmospheric molecules and atoms colliding, splitting, and fusing in micro-nuclear reactions that produced more heat, more radiation, and radioactive byproducts that were scattered in increasing amounts and distances.

And then the shield failed.

Turbolaser blasts and concussion missiles slammed into the heart of San Fransisco. Glass, stone, and metal melted and flowed like water, or simply turned into vapor. The force of repeated impacts tore kilometers deep into the planet’s crust, evacuees screaming as their shelters collapsed around them, the lucky ones incinerated in an instant by direct hits from the turbolasers.

And still the bombardment continued, for over four minutes straight, turning nearly two hundred square kilometers of ground and water into a smoke and vapor-clouded hellscape of blackened and molten earth. Starfleet Headquarters was completely-obliterated, Admiral Paris and a large number of other senior and flag officers killed inside.

The Federation Council and various embassies were also killed, their hidden bunkers in outlying areas destroyed in the bombardment, unable to transport out as San Francisco’s own shields interfered with their signal. Of the high officials of the Federation, only the president was left alive, his office being half a world away, and indeed conferring with the leaders of United Earth in a secure location even as battle was joined in the skies above.

Not that that mattered to the Empire. Operation Yellow had achieved its end regardless.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Bombardment complete!” Sara said. “Starfleet Headquarters and the Federation capital have been destroyed!”

“Admiral Daala’s status?” I asked.

“Admiral Daala’s Special Attack Force is breaking orbit, and preparing to jump.” Sara replied.

“Have the interdictors drop the interdiction field, and disengage as well.” I said. “Reorganize the fleet, all Star Destroyers are to form into three spearheads, and advance at maximum battle speed. We’ll break through the enemy’s left wing, and jump into hyperspace on the far side of the planet. The rest of the fleet will fall back, and escape hyperspace while we draw the enemy’s fire. Divert power from weapons to shields. Our batteries have their built-in power sources anyway. Recall our attack craft. It’s all on our metal from here on out, and we’ve got plenty!”

“Yes, ma’am!” Sara said before rushing off to relay my orders. As for myself, I focused on the blue globe of the Earth, and though obscured by the battle, I could see the spreading darkness that was the fallout of San Francisco’s destruction spreading across the East Pacific and the western part of North America.

“War’s such a dirty business.” I thought. “And we’re still only just getting started…”

I broke out of my thoughts as alarms sounded from the tactical display. “What’s happened?” I demanded.

“An enemy cruiser conducted a pinpoint light-speed jump and attacked Terror and Revenge.” Torrhen replied.

“Status?” I demanded.

“It launched high-speed torpedo volleys, and inflicted moderate damage on Revenge.” Torrhen replied. “The Federation cruiser however has taken several hits from turbolasers and concussion missiles. It’s dead in the water.”

“Leave it.” I said, idly noting said cruiser was actually the Enterprise-E. “We have no time to deal with stragglers. Operation Yellow is complete, and I see no need to waste any time. In fact…admiral, send the order. Commence Operation Typhoon immediately.”

“Yes, admiral.” Torrhen said before hurrying off to relay my orders. Meanwhile, I stared at the icon that represented the Enterprise-E, and realized I was essentially leaving them for dead. Or, to look at it from another perspective, they weren’t worth killing.

And man, if anything could make Worf especially angry, it’s probably that notion.

Picard was also probably furious at the damage dealt to his beloved ship, probably as furious as he was when the Borg boarded his ship. It took a lot of effort not to start cracking up at the faint memory of a 21st Century woman comparing him to Captain Ahab, followed by Picard throwing things around while screaming his head off about not losing his ship to the Borg.

…here’s to hoping that the jolly old man didn’t get a stroke after his ship got left dead in the water this time around.

Though I’m sure that…uh, whatever his name, the chief engineer, Louis or something, could get the Enterprise-E back up and running in a few hours. Especially with that droid friend of his, Lore or Data or Logic or something, helping him out.

And then I blinked as Sara stepped up next to me. “The orders have been given, ma’am.” She said.

I nodded. “I can see that.” I said, gesturing at the tactical display, where the fleet’s Star Destroyers were forming up into a trio of wedges than then partially-overlapped into a single spearhead. All the while, the fleet’s lighter vessels were falling back, jumping to hyperspace in squadrons just as the Special Attack Force and the interdictors had already done so.

And then Torrhen was arriving as well. “The word is given.” He said. “Typhoon.”

“Excellent,” I said, adjusting the tactical display to focus on the Moon, and the Lacus Somniorum in particular, where the biggest antimatter production and storage facility in the Sol System was located at.

That’ll make for one, very big explosion.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

Turbolaser blasts shattered an Akira’s shields, before another volley tore the ship apart. Moments later and it exploded in a blinding flash of light, as containment failed and antimatter freely reacted with the ship’s hull and other components.

The Imperial Fleet surged forward at maximum battle speed, easily clearing high orbit. Well, at this point it was just the Star Destroyers left, the smaller and lighter vessels having since jumped into hyperspace on my orders. We held the rearguard, and once the rest of the fleet had retreated, we broke through the enemy left wing and advanced towards open, interplanetary space.

Not without interference, of course. Most of what was left of Starfleet’s Home Fleet had disengaged and rushed towards low orbit, aiming to provide assistance and conduct rescue operations for the planet below, as a radioactive cloud spread over most of North America.

…

…

…

…

…

A part of me, rooted in the fading memories of my past life, felt regret and horror at that. Millions of people would have been killed by the bombardment alone, and millions, if not tens of millions more would follow as radioactive fallout spread across North America. This would leave a scar on the Human, or at least Terran psyche, for generations to come. Earth itself had been attacked, and in a way that would leave a physical scar that would last for thousands of years – assuming they didn’t perform geological engineering to fix it – in the form of the radioactive crater that had once been San Francisco and its environs.

It wouldn’t be the only scar either. Soon stories would be circulating of plants and animals, whether crops and livestock or flora and fauna in the wild, mutating and fatally falling ill from radiation sickness, followed by people soon after. And while the Federation’s medical technology was incredibly-advanced, at least on par with the Empire’s own, it would certainly struggle if not more so with the scale of the disaster I’d unleashed on the Earth.

Then the numbers would come, of the dead, injured, and missing, opening the psychological wound even wider, and darkening the resulting scar. Whether they liked it or not, the result of such physical and psychological scars could only be inevitable: Humanity…the Federation, must change.

…

…

…

…

…

Or not. The Eugenics Wars…World War III and the post-atomic horror…the Xindi and Romulan Wars…the Cold War between the Federation and the Klingon Empire…the Borg Invasions and then the Dominion War…

…through it all, they still refused to change. The nobility of their ideals aside, the Federation – Humanity – still stubbornly insisted on looking at the world and people around them, to say nothing of the stars above, with rose-colored glasses. I doubt Q wanted them to replace those glasses with jade-colored ones instead, but I was almost certain he wanted them to take those glasses off and just see.

See and live…

…I’m still not sure what he meant by the latter, but I was fairly certain about the former. And from the look and sound of things, it needed the Federation being passed through the crucible that was conquest by the Empire.

At the thought, a memory stirred from my past life, just a series of words from a novel whose name and characters I could no longer remember. What a shame…the words…struck a chord…

We’re about to pass through the crucible, but we’ll come out on the other side…rising from our own ashes…changed…

I closed my eyes, and sighing, pinched the bridge of my nose. I’m still a long way away from conquering the Federation, and this was only the first taste of the crucible’s fire, a fire that would forge a new, stronger Humanity.

Green lances burned through space, dozens of Star Destroyers of various classes raining fire at distances nearly a hundred thousand kilometers out. Explosions blossomed above the Earth’s atmosphere, as multiple defense stations exploded nearly at the same times. They might be able to stand up against Y-Wings, but against Star Destroyers?

Not a chance.

Then there was a blinding flash, enough to make me and Sara turn away, shielding our eyes. “What the hell was that?” I demanded.

Sara immediately checked the tactical display. “…it appears that the low orbit docks have been destroyed.” She said. “The light was most likely the result of a runaway antimatter reaction.”

“…I see…how much longer until the strike force arrives?”

“Estimated time is forty standard seconds.”

I nodded, and narrowed my eyes. Already, those elements of the Home Fleet which had foolishly pursued us were breaking off, rushing back to orbit to assist crippled vessels which had retreated earlier in battle, to evacuate burning orbitals and drifting hulks, and of course, to pick up escape pods.

As for my core destroyer force, well, a number of ships had suffered serious damage, mostly Venators and some Victories, but no Imperials. I’d also lost only one Star Destroyer, the Venator Class Black Prince, which had been unlucky enough to take salvoes of quantum torpedoes in its hangar. The halves of said Star Destroyer were still hanging in orbit, and a potential treasure throve of intelligence and engineering data…

…except the Federation and United Earth would soon have bigger problems on their hands to go rooting about a wreck. A wreck that was about to become radioactive scrap too. Good thing my commanders and I had taken the trouble of picking up as many escape pods from our ships as we could.

I would not want to be in one of them when Typhoon struck as fast and fierce as its name.

“All ships have cleared the Earth’s gravitational influence.” Sara said.

I nodded, and silently looked through the bridge windows as I faintly heard the captain give the order. Then the starlines were stretching out to infinity, and the fleet jumped into hyperspace.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“The enemy fleet has jumped into the quantum slipstream.” Anderson said, and Shanthi slumped into her seat with a weary sigh.

“How many?” she asked.

Matsuda worked away at his console for several seconds. “Out of one thousand and eighty-two ships at the start of the battle,” he began. “Only two hundred and sixteen ships are left space-worthy. And thinking hopefully, only half of those are either combat-worthy or can be restored to combat readiness.”

“And realistically-thinking?”

“…only a third, ma’am.”

Shanthi shook her head. “Damn it…” she said, and then grit her teeth as she saw the radioactive cloud blotting out most of North America. “…damn it…GOD DAMN IT!”

With the battle over, Shanthi finally allowed her control to slip, and slammed a fist against her seat’s armrest. “We’re all but annihilated!” she spat. “The Home Fleet’s gone, and we barely managed to scratch the enemy’s battleship core! We…!”

Anything more was interrupted as alarms began to sound. “What’s happening?” Matsuda demanded.

“Imperial warships have jumped into the Earth-Moon System.” Anderson replied. “Reading…four Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers, six Carrack Class Light Cruisers, and sixteen CR90 Corvettes. They dropped out of quantum slipstream approximately eighty thousand kilometers from Earth, and proceeding through the system at fifteen thousand kilometers per second.”

“What are they up to now?” Shanthi softly asked before erupting in rage. “What is that damn Targaryen plotting?”

“Enemy fire detected…!” Anderson warned.

“What…?” Shanthi began to say, but was unable to finish as blinding light filled the viewscreen.

Unknown to the Starfleet Fleet Admiral, on dropping out of hyperspace, the fast attack force had immediately began spinning its drives up for an emergency hyperspace jump. Its course had been plotted and followed at maximum speed, carefully set to avoid being caught in the gravitational influence of either the Earth or the Moon.

And its weapons had sought out and locked onto the Lacus Somniorum, a volcanic plain located on the side of the Moon facing the Earth. The plain was an industrial region, home to over three hundred thousand people. Most of them worked in various heavy industries, ranging from metallurgy, to manufacturing, and precision engineering. Others worked in the service industries, such as medical and entertainment fields. Others more worked in the civil service, either as part of the local United Earth government, or providing oversight for the Federation.

It was a natural place to develop an industrial zone, though this was a given for the whole of the Lunar surface. The Moon was rich in metals and other minerals, vital as raw materials for heavy industry. Much of it was processed on the Moon itself, before being fed into local factories or exported to other places in the system. These included the even greater industrial districts and facilities on Mars, and the massive civilian and military shipyards over Earth, the Moon, and Mars.

Another major industry on the Moon was fuel production. Billions of years of exposure to the solar wind had deposited vast amounts of fusible elements into the Lunar regolith, and despite centuries of extraction, enough was left for centuries more at current rates of extraction, before the gas giants became the primary source of fuel for the fusion reactors that were the backbone of planetary energy infrastructures. To be sure, Earth’s oceans, and those of some moons such as in the Jovian system could produce fusible elements as well, but environmental interests stood as massive and unyielding obstacles to such exploitation.

But fusible elements were only one kind of fuel. Fusion reactors provided auxiliary power for starships, yes, but they simply didn’t have the output needed to make warp travel possible. And so like most known spacefaring species and organizations (the Romulans being an exception due to their mastery of artificial quantum singularities as energy sources), the Federation used antimatter to provide main power for starships, enough to sustain comfortable life in space and to achieve warp travel.

And so the Moon boasted the largest antimatter production and storage facilities in the entire Sol System, easily producing half the system’s output. Sheer proximity to the great shipyard complexes and naval facilities both on Luna and the Earth overrode safety concerns, with both the Federation and United Earth within it addressing said concerns with multiple-redundancy safety and security measures, ensuring that there was virtually no chance of an accident occurring with such a volatile form of fuel.

There was also the risk of attack from the outside, but the Federation believed that was unlikely, given the presence of the Home Fleet. And certainly, it didn’t seem there was any reason to worry. Subspace sensors around and surrounding the Sol System meant the Home Fleet could detect any incoming attack in advance and intercept before they could threaten the antimatter farms, and more importantly, no enemy had ever attempted to attack the antimatter farms or shown any indication of planning to do so.

Indeed, even in Starfleet Intelligence’s worst-case scenarios, the antimatter farms, while a target, were not for destruction, but for capture. Capture and use the antimatter kept inside the farms as fuel for the occupation forces.

And most Starfleet officers believed no one would be so…savage, to attack the antimatter farms and potentially trigger so great a catastrophe as to make the Third World War’s nuclear exchange look like a mere bar brawl.

That didn’t take the Galactic Empire into account.

Interrogation of captured Starfleet officers had not only revealed to the Empire the existence of the antimatter farms, but also their precise location. This information had been further confirmed through under-the table deals between the Orion Syndicate and Imperial Intelligence, and again in the recent battle by reconnaissance flights by ARC-170 Starfighters.

And ultimately, it wasn’t as though the location of the farms were state secrets. They serviced both military and civilian shipping, after all.

It took only few volleys from four Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers to rupture the farms, and compromise the particle accelerators that made up the antimatter production lines. And then the Imperial Fleet was jumping to hyperspace, even as the escaping antimatter violently reacted with all the surrounding matter.

The resulting explosion shattered just over twenty-five per cent of the Moon into space-borne debris, much of it sent flying at significant fractions of the speed of light. The Moon was irradiated, guaranteeing a slow and painful death to anyone who stepped on its surface for more than an hour (if even that), though mercifully most of its population of approximately fifty million had been killed by the geological shock of what would be known as the Lacus Somniorum Catastrophe.

The radiation surge blinded the sensors across most of the Sol System, and destroyed what was left of Earth’s orbital defense satellites, at least those not shielded by the Earth’s mass. The people of Earth themselves were shielded by the magnetic field and the atmosphere of the planet, though anyone unfortunate enough to be looking to the Moon or to the sky was left blinded. Even then, aurorae would dance and swirl over Earth’s atmosphere for years to come, as radiation from the Moon’s corpse and high-energy particles left over from the catastrophe struck Earth’s ionosphere.

As for what was left of Starfleet’s Home Fleet, as well as the remaining orbital defense platforms…

…those on the ships and stations were safe, so long as their shields held, and with multiphasic shielding, even heavily-damaged ships did better than feared.

All their sensors and in some case, communication systems were fried though, and in cases where shields failed or had no shielding at all (like in hulks or escape pods)…

…rescue teams sent in months later reported finding boiled flesh fused into warped metal…

It would be weeks before the radiation settled down enough for anything more than short-range sensors could work in the Earth-Moon System, and all non-subspace communications beyond courier ships would be unusable for months, and unreliable for decades to come. It would also be months before anything unshielded could travel through the Earth-Moon System safely, necessitating the towing of damaged ships to Mars, for repairs and more.

Worse than that though, was that the Lacus Somniorum Catastrophe was not the only antimatter production and storage facility attacked. Two others in the asteroid battle, both producing between them the remaining half of the Sol System’s antimatter, were also attacked and destroyed by the Empire. In their cases, their distance from the rest of the planet’s inhabited worlds reduced the damage, but the radiation surges still further damaged the Sol System’s already battered sensor infrastructure.

And this was only the opening blow of Operation Typhoon.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“What the hell happened here?”

The defenses of the Belsavis Gateway were battered, but holding. One of the Golan-IIs was gone, and another was on fire, escape pods and shuttles streaming away, the battle to contain its main reactor clearly having ended in defeat.

A third Golan-II had sustained moderate damage…

…and that was it, really. Well, there were less escorts around, and on a closer look, it seems that one of the assigned Victory Class Star Destroyers had been destroyed.

Kriff…

…a Star Destroyer destroyed…

…how…?

I sighed, as the redundancy of my first question was made clear by the sight of wrecked and burning Klingon Birds-of-Prey drifting across the battlefield. Then the nearby holoprojector was lighting up, and Vice Admiral Valaras Broxin was there, and sporting a bloody bandage around his forehead.

“Welcome back, admiral.” He said.

“Admiral Broxin, you are injured.” I noted.

“Just a minor injury, ma’am.” He said. “A Klingon cruiser rammed my flagship, and I knocked my head on a railing. No concussion according to the doctor, though it did give me a fairly-bloody wound.”

“…head wounds tend to bleed heavily.” I admitted. “Now, report. And keep it short, I’m sure the details can wait for a written version.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Broxin said, and drawing himself up. “Approximately five standard hours after Operation Yellow’s commencement, our CGTs detected large numbers of cloaked vessels approaching from multiple directions. Assuming they were hostiles, we opened fire, forcing them to decloak and engage in battle.”

“And then what happened?” I asked.

“We held out long enough for reinforcements to arrive,” Broxin said. “The Eighth and Ninth Battlegroups arriving in about fifteen standard minutes.”

“And…?” I prompted.

“It took us just over an hour,” Broxin continued, “But we managed to rout the enemy. About five hundred ships in all, mostly heavy cruisers, but also a number of corvettes. We managed to capture one heavy cruiser in fact, though the crew put up quite the fight. We lost three Spacetroopers, who I would put forward for posthumous promotions and commendations.”

“Consider them granted, admiral.” I said, feeling slightly-cheered by the news. Slightly – I should have expected the Klingons to join in…

…now, what about the Romulans? Or the Cardassians, for that matter?

Romulans were no friends of the Federation, even their cooperation against the Dominion required…manipulation, by Starfleet Intelligence to achieve. They were also notoriously-opportunistic. Hmm…that could prove problematic, and I’m not entirely sure if we could make an arrangement…

…the Cardassians…okay, probably no worries there. They were spent after the Dominion War, though they might go for Bajor. And…

…oh kriff…Bajor…and their space gods…

…one thing at a time, Jaenera. One thing at a time. Hopefully, I can figure out a way to get around that problem…hopefully…

…kriff…

“…intelligence and engineering are already poring over the captured vessel,” Broxin was saying. “We should have preliminary reports ready by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

“Very good, admiral.” I said. “I’ll expect a detailed report about the battle by this evening. In the meantime, focus on repairing damaged ships, picking up survivors, and repairing battle damage.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Broxin said with a salute. I saluted back, and then the hologram faded away.

“What do we do, admiral?” Torrhen asked.

“The lost Golan-IIs need to be replaced.” I immediately said. “Reassign a battlegroup to assist in gateway defense until they are. We also need to adjust our long-term strategy, given this early appearance by the Klingons. I’d expected them to sit this one out for a bit longer, see how things were going before picking a side…well, now that they have, we’re going to have to deal with it.”

“As you say, ma’am.” Torrhen said with a nod.

“For now though,” I said. “Operations White and Typhoon will continue as planned. Similarly, all fleet units which fought as part of Operation Yellow will proceed on rotation to Sluis Van for full repairs. While at Sluis Van, personnel will have seventy-two standard hours of shore leave. Reinforcement and transfers will also proceed as planned therein.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I nodded at him, and then took a deep breath. “Seeing as we’ll be taking a breather,” I began. “I suppose I should pay a courtesy visit to Grand Moff Tarkin at Eriadu as well. Sara, make the arrangements.”

“Yes, admiral.”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

Rear Admiral Japla Kala’myr looked on as the starlines stretched out to infinity, and then resolved into the billions of sparkling lights that were the stars of space. And in the distance, visible only as a slightly-brighter and bigger speck, was a space station, bigger than a Golan-II, but less formidable, at least in terms of gunnery.

That was their target: Starbase Epsilon, in the Kalandra Sector, on the far side of the Federation from the Imperial beachhead in the Orion Sector. Here, significant numbers of ships could be resupplied and repaired relatively-quickly. Though overall time depended on how many ships the starbase was expected to support, the crux of the matter was that Starbase Epsilon was a major link in the Federation supply chain.

And this, in turn, made it a viable target for Operation Typhoon.

A glance at the tactical display confirmed to Kala’myr that his fast attack force had come out of hyperspace without incident, with two Victory and Venator Class Star Destroyers each, the latter including his flagship, Thunderer. There were also six Carrack Class Light Cruisers and sixteen CR90 Corvettes providing screening for his fleet.

A solid force, if slightly-dated given the age of the Venator Class. More than enough to fulfil the orders given to them, of course. And as the recent Battle of Earth had shown, Venators for all their age were still Star Destroyers. Undergunned by modern standards, but still packing firepower and endurance worthy of their designation.

The grizzled veterans of the Clone Wars could still fight for the Empire, and even teach the next generation a few more lessons yet.

“Enemy launch detected.” Lieutenant Magnus Monsula said. “Com-Scan indicates twelve Miranda Class Frigates, moving to surround us.”

“Intelligence indicated that Starfleet was stripping their border outposts given the virtual annihilation of the Home Fleet.” Kala’myr mused. “Twelve frigates seem a bit much, considering this sector’s distance from the frontline…then again, the Miranda Class is supposed to be an old and outdated model like the CR70…”

“…the enemy has jumped to light-speed!” Magnus interrupted.

“They ran…?” Kala’myr began to say before the Thunderer shook. “What was that?”

“Torpedo strikes!” Magnus said, before the Thunderer shook again. Then in the distance, a CR90 exploded as its shields failed and photon torpedoes blew it apart. “Admiral…the torpedoes seem to be coming out nowhere!”

“Could those frigates have a cloaking device?” Kala’myr asked, even as the fleet began opening fire with its point-defense guns, and the Carracks launched their TIE Fighters to try and intercept the incoming torpedoes. “Wait…no…damn, they’ve wised up!”

“Sir?” Magnus asked, looking and sounding confused.

“It was in an intelligence debrief about the Federation’s FTL drives.” Kala’myr said. “Warp, they call it. It’s slower than hyperdrive, very much so, taking nearly a century to traverse the galaxy where our hyperdrives would need only years at most through uncharted space, but it does allow for battles in and through light-speed.”

“Through light-speed, sir?” Magnus asked a moment before his mind caught up. “It can’t be…they’re launching their torpedoes while at…warp?”

“They’re probably running circles around us right now,” Kala’myr snarled, clenching his fists in frustration at being made sport of like this. “And launching torpedoes at us while we can’t fight back. Impudent bastards…!”

A flash of light briefly lit up the bridge, and the Thunderer shook again and harder this time, enough to floor several officers. “Direct hit on the bridge shields!” the shield officer warned. “No damage to the hull, but reinforcing our shields regardless.”

“More enemy ships launching from the starbase.” The sensors officer warned. “Reading another six Miranda Class Frigates, and two Excelsior Class Heavy Cruisers. They appear to be escorting a convoy of eight unarmed transports.”

“Should we target them?” Captain Robert Devin asked. “They’re well within…”

Magnus shook his head as the flag captain trailed off. “The enemy convoy has jumped to light-speed.” He said.

Kala’myr set his jaw, staring through the windows as photon torpedoes exploded across the shields of the Victory Class Star Destroyer Superb. “And still their rearguard attacks us.” He growled. “Fine…no matter if they’ve taken their crew, supplies, and removable equipment with them…just by destroying their infrastructure, we’ll still achieve our goals here regardless. Signal all Star Destroyers: target the enemy space station with turbolasers. Full barrage!”

The order went out, and even as torpedoes continued to rain down on the Imperial Fleet, turbolaser batteries traversed their turrets and aligned their gunbarrels towards the target in the distance. Power conduits hummed as power was diverted from the main reactors of the Star Destroyers to their main guns, allowing more firepower to be brought to bear with every salvo.

“All ships report firing solutions plotted,” Devin began. “Target locked, and ready to fire on your command.”

“Fire.” Kala’myr gave the order.

“Fire!” the gunnery officer relayed the order, and the order was in turn repeated by gunnery chiefs on all four Star Destroyers in the fast attack force. Emerald lances burned through space, smashing against the shields of the space station in the distance. They held out for just over a minute, and then collapsing, allowed the turbolaser to pummel the station itself.

Molten metal sprayed out into space accompanied by bursts of vapor and jets of plasma. Then the fusion reactor at the heart of the space station went critical, blowing the space station apart from the inside.

“Enemy space station destroyed.” Devin triumphantly said. “Congratulations, sir.”

Kala’myr stayed silent though, hands held behind his back as he watched the afterglow of the station’s destruction fade away in the distance. And then they all noticed that the torpedo attacks had stopped. The enemy had retreated, it seemed.

“Recover all fighters.” He finally said, “And then signal the fleet: jump to light-speed, and proceed to the next target.”

“Yes, sir.” Magnus said with a nod.

“Also,” Kala’myr continued. “Send a priority transmission to expedition command. They’ll want to know about this shift in the enemy’s tactical operations.”

The adjutant nodded his understanding. “Yes, sir.” He said, before hurrying off.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“…virtually all antimatter production and storage facilities in the Terran Sector have been destroyed.” A harried-looking lieutenant reported to a staff meeting between what was left of Starfleet Command, held in a conference room in a bunker buried deep beneath the Planum Boreum colony on Mars. “The Empire has also largely-destroyed antimatter production and storage facilities in the Vulcan and Andorian Sectors. We predict both sectors will also have no antimatter production and storage capabilities left within the next standard week at least. And based on reports through what’s left of the subspace communications network, the Empire is also doing the same to antimatter production and storage facilities across most of Federation space.”

“Most of Federation space?” the scratchy hologram of Admiral Ross asked.

It was Fleet Admiral Alynna Nechayev, newly-appointed head of Starfleet Security, who answered. “The Empire has refrained from attacking antimatter and production facilities in two sectors.” She said. “Specifically, the Bajoran and Orion Sectors. In fact, they’re avoiding the former as far as we can tell.”

“Why?” Ross asked.

“We don’t know.” Nechayev answered. “But we and Starfleet Intelligence are working on it. With regard to the Orion Sector though…we have circumstantial evidence to suggest that the Empire may attempt to open negotiations with the Orion Syndicate soon.”

“…criminal scum!” one admiral spat, and slamming a fist against the table angrily. “Like rats fleeing a sinking ship, is it?”

“We should deploy a force in strength to Orion immediately!” another admiral suggested. “Officially it could be just to reinforce our position immediately facing the enemy beachhead…”

“…but in reality to put the Orions back in line.” Nechayev said before glancing at Shanthi, still the Commander-in-Chief of Starfleet despite the destruction of the Home Fleet in the Battle of Earth.

“That is out of the question.” Shanthi firmly said. “Don’t think the Orions or indeed, any Federation member race, won’t see through such a pretense. By taking such a reactionary action without strong evidence backing it up, we give the impression of desperation, that of heavy-handedly putting an otherwise loyal member race under effective military occupation to discourage others from taking such a course of action.”

“But fleet admiral,” one admiral began. “Can we really afford not taking strong action to demonstrate our strength and resilience in these trying times?”

“Yes.” Shanthi said, and shocking everyone. “We can afford not taking strong action, because we are strong. We do not need to prove anything.”

“…that said,” another admiral said after a moment. “Even if shouldn’t act strong, we should take decisive action regardless.”

“Meaning?” Ross asked.

The admiral adjusted the holographic display, and expanding it to show a star map of the whole Federation. Further adjustments highlighted engagements with the Empire over the last few days, then Earth, and finally, the Imperial Occupation Zone across the Orion and surrounding sectors.

“Over the past four days since the Battle of Earth,” he began. “We’ve engaged the Empire a total of fifty-six times. Our losses from those skirmishes stand at one thousand, three hundred and forty-four ships, more than what we lost at Earth. Lost antimatter production and storage facilities have been listed down already, and need not be reiterated. And on top of those losses, in the past four days alone, we’ve lost twenty-four starbases, all the while our subspace communications network continues to remain under attack.”

“In short,” Ross said, eyes narrowed and the static shooting through his hologram seeming to punctuate his words. “The enemy is destroying our ability to fight the war in the long term.”

“Precisely,” the admiral said with a nod. “Our ability to communicate and coordinate with each other is compromised. Our ability to fuel our ships for extended periods of time is crumbling. And we are losing the ability to project power beyond major planetary bases, such as in the core worlds of Mars, Vulcan, and Andoria, or the capital worlds of the various sectors.”

“And so we come to the point of your reasoning.” Shanthi said.

“Yes, fleet admiral.” The admiral said with another nod. “I believe we should gather all our remaining offensive capability while we still have it, and use it to defeat the enemy while they’re still recovering from their losses in the Battle of Earth.”

For several long moments, silence hung heavy over the table. Then the commander of the Second Fleet, Admiral Matthew Townsend, slowly nodded. “Between intelligence provided by the Klingons during their failed attack on the Orion Wormhole,” he began. “And our own observations from the Battle of Earth and other skirmishes before and since, the Imperial Expeditionary Force only numbers between two thousand and three thousand ships.”

“In contrast,” Admiral Joshua Hart of the Third Fleet added. “Between our remaining fleets, we should have some four thousand ships, bigger by half assuming the upper end of our estimates for the Imperial Expeditionary Force’s size.”

“It’s not an overwhelming numerical advantage,” the admiral who brought up the notion said with a nod. “But that is the bare minimum number needed for offensive fleet action. Even more so, as we know from prisoners that Admiral Targaryen has withdrawn the greater part of her force to repair and reinforce after the Battle of Earth. I think this is an excellent opportunity to seize our side of the wormhole, and then attempt to seal it!”

Agreeing murmurs went up the table…

…and then silence, as Ross’ hologram vanished. “Communications…?” Shanthi asked after patting her communicator. “What’s happened?”

“…sorry ma’am,” a communications officer replied after a moment. “But the network connection with Admiral Ross has gone down. We’re attempting to get it back up, but the network degradation is such that we can’t give you a reasonably-accurate estimate of when that’ll be.”

“…acknowledged.” Shanthi said with a sigh. “Keep me posted.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The communications officer said before signing off.

Shanthi sighed again, as the admirals began aggressively talking with each other. Ideas on how to engage the Empire were thrown around, along with proposals on how to close the wormhole, even speculation on the potential use of various weapons of mass destruction, ranging from subspace weapons, to the Genesis device, and even the so-called Doomsday Machine. Shanthi pinched the bridge of her nose, mentally counting to ten to bring the side of her incensed and roaring for vengeance for the destruction of the Home Fleet and the Lacus Somniorum Catastrophe back under control, and forcing herself to think calmly and rationally.

Raising her head, swept her gaze across the increasingly-bellicose and aggressive admirals, before meeting Nechayev’s eyes. The two women locked gazes, and then after a long moment, nodded as one.

Nechayev rapped her knuckles against the table, and drawing everyone’s attention to her. “While it is a tempting opportunity,” she said. “And the reasoning behind it is sound, I cannot support such an attack at this time.”

Mixed sounds of surprise and confusion went up at that. “And why not?” Townsend asked.

“Admiral Hart mentioned we have some four thousand ships.” Nechayev said. “But like he said, that represents all our remaining combat strength. It would mean exposing all our space to attack, and the Federation has more enemies than just the Empire.”

“But,” Townsend began. “Surely they can see how the Empire is a threat not just to the Federation, but to every sovereign race in the galaxy. Much like against the Dominion, isn’t this a time to stand together against a common enemy, instead of turning on one another, and allowing the Empire to pick up the pieces?”

“I assume you refer to our alliance with the Romulans during the Dominion War.” Nechayev began. “But you must remember that the Romulans were perfectly-content to sit the war out should the Dominion simply recognize their interests, and required active interference in Romulan internal affairs plus outright deception on the part of Starfleet Intelligence to actually join the coalition against the Dominion.”

“…whatever happened to the Prime Directive…” one of the admirals present mutinously muttered, though no one responded beyond eyes turning his way.

“And even then,” Nechayev continued. “Ours was an alliance of convenience, lacking in real substance beyond a common enemy. Once the Dominion had been brought to terms, Romulan-Federation relations have returned to status quo ante bellum.”

Nechayev paused, and then brought up an update to the holographic map that had Starfleet’s admirals gaping in shock, disbelief, and betrayal. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Nechayev said with a smile that did not match the cold fury in her eyes. “As of twelve hours ago, we have confirmed that the Romulan Star Empire has occupied the Neutral Zone.”

Uproar erupted across the table, with Shanthi’s shouting failing to quiet the admirals’ outrage. It took the fleet admiral getting to her feet and slamming a fist against the table to get them to quiet down and pay attention.

“Thank you.” Shanthi said with veiled sarcasm and a note of warning. Then she turned to Nechayev. “Fleet admiral, you were saying?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nechayev said with a nod. “While the Romulans have so far refrained from sending their warbirds into the sectors adjacent to the Neutral Zone, I think the intent is clear. They have no intention of standing with us, and indeed, may be keeping an eye out for any gains at the Federation’s expense.”

“And that is why I will not agree to strip our borders of protection.” Shanthi said. “It’s not just the Romulans to be concerned about, of course. They are simply the most visible, and possibly not even the most formidable. The Tholians may seek to expand their claims at our expense, and the Breen are no friends to us. The Cardassian nationalists may also see this as an opportunity to regain power and influence in the Cardassian Union, and even use the prospect of gains in the bordering sectors to distract their citizenry from social and economic difficulties at home.”

Shanthi paused, and raised her hand. “Rest assured, honored colleagues,” she said. “I am not advocating inaction. I simply stand against thoughtless reaction. Even if we win against the Empire, it means nothing if we can only stand by and watch in the aftermath as our other enemies cut us to pieces.”

“Well then,” Hart said with a deferent nod. “What should we do, fleet admiral?”

“I am deploying the Fifth Fleet to the Beta Sector,” Shanthi said. “And from there, they will deter potential Romulan incursions to the Beta Sector and the adjacent Yadalla and Omicron Sectors, as well as the Typhon Sector on the other side of the Omicron Sector.”

“What of the Antares, Omega, and Archanis Sectors?” an admiral asked.

Shanthi sighed. “Antares and Omega are too close to the Empire for us to risk substantial forces therein.” She said. “Archanis though…the president will be making contact with the Klingons to see if they can spare the strength to deter the Romulans from entering the Archanis Sector.”

Nods and agreeing murmurs went up around the table. “Speaking of the Klingons though,” Shanthi continued. “I have also spoken with the president, and we have agreed that in order to take offensive action against the Empire without leaving ourselves defenseless, we must join our fleet strength with the Klingons to obtain the weight of numbers needed. The details to be presented and discussed have yet to be determined…and that is our task here.”

“I suggest we place the Fourth, Eighth, and Ninth Fleets on strategic reserve.” Nechayev immediately said. “That’s around one thousand and five hundred ships, about the same number of Imperial ships which attacked the Earth. With that same number of ships from the Klingons, we can match the predicted upper bracket of the Imperial Expeditionary Force’s numbers.”

“…not an ideal tactical situation,” Townsend said. “But we could do worse. What of the remaining fleets?”

“For the time being, the Second and Third Fleets will remain here at Sol.” Shanthi said. “The Sixth Fleet will support the Vulcan Defense Force in the Vulcan Sector, and the Seventh Fleet will do the same for the Andorian Imperial Guard in the Andorian Sector.”

“I see.”

Shanthi nodded. “It’s far from ideal.” She said. “But that is the reality of things. We must face and accept that fact, because only then can we really begin to work to overcome this situation. And that is what we must decide here and now: a proposal for a joint strategy between ourselves and the Klingons, as well as how to best mitigate the worsening circumstances on Earth.”

A silence briefly fell over the table, one soon broken by whispers and murmurs.

“…over three hundred million dead, injured, and missing…

“…that number rises by millions at the least every day…”

“…the electrical and communications infrastructure is all but nonexistent…”

“…transportation infrastructure is collapsing with the round the clock meteor strikes…”

“…geological and climatic upheavals are getting more common by the day…”

Shanthi closed her eyes in sympathy, and then taking a deep breath, rapped her knuckles against the table to draw attention her way. “My thoughts go out to the people of Earth,” She said. “As do yours. But our thoughts can only do them so much good. Our actions will do so much more.”

Agreeing nods went up around the table, and Shanthi smiled. “Right then,” she said. “Let’s all take a twenty-minute break to collect ourselves, and on our return, put together concrete plans of action for both Earth and against the Empire. Any questions…? None…? Then dismissed.”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“Well,” I thought to myself, as my Lambda Class Shuttle made its final approach towards the Eriadu Governor’s Palace, home and headquarters of Wilhuff Tarkin. The Grand Moff of Oversector Outer, and one of the few people in the entire Empire to command influence equal to – and in some ways, greater than – the Dark Lord of the Sith, Darth Vader. “Here we go.”

It wouldn’t be my first time meeting the man, of course. Back during the Clone Wars, I’d attended many briefings and staff conferences with then-Admiral Tarkin in attendance. The trend continued after the Clone Wars, though he was no longer admiral by then, but Moff of the Seswenna Sector, before finally achieving his current post. This would be the first time I’d be meeting him one-on-one though, and given his reputation (and what I knew of the man from my memories of my past life), I could be forgiven some measure of…anxiety, at the coming evening.

That, and this would apparently be a dinner between the two of us, with only his household staff and our adjutants present.

Glancing out the viewport, I looked on as the shuttle circled once around the ziggurat-like structure of the Eriadu Governor’s Palace, before alighting on one of several landing pads built on and around the titanic structure. Undoing my safety harness, I took the lead out of the shuttle, trusting in my pilot and copilot to handle the shuttle’s disposition on their own. Sara followed my lead, of course, being the good staff officer that she was.

Twin files of Stormtroopers greeted me on my arrival, an honor guard led by a man with a commander’s rank plaque, Grand Moff Tarkin’s adjutant no doubt. The man greeted me with a salute as I approached.

“Admiral Targaryen,” he began. “I am Commander Travar Silth. Welcome to Eriadu.”

“At ease, commander.” I said while returning the salute, Sara doing the same behind me.

“If you will follow me, admiral,” Silth continued while gesturing invitingly with one hand. “The governor has asked me to escort you to the dining room. He apologizes for not being here to greet you on your arrival, but he has a number of tasks to attend to.”

“Understandable,” I said, while following the commander’s lead. “He is Grand Moff of Oversector Outer, after all. And far from me to criticize a superior officer’s pursuit of his duties.”

“As you say, ma’am.”

As the commander fell silent, I took the opportunity to take a look at the city around us. Eriadu City was the capital not just of the planet, or even of the surrounding Seswenna Sector, but of the whole Oversector Outer. Eriadu was also a major trading hub, and the capital city reflected both that and its political importance.

All the heavy industry in the city left visible banks of smog drifting with the wind though, blowing away from the manufacturing districts and over the working class habitat blocks. The financial district’s skyscrapers glittered in the afternoon twilight, brightly reflecting the setting Sun’s light, windows shimmering with internal lights, while speeders sparkled as they flew in neat lanes between and around the buildings. And then there were the high class residential districts, surrounding and including the government buildings. Complex mansions in various sizes languidly stretched out amidst expensively-kept greenery, protected by high security walls, and in many cases, no doubt sporting private security forces as additional protection.

Not that the local nobles had much use for them, even with the games of intrigue common to nobles all over the galaxy. Not with Grand Moff Tarkin in charge here, for the man had little patience for feudal chicanery of any kind.

One unquestionably-respectable trait of the man, no doubt about it.

Then we were passing through the doorway and into the palace, so I turned away from the sights of the city. That said, I now found myself thinking of the images that intelligence had provided of the cities of 24th Century Earth. Then I found myself comparing them to the great cities of the galaxy I’d grown up in in this second life of mine.

And then I found myself comparing them to my fading memories of the 21st Century.

Strangely enough, I found myself comparing the cities of the galaxy favorably with what had once been during my first life. I’m not really sure what it said about me, but I found the cities of the 24th Century to be…

…too clean…

…squeaky-clean, I might even say. Toy towns…

…not real cities, devoid of the hustle and bustle, controlled chaos, and frantically-paced life that cities should have.

Even Nar Shaadaa was preferable to any of 24th Century Earth’s toy towns. I internally made a face at the notion. When the slimy, filthy, disease-ridden underbelly of the galaxy had more life in it than the utopian metropoles of 24th Century Earth…

…where did Humanity go wrong?
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I rose from my seat as Grand Moff Tarkin entered the dining room, standing to attention and giving a smart salute. Sara did the same next to me, the both of us holding position while the governor made his way to the opposite side of the table. Then Tarkin himself stood to attention, returning the salute along with his adjutant.

“At ease.” He said, before dismissing his adjutant. I did the same to Sara, the younger woman sharply turning and walking to stand against a wall. The governor then gestured for me to sit, before he himself did so.

Waiters then arrived, taking table napkins from in front of us and spreading it on our laps for us. Another opened a bottle of wine – Algarine White, from the smell of it, well, if so then the governor had good taste – and poured for the both of us.

“It seems congratulations are in order, admiral.” Tarkin said, toasting me. “Your campaign seems to be proceeding as planned.”

“Thank you, sir.” I said, returning the toast.

The two of us took small sips of our wine, even as the waiters returned with a bowl of salad. “I must admit, admiral,” Tarkin began, while the waiters dressed and seasoned our salad. “I had my doubts when the Emperor appointed you as the commander of the expeditionary force through the Belsavis Gateway. Your combat experience was limited to hunting down Mid Rim pirates before the Clone Wars, and your specialization in logistics is more suited for a staff officer than a field commander.”

I took another sip of wine to moisten my lips and brace myself. “I cannot deny my relative lack of combat experience.” I began. “It is only a matter of fact, after all. That said, I lack the wisdom to know His Excellency’s reasoning for giving me this command. All I can do is be thankful for the opportunity, and to fulfil my responsibilities to the best of my ability.”

“That you certainly have done.” Tarkin said with genuine approval, as the waiters began to serve us salad. “I read the report on the Battle of Earth. At first glance, it appears nothing more than a well-conducted but otherwise orthodox fleet engagement. But then one comes to the final phase of the operation…Admiral Targaryen, what is beginning to be called the Targaryen Gambit has set tongues wagging across the Imperial Armed Forces, especially in the navy. Whether it’s in the conference rooms of Admiralty, or in the officers’ lounges and academy classrooms, the implications of your…inspired tactic, has tacticians furiously debating with one another.”

“While I’m flattered that the navy thinks so highly of me,” I said. “It was a major gamble for me.”

“A gamble that paid off.” Tarkin said.

“Well, yes,” I agreed. “But it required extensive simulations by multiple tactical computers working in sync with one another, and indeed, taking the better part of a day to calculate the proper positions of our interdictors to ensure the Special Attack Force would be pulled from hyperspace at the proper location to commence bombardment, and not too far or worse, be thrown into the planet’s atmosphere.”

“True,” Tarkin agreed in turn. “But gambles, while dangerous, are what are sometimes called for in order to achieve victory. If they fail, then of course one must take responsibility for them. But if they succeed…well, there is no reason not to accept due praise for one’s achievement.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Tarkin nodded and took another drink of his wine. “If I might ask,” he began. “What inspired you to come up with the Targaryen Gambit?”

I hesitated for a moment, but making it appear as just veiled embarrassment. I could hardly admit I’d poached the tactic from someone who wasn’t even an officer in the Imperial Navy yet, not for several more years at any rate, and who wouldn’t come up with it for at least another decade if not more. I mean…how would that even be possible?

Well, I knew the answer to that, but I couldn’t give that answer either. Fortunately, I knew I’d be facing this question sooner or later, and come up with an answer.

“To be honest sir,” I began. “The inspiration was an academic question.”

“Oh?”

I nodded. “I was thinking of how to best use interdictors in this campaign, with their ability to pull ships out of hyperspace or other forms of traveling at light-speed.” I said. “And then I found myself asking: if interdictors can pull enemy or rebel ships out of light-speed and right where we want them, can they also not do the same for our own ships?”

Tarkin digested that answer for several more moments, while I braced myself with another drink of wine. And then he chuckled and smiled. “I suppose there is a lesson to be learned there.” He admitted. “Not to get too caught up in complexities that one misses simple solutions, and which more often than not work best. Or for that matter, are less prone to going wrong at inopportune moments.”

“As you say, sir.” I said.

“Oh dear me,” Tarkin then said, setting aside his glass and picking up his utensils. “It seems we’ve gotten too engrossed in our conversation that we’d forgotten our meal. We can continue after this course.”

“Yes, sir.” I said, while also picking up my utensils.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“I have to say though,” Tarkin began while dabbing at his mouth with his table napkin, while the waiters replaced our china and silverware. “The most impressive part of your campaign is less the one major fleet engagement you’ve committed to so far, as much as the rest of your ongoing operations.”

“You speak of Operations White and Typhoon.” I said.

“Indeed,” Tarkin said with a nod before giving a wintery smile. “Typhoon’s first blow in particular was most impressive. You not only succeeded in destroying a major fuel production and storage facility, or even the surrounding industrial facilities, but devastated the enemy capital planet.”

I hummed at that, struggling not to let my discomfort show, or the way my stomach turned at the reminder of how Typhoon’s first blow had turned out to be so…devastating. I expected a massive explosion, enough to leave a crater visible to the naked eye from Earth, considering all that antimatter. I didn’t know there was enough antimatter there to blow a large part of the Moon to bits, much less release enough energy to fry Earth’s infrastructure across the whole planet.

Kriff it, why the hell did the Federation even put that much antimatter on the Moon anyway?

…

…

…

…

…

Okay, never mind that. I’m a logistician, I know the answer to that. Stupid questions and all…

…still, I never expected that big an explosion. This is going to make a mess of things to put back together for when the war is done.

Chaos damn it all.

“With all due respect, sir,” I began. “I consider that a major miscalculation on my part. The goal was to destroy the enemy’s fuel production and storage capabilities on their capital planet’s moon, and limiting their ability to support a fleet in their home system. And while I expected significant damage to the local industrial capacity, I had planned to capture most of what was left when we finally launch Operation Blue.”

Tarkin hummed and nodded slowly in thought, as the waiters brought in hot soup. Other waiters refilled our glasses, though I drank water for now, to keep my head clear. Tarkin sipped at his wine, and then tapped a finger thoughtfully at the table for several moments. Finally, he smiled.

“Economic plunder, admiral?” he asked. “Is that also why no shipyards and other production and manufacturing facilities are among Operation Typhoon’s targets?”

“That is correct, sir.” I said with a nod. “It doesn’t matter if the enemy is still able to build ships and armaments, if they cannot fuel their fleets, much less have field bases to operate from. And if their fleets are immobilized, then their armies are trapped on their worlds. The initiative will belong solely to us, and we can set the tempo of the war at will.”

“Destroy the enemy one by one.” Tarkin said with a nod. “Yes, a basic principle of warfare, and one that allows for efficient concentration of force.”

“As you say, sir.”

Tarkin nodded while taking a drink of water as well. “Your admission of responsibility for the miscalculation at the beginning of Operation Typhoon does you credit.” he eventually said. “Though I see no reason to hold you accountable for it.”

“Sir?”

“The operation’s goal is to break the enemy’s supply chain.” Tarkin said. “For all that it was a miscalculation, the opening blow of Operation Typhoon has succeeded in that goal. As has the rest of the ongoing operations’ actions. Between Typhoon and White, the Imperial Fleet operates freely across Federation space, destroying their fleet’s logistical train and their subspace communications network at will. This, together with the devastation of their capital planet, proves the Federation to be a broken reed.”

Tarkin paused, and smiled knowingly. “Fear,” he said with emphasis. “Fear of the Empire…fear of the Imperial Fleet, now spreads across the Federation.”

I swirled the water in my glass before draining it. “It will certainly make discussing terms for surrender much easier.” I said, and Tarkin smiled wider.

“Indeed.” he said with an approving nod. How could he not? That was the Tarkin Doctrine in a nutshell: rule through fear of force than by force itself.

Not a bad idea…

…so long as you could back that fear up with actual force should the enemy call your bluff, that is.

With that thought in mind – though taking care not to let it show – I started on my serving of soup.
______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“What are your postwar plans for the New Territories, admiral?” Tarkin asked while the waiters were serving us a fish course.

“That is a matter to be decided by His Excellency and the Ruling Council, and not myself.” I said at once.

Tarkin raised an eyebrow, and looking at me in the eyes. I made sure to meet his gaze unflinchingly and without hesitation of any kind. “Perhaps,” he finally said. “But surely you have some opinions on the matter. And what of the Imperial Senate? Things have changed with the rise of the New Order, but the Imperial Senate continues to provide oversight for the bureaucracy.”

I hummed in thought for a few moments. “The former Federation territories are vast.” I finally said. “Not nearly as vast as any of the galaxy’s major regions, but large enough to warrant being made an Imperial Oversector under a grand moff, answering directly to His Excellency. Individual sectors, of course, are to be assigned under the governance of moffs under the previously-mentioned grand moff.”

“And…senatorial representation?” Tarkin pressed.

“I would hold off on senatorial representation for at least a decade.” I said. “Maybe two or more…we must make certain that imperialization of the local population is firmly rooted, and an explicitly pro-Imperial upper and middle class established. Until then, senatorial representation for individual sectors would be premature, and would cause more harm than good to Imperial interests in the region.”

Tarkin nodded in thought. “A prudent course of action,” he said. “I find myself inclined to agree.”

I bowed curtly. “Thank you, sir.” I said.

“Earlier though,” Tarkin continued while starting on his serving of battered fish. “You mentioned discussing terms of surrender for local polities, did you not?”

“I did sir.” I admitted. Oh boy, here we go.

“And what would you offer them?” Tarkin asked.

“The same rights and privileges all subject systems and planets of the Empire enjoy.” I said. “Though of course, they will have to understand that there will be obligations on their part as well.”

“Such as?”

“Imperial taxation, for one.” I said, and to my credit, I actually managed to get Tarkin to give a wintery smile of amusement at that. “They must also understand their place in the governing structure of the Empire, that is, individual worlds and systems within a given sector answer to a regional governor appointed by His Excellency. And that those regional governors then answer to a higher-ranked governor, who then answers directly to His Excellency.”

“Good starting points…is that all?” Tarkin continued.

“All worlds with major industrial capabilities and population centers will require Stormtrooper garrisons.” I continued. “Minor worlds will most likely be left to the Imperial Army, barring major insurgencies. Of course, the Imperial Navy will require bases to operate from.”

Tarkin nodded with approval. “The new sector and oversector fleets will certainly need ports to call home,” he said. “In order to enforce the New Order within the New Territories.”

“As you say, sir.”

“I notice that you leave out the economic side of things.” Tarkin continued. “Especially as from what I can tell based on various reports, the Federation appears to have adopted some kind of…communal, system, in place of a proper economy.”

“With all due respect, sir,” I began. “I’m not an economist. I do think the Empire will have to build a proper economy from scratch…”

Kriffing Communists…whether it’s in this life or the previous one…they always make trouble where there should be none…

“…but the details will have to be left to economic experts, perhaps with assistance from major, and previously-vetted, corporate interests.” I continued. “Though I suppose we could start by nationalizing key industries, such as metallurgy, shipbuilding, the public utilities, the aerospace industries, and armaments production, and then form new corporations, with shares split between the regional governments and private shareholders. I…I might be able to come up with some more ideas, but…again, with all due respect, sir, I’m a soldier, not an economist. I never really thought much about this, beyond privately cursing the Federation for not having a proper economy in the first place.”

“Understandable, admiral.” Tarkin graciously said. “Still, that idea of yours, of corporations with mixed ownership is an intriguing one. I’m sure there will be quite a few people interested in hearing about them.”

“I…yes, sir.”

“Rest assured, admiral.” Tarkin said with a hand raised reassuringly. “I do not hold you responsible for not having thought much of this matter, because as you say, you are an officer of the Imperial Navy, and not an economist.”

“Yes, sir. And thank you, sir.”

Tarkin nodded. “Still,” he said. “I’m sure you’ve given much thought about the planned occupation, and while I’ve read the details in your report for what you call Plan Zerek, I’d like to discuss it in further detail. Along with what you call Plan Mern-Osk, with regard to the Federation’s neighbors. Later though, for now let us continue with our meal.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“…the Council of Matriarchs has agreed to our proposed terms,” Ambassador Ubbal Lee said, his hologram flickering as he spoke over subspace radio from the planet of Orion. “Though it seems they expect Admiral Targaryen, as the senior Imperial officer for the expeditionary force as a whole, will be the one to sign it for the Empire.”

“I don’t like it.” Torrhen immediately growled. “It smells like a trap.”

“Well, yes.” Ubbal said with a cough. “One of the council’s…indentured servants, passed on a data chip hidden inside a baked sweet during the formal reception after we concluded our negotiations.”

The man then turned to one of the men on the Courageous’ command deck, wearing the olive-grey uniform of an officer, but lacking any of their rank plaques or code cylinders. Going by the sole name of Wolf, he was the senior Imperial Intelligence operative for the expeditionary force, and who answered directly to the Ubiqtorate.

“We’re still preparing a proper response.” The man said. “But yes, it’s apparently the detailed plan by what the Federation calls ‘Section 31’ for your capture, admiral, during the treaty’s signing.”

“Section 31?” Torrhen echoed. “Is that what they call their version of intelligence?”

“So it would seem, sir.” Wolf confirmed.

I just snorted at that. “I’d be disappointed if the Federation didn’t try something during the treaty’s signing.” I said.

“Admiral?” Torrhen echoed in surprise.

“Think about it, chief of staff.” I said, while beginning to pace. “Even before our arrival the Federation was a society on the brink of its own destruction…just like the Old Republic was before the Clone Wars. More than that, even. We all remember the Old Republic, and how it held similar ideals of multi-species cooperation and a collective pursuit of an egalitarian society. But we all also remember the decadence and hedonism that led to the Clone Wars. How it was just a façade…a gaudy shell for the rot inside…”

I paused, and made sure the meet the eyes of everyone present, not just my fellow naval officers, but also the agents of Imperial Intelligence and the Imperial Security Bureau (ISB). “…it’s even why the New Order exists.” I finally said. “To enforce unity, order, and obedience on the galaxy left in ruins by the Clone Wars, to rebuild and surpass what was lost, and to prevent such a devastating conflict from ever happening again.”

“And your point is, ma’am?” Wolf asked.

“Like I said,” I replied. “The Federation and the Old Republic have many similarities. Not just the idealism of the government and the directionless self-indulgence of the fat and pampered citizenry, but also a predominantly-Human leadership whose power was under threat from aliens both within and without.”

I was laying it on a little thick here, but it wasn’t completely wrong, and it was certainly selling the point well enough. “But while all too many leaders lack the strength and will to do anything about it, others do.” I finally said. “That we are all here is proof of that. The very existence of the New Order is also proof of that.”

Wolf nodded slowly in understanding, while ISB Agent Hiram Thorn looked thoughtful. “Do you think our campaign here is their version of the Clone Wars?” the latter asked.

“It could be seen that way,” I admitted. “But that would be a superficial observation, for all that it would have a similar effect. No, though. I do not think so. Their version of the Clone Wars, a crucible in which their society would be tested and perhaps reforged by fire – the fires of war – would probably have erupted in a decade or so had the wormhole not opened, and we not launched our expedition.”

I paused and waved a hand through the air. “In any case,” I continued. “My point is that not every one of the Federation’s leaders are decadent fools with no stomach for war. The politicians certainly so, more so than the Old Republic’s leaders, even, considering their Starfleet is both military and scientific and exploration arm in one. Even many – if not most – of Starfleet’s officers are academics and intellectuals who wouldn’t last a day in a professional military such as that of our own. But there are exceptions, just like we once were in the Old Republic’s anemic military before the Clone Wars.”

I paused again, and nodded. “I don’t expect Osvald Teshik,” I continued. “But I do expect that with the war having shaken up this galaxy – or at least this region of it – the Federation has shaken off much of the rot and decay it’s buried itself in, just as we’ve trimmed off a lot of the fat with our operations. Only competent individuals should be in charge now…but if not, I’d be very disappointed.”

Wolf frowned at that. “If the Federation is finally starting to take the war seriously,” he said. “Then we don’t have much time to waste.”

“Operation Blue will be starting the week after next.” I said with a nod. “Plus-minus a few days, considering the need to expand operational planning to accommodate new intelligence, specifically with Operations Balerion and Vhagar.”

Nods went around in understanding, the nascent plans for the attacks on Vulcan and Andor being well-known to expeditionary command. “Once we have control of the Federation’s core worlds,” I continued. “The war will be as good as won.”

“But in the meantime,” Torrhen chimed in, and following my train of thought on his own. “We will continue with Operation Typhoon.”

“That,” I said with a nod. “And one other operation. Just a small one, but potentially critical to the success of Plan Zerek.”

“Ma’am?” Wolf asked in surprise.

“Hmm…let’s see…” I mused to myself. “…yes, that would work. The code name will be Meraxes…”

I paused to smile, again meeting the eyes of my fellow officers. “The Federation will attempt to draw us into a trap at Orion.” I said. “If so, then let us spring it, and breaking the trap, punch the Federation in the face. In doing so, we prove that just because we’re negotiating, it doesn’t mean we’ve reached the limits of our military capabilities. No, we’re negotiating because we can afford to be gracious, and not because we need to be.”

Chuckles and wolfish smiles went up at that, even as Wolf pulled up the data on the holoprojector, and the Federation’s plans on Orion brought up.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Days later, and the Imperial Expeditionary Force’s First Battlegroup hung in high orbit over the planet Orion. At its core was a powerful force of thirty Star Destroyers, mostly aging Venators as well as Victory Is, but also a small number of Imperials, including the Imperial flagship, Courageous.

It was from the Courageous that a Lambda shuttle emerged, escorted by a full squadron of TIE Fighters to one of the spaceports that serviced the Orion capital city on the surface. An honor guard dispatched by the Council of Matriarchs was present, waiting for the admiral’s arrival. Contingents from Orion Capital Security were also present, reinforcing the private security forces holding the spaceport in the name of the Geshi Consortium, itself a subsidiary of the greater Laisha Cartel, in turn owned by the influential House Daga, one of twelve lineages currently entitled by their wealth and holdings to sit on Orion’s Council of Matriarchs.

Three squads of Stormtroopers arrived with Admiral Jaenera Targaryen, who curtly exchanged greetings with the honor guard’s commander. Two of the Stormtrooper squads stayed with the shuttle, the third squad joining the honor guard aboard a grav-gondola that would take them to the Citadel, where the Council of Matriarchs awaited.

The trip was quick and uneventful, but not for long.

Even as the grav-gondola passed through the Citadel’s outer perimeter, an explosion in the distance, in the blocks surrounding the Citadel, caused alarm. The grav-gondola immediately alighted, honor guard and Stormtroopers rushing the admiral out and towards the Citadel proper, and the safety that it promised.

Then another explosion erupted, this time just down the street from the main gates of the Citadel’s curtain wall. It was a car bomb, of all things…

…and then the gate itself exploded, the brilliance of its flare and the heat of the blast revealing the type of explosive device used: plasma.

Lights flickered across the outer court, as transporters deployed men and women in unmarked battle armor over urban-patterned fatigues. Phaser rifles rose and opened fire, Starfleet commandoes spreading out to take cover while engaging, moving fluidly and with greater combat awareness than previous examples of Starfleet ground troops had ever shown.

Stormtroopers and honor guard opened fire, even as the Citadel Guard also engaged. All across the outer court, firefights erupted, and then the Citadel itself reeled, as more plasma devices knocked out the transport inhibitors that protected its interior.

“Priority alert!” the alarm sounded across the Orion channels. “Multiple Starfleet commandoes across the Citadel! All Citadel Guard forces are to engage immediately! Destroy the intruders! Protect the matriarchs!”

“Capital Security will attempt to reinforce the Citadel.” Another alarm sounded over Capital Security’s channels. “However, multiple Starfleet commandoes are attacking across the city. Priority targets: Grand Embassy Complex, Space Navigation Office, Public Broadcast Center, Central Traffic Office, Trans-Orbital Ground Control Station, Goods Distribution Control Center, Capital Security Headquarters, Ground Traffic Control Center, and the Fusion Power Complex.”

“First and Fifth Defense Battalions will reinforce the Citadel.” The word went out over the Capital Defense Force’s channel. “The Seventh Defense Battalion will assist Capital Security.”

“Enemy forces have engaged the First Battlegroup.” The warning arrived to the Stormtroopers on the ground. “Secure Admiral Targaryen, and standby for evacuation once an orbital vector has been secured.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lights glimmered in the council chambers as Section 31 Operatives materialized via transporters, and then heavy phaser rifles were blazing away on full auto. Honor guard went down in sprays of boiling blood, steam rising from semi-cauterized wounds as their bodies thudded to the ground. Centuries-old tapestries burned, while millennia-old stonework and frescoes that dated back to the ancient Queendom of Orion shattered under the onslaught.

Then the firing stopped, and Matriarch Jayhnaa, First Councilor of Orion, gave an amused smile at the Section 31 Operatives. That, despite the fact that her body was already shredded by multiple phaser rounds.

“Amateurs.” She laconically said, in Earth Standard English. The other matriarchs on the council similarly smiled with mocking amusement, before each and every one of their images flickered and vanished.

The council had never been here.

Worse, it seemed they’d been expected.

That much was clear when the bodies of the honor guard – each and every one of them having previously received multiple times the honor of siring children with one matriarch or another – also vanished, revealed to be holograms themselves. The tapestries also vanished, as did the rubble of the chamber’s stonework and frescos, the walls now revealed to have had their exterior panels removed beforehand, sparing the precious artwork from destruction.

Operative Lynch snarled before activating his comm badge. “Justicar One to M…” he began, but never had the chance to finish.

Bombs placed in the ceiling’s supports had a tendency to do that when they blew up, burying the Section 31 Operatives below alive.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Interesting…” I mused as I received the report from the sensor station. “…and independently-confirmed by the sensors of other ships.”

“So this ‘Section 31’ is able to operate custom-refitted models of the Federation’s standard ships-of-the-line.” Torrhen mused as well. “How does that even work?”

“I don’t know.” I admitted, and not completely untrue at that. Oh I knew – from the memories of my previous life – that Section 31 was pretty much rogue in all but name, but to operate their own custom versions of Federation starships…how did they manage to get that to work?

“…ma’am, with all due respect,” Torrhen said after a moment. “I’m getting a feeling Section 31’s more than just the Federation counterpart to Imperial Intelligence.”

“I am inclined to agree.” I darkly agreed. “Once Operation Blue is over and won, we’ll have to find the resources to look into this further. There’s something rotten here, and I don’t like it. I won’t conquer this slice of this galaxy only to have it spoiled by one or another of the dirty secrets the Federation has secreted away.”

“We’ve received word from the surface.” Sara then said, handing a report to her superiors and turning their attention away from the unusual composition of the Section 31 Fleet they were facing. “Federation commandoes have overrun the outer court, and are now fighting their way into the Citadel.”

“Status of Orion reinforcements?” I asked.

“Two mechanized battalions are headed for the Citadel even as we speak.” Torrhen replied. “But the city is falling into chaos, so it’s slow-going.”

I tapped my chin in thought, and regarded the tactical display for a few moments. And then I smiled.

“Let’s keep up the deception.” I said. “Keep the fleet back, and focus on long-range strikes primarily aimed at achieving deterrence over destroying the enemy. At the same time, dispatch reinforcements to the surface…say, a company’s worth of Stormtroopers. Detail a squadron of our lead fighters to escort them, and place additional fighter squadrons on standby to secure an orbital vector.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said, saluting myself and Torrhen before hurrying off to relay my orders. As for myself, I hummed a tune from the Ode of Lucerys and Helaena, as I paced slowly around the tactical display, gloved fingers running over its edge.

“The enemy must continue to think I am on the surface.” I finally said. “Let them focus on my double. And so drawing them in, into the teeth of our fleet, we’ll tear them apart, just like how Caraxes once tore apart the harlot Alicent and her grandson, Jaehaerys the Nameless.”

Torrhen frowned at that, trying to place the literary – or rather, semi-literary, semi-historical – reference. “The Dance of Dragons, I believe?” he asked.

“So it is, chief of staff.” I confirmed.

The conversation stilled, the two staff officers silently regarding the tactical display and contentedly leaving this phase of the battle to the wing and squadron commanders. A couple of minutes later, and Sara was back.

“The 5th Company of the 537th Stormtrooper Regiment will be departing in the next two minutes.” She said without preamble.

“Very good, then.” I said, continuing to regard the tactical display. Indeed, it took only a minute and forty seconds before transports were headed down to the surface, V-Wing starfighters flying escort, while ARC-170 and TIE Fighters were swooping out to secure the orbital vector. “Now then, how will the enemy respond to this, I wonder?”

“If they come closer, trying to cut off the orbital vector,” Torrhen remarked. “It won’t be point-blank range, but we wouldn’t be able to convincingly maintain only light artillery fire.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “If that happens, we’ll have to launch a full bombardment.”

“But they can’t afford to let you – or who they think is you – be evacuated either.” Torrhen said.

“Agreed,” I said with a nod before narrowing my eyes. “But they have a slight advantage on the ground, at least until our reinforcements arrive. If they can get to my double before the Stormtrooper or Orion reinforcements arrive, then they can just teleport themselves out of there.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Explosions shook a wing of the Citadel, as the Section 31 Operatives blew the turboshaft that served as the primary accessway to the wing. Then another explosion shook the wing, as a stairwell was also blown, and sending Stormtroopers screaming as they fell with the collapsing staircases.

This left only one stairwell as an accessway to the wing, bitterly contested by Section 31 and the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps between them. Red and orange pulses burned through the air, blaster carbines and phasers exchanging fire. Section 31 had the high ground, though, giving them a major advantage, aided by the narrow confines of the stairwell. Armored bodies covered the landing below, the Stormtroopers more often than not firing to cover their own to pull the bodies out of the way, to make room for feet to step on and try to fight their way up to the wing where the admiral had been cut off.

Normally, they’d just use thermal detonators to clear the entrenched Federation commandoes, but they didn’t dare potentially collapse the stairwell. And so they had to try and take it by storm, a task that was proving easier said than done.

It wouldn’t stop them, though.

They were Imperial Stormtroopers, after all.

They lived, fought, and died for the Empire.

Further inside the wing, Section 31 Operatives huddled behind a corner, prepared to try and storm a hallway where trapped Imperial officers were laying down a constant barrage of fire. Trading grimly-determined looks between them, the operatives activated personal energy shielding, before charging down the hallway, blaster rounds just striking harmlessly against their shields.

They fired as they ran, the Imperial officers forced to fall back behind cover, only to be gunned down at point-blank. A pair of lieutenants tried to resort to hand-to-hand, but were overpowered and restrained by the Section 31 Operatives. Others more broke down the door of the room the admiral was in, but the first man through the door had his head blown apart like a ripe melon by a single shot from the admiral’s sidearm.

The next two operatives dashed into the room, flanking the admiral and keeping her from aiming at either of them. She managed to get off a single shot, but it missed, scoring the wall instead, and then she was falling with a sharp cry of pain, as an operative clubbed the back of her head. Then she was being gagged and restrained, before a beacon pinned to her chest.

“We have the target.” An operative said while tapping his comm badge. “Beam us up.”

There was a glimmer of light, a slight sense of disorientation, and the room in the Citadel was replaced with the transporter bay of one of the Section 31 ships in space. “Welcome b…” one of the transport operators began, only to trail off as an alert went off on his console. “Wait something isn’t…”

A twelve-kiloton device implanted into the double’s body chose that moment to detonate, and blowing the ship apart from the inside out.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“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.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

The post-treaty (and public executions) reception was in full swing, Imperial officers and Orion notables mingling under the light of crystal chandeliers. Servers went to and fro, mostly scantily-clad Orion women, but also with a fair number of young Orion men, providing drinks to the attendees. As in actual alcoholic drinks, and not the synthehol bastardization popularized by the Federation, in particular by the Terran Humans.

More than one Orion notable had privately expressed relief that the Coruscanti Humans had far better taste compared to their cousins.

An orchestra provided musical accompaniment, with periodic numbers sung by an Orion matron with a husky contralto. The songs and music alike were…alien, to the Imperials, but that didn’t stop them – or at least the older ones – from appreciating the merits of Orion music. And while the younger Imperial officers only gave a show of polite interest, the Orions weren’t exactly offended.

Why would they? The younger Imperials might not appreciate the finer things of Orion civilization – at least outside of Orion alcohol – but they definitely appreciated the fine curves and beautiful smiles of Orion women. And for the Orions, that was enough, for to them, there was nothing more beautiful and valuable than their women, and so long as the Imperials could respect that, then much could be forgiven.

“…honestly,” one lieutenant remarked while following the movements of an Orion serving girl’s hips as she moved with deceptive grace through the crowd. “The first thing that came to mind when I heard ‘Orion Syndicate’ was the Hutts. I’ve never been so glad to be wrong…or happy that these Orions are willing to work with us.”

“Agreed.” His friend said, taking a quick peek at a nearby matron’s cleavage. Not subtle enough to avoid the matron noticing, but the Orion woman just smiled and gave a toast in his direction. “They’ve got a lot to offer the Empire, and the Empire is very generous to its friends and allies. I for one am looking forward to working with them in the future.”

The two men smirked at each other knowingly…

…and then were standing to attention as I walked out of the crowd seemingly out of nowhere. “By all means,” I said without preamble, and sipping at my drink as I did so. “Enjoy the Orions’ hospitality. Just be certain to conduct yourselves properly as officers of the Imperial Navy.”

“Yes, ma’am!” the two lieutenants chorused, and I smiled.

“Now, now,” I said. “There’s no need to be so nervous. Simply put, don’t get carried away.”

I toasted the two men, who relaxed and returned my toast with sheepish smiles and gestures. I lifted my wineglass to my lips, closing my eyes to take another sip…

…and then opened them as the music just stopped.

I wasn’t at the reception anymore, but at what looked like a conference room of some kind, probably on a Federation starship somewhere if the LCARS display on the wall was any indication. Confusion briefly reigned before discipline put my thoughts back into order, and it wasn’t long before I realized only one person could have done this.

Q.

I sighed, finishing my drink to steady my nerves, and placed the empty wine glass on the table. Then I walked past…

…and suddenly came to a stop, staring at my faint reflection on the polished surface of the LCARS display. It…it wasn’t me, at least not the me that was Admiral Jaenera of House Targaryen, Viscountess of Summerhall. It was…it was who I used to be…back in the 21st Century of Earth, that of a woman who had died because a drunk driver had plowed into her and the wall behind her.

In hindsight…

…while I wasn’t as striking as when I was a Targaryen, this body of mine had a homely beauty to it, my old brown eyes having a warmth that my new violet eyes lacked, and while my old dark hair wasn’t as striking as my new platinum locks, they complimented me well. I smiled.

Whether as a Latina or a Valyrian, I will always be beautiful, huh?

I can accept that.

The door hissed open, and I turned my head, raising an eyebrow as a familiar bald man in a Federation uniform walked in. A bearded man followed, also in a Federation uniform, then a Klingon and a pair of women, all in Federation uniforms, and all of whom froze on seeing me.

“Intruder alert!” Riker immediately said, while Worf pulled out a phaser and aimed it at me.

“Who are you?” Picard demanded. “How did you get in here?”

“Elena de Guzman.” I said with a shrug, using my old name. “And I’m not entirely sure, but if I had to guess the ‘how’, it’d have something to do with our mutual acquaintance, Q.”

“Q…?” Picard echoed.

“You expect us to believe that?” Riker asked skeptically.

“She does seem to be telling the truth, though.” Troi chimed in cautiously, but it soon became a moot point, as Q appeared in a flash of light, also wearing a Federation uniform while slouching on a chair with his feet on the table.

“Well, how else could she have gotten here?” he mockingly asked. “I mean, it’s not like women just spontaneously appear out of the blue, do they? Mind you, plenty of young men – and even a more than a few older men – have fantasies like those. I’ve even granted it to a few of them, because why not?”

Riker finally looked at Worf, who reluctantly lowered his phaser. “Why are you here, Q?” Picard demanded while stepping forward. “Why have you brought Miss de Guzman here?”

“Miss de Guzman is an associate of mine.” Q cheekily replied before turning to me. “Go on, Elena. Tell us all a story.”

Q smiled at that, basically telling me to chart my course through these treacherous waters. I frowned and narrowed my eyes, and then sighed. Well, the best lies have a grain of truth at their heart…

…that, and the truth can just be so deceptive to those unwilling to believe it.

“Honestly, I’m just a clerk working for the law firm of Jonson, Johnson, and Johnston.” I began, which wasn’t exactly a lie. I never truly died, after all, so in a way, I was still what I was talking about. “It’s a very dry and boring job, for all that it pays the bills. Then along comes Q, offering to add some excitement to my life, and…here we are.”

“…what year are you from?” Picard asked, eyeing my office clothing suspiciously, already knowing the answer from his archaeological background.

“2018.”

“Q!” Picard exploded. “I demand that you return this woman to her time immediately and to stop interfering with the proper course of history!”

Q snorted. “Do you really think involving a simple clerk like her could change anything?” he asked, and I suppressed a roll of my eyes at the trick question. “Besides, you’re one to talk. Despite your Federation’s precious Temporal Prime Directive, I know for a fact you people travel through time regularly for your own convenience. Do you think I don’t know about that whole business between Kirk and the whales? Or your ‘time police’ messing around just so history remains as uniform – boring, even – as possible across timelines? Or that they’ve tried to keep this war from even starting in the first place?”

Q paused and shook his head. “Don’t lecture me about messing with people across time, Picard.” He said. “You and your Federation isn’t qualified to judge on the matter.”

“I don’t know about.” I chimed in, and causing eyes to turn my way. “Well, that whole business between Kirk and the whales, that is. That one was a fun thing to watch from start to finish.”

“Wait, how did you know about that?” Riker asked.

I shrugged. “I’m Q’s associate.” I lied through my teeth, rather than telling them I watched it on a DVD. “I know a lot of things.”

“Well, there’s your answer, Q.” Picard immediately said. “Miss De Guzman has learned things, things someone of her time and age should not know about.”

“That’s not your decision to make.” I quickly said.

“Miss De Guzman,” Picard began while turning to me. “I understand it might sound harsh, but you must understand. The knowledge you possess is simply too dangerous. It could alter the course of Human history, derailing the proper progression of events that would see us mature as a species and a civilization, and keep us from learning the lessons we needed to learn before stepping out into space.”

“Wow…that’s…that’s pretty short-sighted, all things considered.” I said, genuinely shocked to hear it. I mean, I had expected something like that, even if only subconsciously, but to actually hear it. “Narrow-minded, even. I might not have gone to college, much less have a degree in quantum physics or whatever, but even I can see you’re assuming your history is the only valid one for Humanity to have.”

“I know, right?” Q asked with a laugh. “They claim so much they’ve moved past such primitive notions, but they’re as arrogant and self-righteous as they’ve always been.”

“Eh…Humans will always be arrogant.” I said with small frown. “It ties in with thing we have called personal identity. In short, it’s just part of us.”

Q hummed, holding up a hand to silence Picard and his companions. “And do you really think your kind deserve to go out into space with that kind of attitude?” he asked.

“Whether we deserve to or not…depends on how we handle what’s waiting for us out here.” I replied with a shrug. “If we can handle it, our pride’s justified. And if we can’t, then so much for our pride, right? Besides, it’s not as though you transcendental races are beyond such things.”

Q laughed. “Oh, but we are.” He said with a wink. “In any case, let’s get to the reason why you’re here. The Empire’s about to launch its grand offensive. One way or another, things will be settled soon enough. And as someone from the 21st Century, what do you think of the 24th Century?”

“…disappointed.” I said after a moment, before looking at Picard and his companions, all of whom looked confused. “I mean, sure, we’ve become an interstellar civilization, made friends – and enemies – of other species out here, while people want for nothing…but at what cost?”

Q hummed, and I looked at him. “They’re as Human as I am.” I said with a gesture in Picard and his companions’ direction. “But the way they think and act…they’re closer to Vulcans than to my kind. And because of that…Human society has just become so…dull, and lifeless. Like robots living in toy towns.”

“That’s not true!” Riker said.

“Humanity may have been influenced by the Vulcans,” Troi spoke up. “But Humanity remains a distinctive culture of its own.”

“And toy towns?” Riker asked. “It might seem that way to someone from the 21st Century, but only because we’ve done away with such things that plague your time like inefficient urban design, traffic congestion, pollution, and overpopulation. Humanity looks and acts differently, but we’re no less Human than anyone from your time.”

“This is why I must insist that you return to your time, Miss De Guzman.” Picard concluded. “From a simple and subjective perspective as yours, we are as alien as the Vulcans. But, you have not the experience to properly contextualize the changes that Human civilization has gone through in the past three centuries. And change always appears frightening to those who face it. However, I assure you, it has been, and will be for the best. You may not experience it for yourself, but your descendants will, and see it as the way forward for Humanity as a whole.”

I tilted my head. “For someone so enlightened,” I began coldly. “And who just saw his planet get bombed by the Empire, you speak so coldly of what you know is coming. World War III…the post-atomic horror…”

I trailed off while shaking my head. “…maybe I was wrong.” I said after a moment. “A part of you is still Human, after all. That sheer apathy to misfortune and tragedy when it doesn’t affect them, or if it does, it does so in a way they benefit from it. You are very Human in that sense.”

“That’s not what we…” Riker began, only for Q to silence them again.

“And what about the Empire?” he asked. “They’re looking to win this war, so what do you think?”

“Well, they just bombed the Earth, didn’t they?” I asked with a small smile, causing Q to smile knowingly back. “But…we also bombed Germany and Japan into rubble back during World War II. They bounced back…so Earth can bounce back too…and…”

“And…?” Q prompted.

“I’ve seen Coruscant.” I said. “It’s crowded, polluted, with all sorts of crime and political bullshit going on.”

I paused and shrugged. “It feels just like home.” He said.

Q smiled back, and held up a hand. “Fair enough.” He said, before snapping his fingers…

…and then we were back at the reception, with Q walking past to regard a group of Orion artworks placed on display at a nearby wall. Excusing myself from the junior officers, I followed the transcendental being, and stood next to him.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” he asked, sipping at his drink and gesturing at the oil on canvas paintings on the wall. “Each of these took more than twenty years to make, all about subjects Terrans and their precious Federation would find…less than enlightened. A matron enjoying a day out with her husbands and lovers. A matriarch out to big game hunting. A champion celebrating his victory on the arena floor.”

“Orions were travelling the stars when the Vulcans were still figuring out how to make and work bronze.” I quipped. “By all rights, they should be – and are – more enlightened than any of the Federation’s leading races. Instead, they look down on the Orions for clinging to the trappings of a barbaric past that should be left behind and forgotten.”

“And what does that tell you, when all is said and done?” Q asked with a smile.

“There’s no point in advancing when you forget who and what you are in the process.” I said.

Q’s smile widened. “Maybe you do understand, after all.” He said. “I look forward to seeing what you’ll make of this all, when the war ends, and the peace begins.”

“Yeah, I do too.” I quipped, and Q laughed.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Over the following days, the Imperial Fleet converged over Orion. Hundreds of Star Destroyers formed the heart of the fleet, with thousands of other ships forming up into flotillas that in turn made up the Expeditionary Force’s battlegroups. On the Courageous, the senior officers assembled for the final assignments for Operations Blue, Balerion, and Vhagar.

The attacks on Earth, Andoria, and Vulcan respectively.

“I will personally command the assault on Earth.” I said. “In addition to the first battlegroup, the second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth battlegroups will be participating in Operation Blue. The seventh and eighth battlegroups will also be allocated to Operation Blue in a tactical reserve role.”

I pressed a button on the control panel, and brought up classified information on the holographic display. “Intelligence provided by our Orion allies have also pointed to the Federation having stockpiled large numbers of mines, in particular a self-replicating variant, in the Sol System.” I said. “For that reason, all battlegroups have been provided with ion warheads, with fleet commanders given carte blanche to deploy them as needed.”

There were a few more issues about Operation Blue that needed discussing, but the most important one was brought up twenty minutes later. “With all due respect, admiral,” a grizzled naval captain asked. “I must ask about the necessity to force an unconditional surrender from the UEG.”

“A good question.” I replied. “And that comes down to the preeminent role of the Terran Humans in the Federation. Yes, they co-founded the Federation alongside the Vulcans, the Andorians, and the Tellarites, but the Federation was originally a Human – Terran – innovation, with Terran influence being the most prevalent out of the founding races within it. You could even say the Terrans are the glue that holds the Federation together. I refuse to take any chances. By forcing an unconditional surrender, we drive it home to both the UEG’s leaders and the general Terran populace that they have unquestionably lost the war. This in turn would serve to act against any tendencies for renewed resistance, starting with the Terrans and spreading outwards to other local species.”

There were nods of understanding all around, and then the discussion moved on. “The ninth, tenth, and eleventh battlegroups will make up the allocated naval forces for Operation Balerion.” I said. “Once the Andorian Defense Fleet has been destroyed, they will remain in-system and provide cover for the ground phase of the operation.”

“The outer system outposts should fall quickly.” General Amaken Crosal of the Imperial Army mused. “But Andoria itself is going to be a brutal theater, no way around it. The frozen landscape is a natural fortress, and one the Andorians are naturally adapted to. In contrast, we have no such advantage, and indeed, will have to adapt our technology to first.”

“I have every faith in the engineering corps on that concern.” I said before holding up a hand. “There will be no discussion on the escalation policy with regard to the ground phase of Operation Balerion. By now, you should all have read the psychological aspect of the operation as provided by the ISB and Imperial Intelligence both. Perception, whether by ourselves or the enemy, will be crucial to victory, both in the short-term and the long-term.”

There were nods at that, followed by more discussions on other details for Operation Balerion. Then the topic turned to Operation Vhagar. “The twelfth battlegroup will be solely assigned for Operation Vhagar.” I said before smiling. “Vulcans are logically pragmatic to a fault. Let’s take advantage of that, shall we?”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It took another day before the final preparations were complete, and the Imperial Fleet assembled in formation in interplanetary space in the Orion Star System. On the planet itself, the various matriarchs and ladies watched on screens as the Empire assembled its forces for the greatest military operation this region of the galaxy had ever seen.

Not even the Dominion War had seen such a great concentration of force. More ships, yes, but in terms of firepower and combat capability, not even close.

On the Courageous’ bridge, officers and men turned to me as I strode down the central aisle towards the command deck. Torrhen nodded curtly as I approached, Sara a step behind me in her role as adjutant.

“All fleets reporting in.” Torrhen said, indicating the tactical display. “We are ready to commence the operation on your command.”

I nodded. “Open a channel to all ships.” I said. “I will address the combined fleet before we deploy.”

“Yes, admiral.” Sara said, already working at the controls. “Channel is open.”

I nodded, and instinctively drew myself up. “This is Admiral Targaryen to all ships and personnel.” I began. “I want you all to listen as you are. In a few moments, we begin the most important part of our campaign. I will not lie to you, it will not end the war, with many more battles awaiting us in the future. But, the operations we embark on now will decide the final outcome of this war. It will allow us to not simply conquer and occupy, but to build new and better for the future, and in so doing, turn the pages of history while leaving all our marks thereon. Soldiers of the Empire, what say you?”

“LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!” a roar erupted across the entire fleet, officers and men on the Courageous’ bridge abandoning decorum and discipline to voice their answer. “LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE! LONG LIVE THE EMPIRE!”

I nodded. “All fleets,” I said. “The words are given: Blue, Balerion, and Vhagar! Commence operational maneuvers!”

A signal chimed across the bridge of every ship in the fleet, then the stars were streaking past to infinity, and the Imperial Fleet jumped to hyperspace.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

The Imperial Fleet’s arrival in the Sol System did not catch Starfleet by surprise, at least not completely. They – and the Federation – still had intelligence assets in the Orion Sector and its neighboring sectors, after all, and they’d reported the Empire massing their forces for a large-scale operation over the past two weeks. That said, there was little Starfleet could do.

Operations White and Typhoon were still ongoing, with the former having forced the Federation to restrict any and all remaining FTL communications assets to government and military use only. Typhoon had already knocked out any and all antimatter production and storage within the Federation’s core sectors in Terran, Vulcan, Andorian, and Tellarite space. Most starbases in those sectors had also been destroyed, forcing Starfleet’s assets therein to rely on limited shipboard antimatter production capabilities, and to stay close to developed worlds for other supplies.

All this resulted in a sense of desperation, bleak moods, and a simmering undercurrent of defeatism within Starfleet. A wave of desertions had even broken out when reports arrived on Mars of Orion’s decision to sign a treaty with the Empire, to say nothing of the almost simultaneous Imperial victory at the Battle of Orion.

Both the Federation and Starfleet had been quick to disavow Section 31 and its attempted reprisal killing of the Orion Council of Matriarchs, but this did little to help. That even extremists would go to such lengths confirmed the desperation of their situation to most, while others, especially non-Humans, bitterly wondered if they were expected to fight until their worlds were dust and their people dead and gone.

A single look at Earth and the shattered husk of Luna provided a grim preview of such a future.

But it didn’t have to be that way. Even with unofficial communications effectively nonexistent, backchannels and the like still allowed for many ways to get information uncensored by the brass hats of the Federation. From there, they learned of the surprisingly-generous terms Orion had managed to receive from the Empire, in many ways more so than the requirements prospective Federation members had to meet.

In short, Imperial rule suddenly didn’t seem so bad. Not when the Empire was willing to compromise, unlike the Federation which seemed like it wanted to fight to the death.

It certainly seemed that way, considering it had tried to make an example of Orion. Orion: the oldest existing civilization in the Alpha Quadrant, whose people were exploring the stars and building legends when Vulcans were still working bronze, when Humans still went about in skins, and when Romulans didn’t even exist.

Despair and disillusionment made formidable factors, leading to the aforementioned desertions. Naturally, Starfleet Security had cracked down harshly, with Fleet Admiral Nechayev ordering summary executions by firing squad on any deserters caught. This had led to a wave of protests, with Captain Picard even bypassing the chain of command to appeal directly to Fleet Admiral Shanthi.

Shanthi relented, especially after several crews threatened to mutiny if any Starfleet personnel were ever subjected to something so barbaric as execution by firing squad. Instead, deserters were instead to be placed in lockup, to await court-martial after the war.

But the damage had been done. Faith in what was left of Starfleet Command was irreparably damaged, while another blow was struck against the Federation by Rigel’s declaration of neutrality in the ongoing war between the Empire and the Federation. Large numbers of Rigellians in Starfleet deserted, with those left falling under suspicion that further caused morale to drop.

Then the Empire struck.

The Empire’s advance guard dropped out of hyperspace over ninety thousand kilometers from Mars, hundreds of light ships ranging from CR90 Corvettes to Nebulon-B Escort Frigates and Carrack Class Light Cruisers. Then the main force followed, hundreds more of the same ships along with the larger Dreadnought and Vindicator Class Heavy Cruisers. Last came the fleet’s battleship core, composed of Star Destroyers of the Venator, Victory, and Imperial Classes, along with more escorts.

All in all, nearly two thousand ships had arrived, more ships than were committed just weeks ago during Operation Yellow and the Battle of Earth, assembled in a gigantic siege formation. Starfleet’s Home Fleet, rebuilt at the expense of several of the Federation’s numbered fleets, immediately rose to the challenge, charging into the heart of the Imperial Fleet like a swarm of angry insects.

“They’re surprisingly aggressive!” Torrhen growled.

“Have the center fall back.” I said.

“Admiral?” the chief of staff asked in surprise.

“The enemy is planning to force a close confrontation.” I quickly said. “By engaging us up close, they hope to throw the battlefield into chaos, and negating our advantages in artillery, durability, numbers, and even technology.”

“I see.” Torrhen said with narrowed eyes. “First and Second Battlegroups, fall back in order. Shields to full, standby to commence artillery bombardment. Signal the wings to standby to englobe the enemy.”

I nodded in approval before narrowing my eyes. “But,” I began. “Shanthi shouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Ma’am?” Torrhen asked.

“The enemy will notice we’re drawing them in.” I replied. “And at the rate they’re closing in, they’ll be blasted from all sides while getting cut off. No…they’ll fall back…any second now…”

All eyes on the command deck focused on the tactical display, and then I nodded as I watched Starfleet’s Home Fleet coming to a halt and begin to fall back. “Now!” I barked. “All ships, concentrate your fire! Target the enemy’s advance guard!”

The Imperial Fleet opened fire, space igniting with emerald lances as turbolasers spat them out in the direction of the enemy. Shields collapsed after two of three hits, then burning atmosphere, molten metal, and searing plasma were blazing out into space. Blinding explosions followed soon after, dozens then hundreds of ships going out in runaway matter-antimatter reactions as the Home Fleet suffered devastating losses.

“All ships, charge in!” I barked. “Maximum battle speed!”

The Imperial Fleet surged forward, but the Home Fleet was in full retreat, heading back to Mars orbit. As the Imperial Fleet closed in, long-range fire began splattering against Imperial shields, and even destroying smaller ships in single shots.

“The enemy has reformed their formation.” Torrhen said, looking and sounding curious. “Look at this, admiral. Starfleet is using their Akira and Nebula Class Medium Cruisers as mobile shields, covering their Galaxy Class Medium Cruisers, which appear to have been upgraded with new weapons.”

“Weapons that seem to be comparable to our turbolasers, if with still lesser firepower and firing rate.” I replied with a nod. “Meanwhile, their Excelsior Cruisers and Miranda Frigates are guarding their flanks with high-speed maneuvers, while using torpedoes to make up for their otherwise anemic phaser armament.”

“Your orders, ma’am?” Torrhen asked.

“Launch space-combat fighters,” I said after a moment’s thought. “Have them press the enemy flanks, but don’t get too aggressive, at least not yet. Just keep the enemy busy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I nodded as Torrhen relayed my orders, while I took in the rest of the battle. It was an artillery duel at this point, with the enemy only able to hold out by overcharging the shields on their Akiras and Nebulas – most likely at the expense of their armaments and other systems – and use them as shield ships for the Galaxies.

Then I tapped the control panel, expanding the tactical view to show me the rest of the Martian theater. “Admiral…are those…?” Sara asked in surprise.

“Yes.” I said with a nod. “Starfleet’s enveloped the planet behind them behind a colossal minefield. Our sensors our reading over a million mines, with many more potentially undetected given battlefield interference.”

“If I may say so,” Sara opined. “We must have left a mark with Operation Yellow. Such a dense concentration of mines would make using the Targaryen Gambit a suicidal prospect.”

I snorted. “An astute observation, lieutenant.” I said before zeroing in on a battle station in Martian orbit. It was similar to those we’d previously encountered in Earth orbit, only this one wasn’t equipped with a phaser or a fusion-powered laser.

Instead, it had some kind of…dish array, almost like a superlaser, even, but power ratings made the notion laughable. That said, it was a threat to smaller vessels, almost like a discount turbolaser, even.

“…looks like some kind of charged particle weapon, admiral.” Sara said as we watched the weapon concentrate energy within its dish before firing it off in a beam that battered the shields of a Nebulon-B.

I hummed in thought, before bringing up a tactical view of a Galaxy. I nodded as I watched it charge and fire the same kind of beam weapon, and opening up a burning gash in a Vindicator’s hull. Then I switched the view to another Galaxy, this one featuring some kind of attachment under the forward part of its saucer section.

“A phaser enhancement of some kind?” Torrhen observed as he watched the ventral phaser array charge up only to channel the energy through the barrel-like attachment before firing it off.

“A desperate but effective one.” I agreed. “It looks like the enemy has finally realized the stupidity of building non-missile ranged weaponry without a gun barrel.”

“They’re wising up.” Sara worriedly.

“Don’t be so concerned, lieutenant.” I said. “Starfleet’s desperate, and it shows. From what we know of their ships, it looks like they have to risk burning out their navigational deflectors to use that charged particle beam of theirs, while their…phaser cannon, modifications appear to be literally bolted on to their hulls.”

I shook my head. “They’re like cornered rats.” I said.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Sara began. “Cornered rats are very dangerous.”

I smiled at the younger woman. “I agree.” I said. “Open up a channel to Vice Admirals Dabrini and Felidoron.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

A moment later and the holograms of Vice Admirals Lorth Dabrini and Zdenka Felidoron, of the Seventh and Eighth Battlegroups appeared. “Admirals,” I began. “Here are your orders.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Vice Admiral Edvar Hans of the Ninth Battlegroup polished his monocle before replacing it over his right eye. The Imperial Fleet was advancing through the Andor Star System in an echelon right formation, moving towards the gas giant of Andor around which Andoria orbited.

“Admiral,” his adjutant began. “The enemy fleet continues to hold formation around the Andorian moon system.”

Hans nodded. “Distance?” he asked.

“We are within six million kilometers.” The adjutant replied.”

“Fire.”

“Fire!”

The Ninth Battlegroup had the honor of firing the first shots of the Battle of Andor, concentrating their fire against individual flotillas of the Andorian Defense Fleet. The latter had dispersed it component flotillas and squadrons between the moons of Andor, thus keeping the Imperial Fleet from composing its fire against a single target.

At least, that was the idea.

Instead, it only meant the Empire could destroy them piecemeal.

“The enemy fleet is falling back, trying to get behind their moons.” The adjutant replied.

“Signal Admiral Daala.” Hans ordered. “Have her sweep through the system, and chase the enemy out.”

“Yes, admiral.” The adjutant said. “Interdictor squadrons redeploying…now.”

The fleet continued to slowly advance, with interdictor cruisers redeploying to define the Special Attack Force’s approach vector. It took about twenty minutes to move them into position, and then they deployed their mass gravity shadow generators, the Special Attack Force jumping to hyperspace shortly thereafter.

In less then a second, the Fast Attack Force dropped out of hyperspace on top of Andor’s moon system. Turbolasers and concussion missiles blazed out across space, the Victory Class Star Destroyers of the Special Attack Force and their escorts sweeping across the moon system along the z-axis. Explosions bloomed in space as Andorian ships exploded, the flotillas losing cohesion as they struggled to evade and intercept.

On the Revenge’s command deck, Daala laughed at the sight of explosions all around them. And while she was the only one laughing, the rest of her command staff had sympathetic smiles, while the morale of her crews was similarly high.

“Fire, fire, fire away!” she gleefully ordered. “Everywhere around us there are only enemies, so just make to hit when you fire! Destroy each and every enemy ship in range!”

Enraged by their losses, the Andorian Defense Fleet charged after the Special Attack Force, explosing themselves to fire from the approaching Imperial Fleet. The Ninth Battlegroup opened fire again, tearing apart the Andorian flank, and as they struggled to form up into an organized order of battle, the Tenth and Eleventh Battlegroups swept forward and inward along and past the Ninth Battlegroup’s left flank in a sweeping advance that simply overran the Andorian Defense Fleet.

“Signal all guns to switch to close-range fire.” Hans ordered on his flagship, the Indomitable’s command deck. “Launch space-combat fighters.”

“Yes, sir.” The adjutant said. “Launching now…the Special Attack Force is moving to intercept enemy reinforcements.”

“Open a channel to Admiral Daala.” Hans ordered after a glance at the tactical display, and a moment later the younger woman’s profile appeared in holographic form. “The enemy reinforcement fleet outnumbers you three-to-one, admiral. I strongly recommend that you retreat.”

Daala raised an eyebrow at Hans’ wording, before blinking in comprehension. “In our fleet,” she began, drawing herself up into the very image of the iron and unflinching ideal of the Imperial Officer Corps. “The words ‘retreat’ and ‘surrender’ do not exist.”

“May the Force serve you well, admiral.”

Daala snapped a salute, and Hans saluted back. The channel then closed, Hans watching as Daala’s Special Attack Force charged in, taking heavy fire but closing the distance in a matter of minutes. A wintery smile of approval crept over the aging veteran’s face as he watched Daala’s fleet smash through the front lines of the Andorian reinforcements, the enemy’s cohesion breaking apart as Daala tore through them and even taking out their flagship, looking set on actually breaking through the center of the enemy formation.

A woman’s place is in the kitchen or in bed?

That fat fuck Vandron doesn’t know what he’s talking about.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the Vulcan Star System, the Twelfth Battlegroup formed a gigantic cross in space, set to engulf the Vulcan Defense Fleet before them.

And they would have, had the Vulcans not proven themselves actually the rational being they’d always claimed to be.

Not a shot had been fired since the Imperial Fleet had arrived in-system, and never would be.

“Admiral,” the adjutant said as he walked up to his commanding officer. “We’ve received a response from the enemy commander.”

“And?” Vice Admiral Gunther Loran asked, turning away from the windows of his flagship, the Colossus.

“The Vulcan High Council has agreed to our terms for their surrender.” the adjutant began. “The Vulcan Federation will thus enter into negotiations with the Empire over a similar settlement as that reached with the Orion Syndicate.”

“Excellent news.” Loran said with a nod. “Send a transmission to that effect to the supreme flagship, and redeploy the fleet to predetermined positions.”

“Yes, sir.”

Loran nodded again as the adjutant walked off, and then looked to the distance, and the barely-visible glow of the desert world of Vulcan. Many younger officers had expressed skepticism at Operation Vhagar’s details, but Vulkan psychology and cultural norms had played to their advantage just as the senior staff had predicted it would.

One: the Empire possessed overwhelming technological and material superiority against the Federation on paper.

Two: said superiority had been proven in practice on the battlefield against the Federation Starfleet.

Three: any and all simulations would show that any and all confrontations between the Vulcan Defense Forces and the Imperial Armed Forces would end in the latter’s victory.

Four: logic would thus dictate that the Vulcans find a non-violent resolution to secure their interests independently of the Federation, and reaching a settlement with the Empire, avoid needless loss of Vulcan life and property.

Now, with the Twelfth Battlegroup advancing on Vulcan with the Vulcan Defense Fleet itself escorting them in, the Vulcan Star System, and its surrounding sector, had been won with only minimal loss of life from Operation Typhoon. Most importantly, that the Vulcans, arguably second only in influence to the Terrans within the Federation, had decided to come to terms with the Empire instead of fighting on, would be as mortal a blow against the collapsing façade of the Federation as Operation Yellow’s destruction of Starfleet Command had been.

In short, Operation Vhagar was a stunning success.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Admiral,” the adjutant said to Vice Admiral Dabrini. “We’ve confirmed the number of mines around the planet to number around four million. We’ve also confirmed the presence of around two thousand defense satellites, and between two to six hundred defense stations.”

“That’s fine.” Dabrini said. “Four million mines…many of those will be of the self-replication type too.”

Dabrini paused and smiled. “We have enough mine density to hang Starfleet by their own rope.” He said mockingly with a glance at the tactical display, showing the Seventh and Eighth Battlegroups redeployed to the opposite side of the planet. “Have our bombers been loaded with ion missiles?”

“That is confirmed, sir.”

Dabrini nodded and turned to the hologram of Admiral Targaryen, which was shot through with static from the interference of battle. “Your orders, ma’am?” he asked.

“Launch all bomber squadrons,” Targaryen ordered. “And have them clear the way forward.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

In less than a minute, hundreds of bombers launched from the Seventh and Eighth Battlegroups. It took them a few minutes to close the distance, and then they were launching their ion missiles. The missiles closed and then detonated in blue flares of ionized particles, tens of thousands of mines exploding simultaneously just seconds later.

This set off a chain reaction that set Mars’ orbital space ablaze, leaving the surface but leaving the planet’s denizens in shock and awe as fire blazed in the skies above, and letting them witness the death of Starfleet against the Imperial juggernaut. The chain reaction swept across Mars orbit, sustained by the tens of thousands of self-replicating mines that reproduced at geometric rates just before they detonated, their replicas doing likewise and only feeding the cleansing fire that opened the way before the Empire.

Admiral Targaryen nodded as the chain reaction finished, leaving Mars orbit clear, all the defense satellites and stations alike destroyed alongside the Starfleet minefield. “All ships,” she began. “Advance. Commence a surprise attack on the enemy fleet’s rear.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Debrini snapped while standing to attention. “You heard the admiral: advance!”

The Seventh and Eighth Battlegroups moved forward, cruising through Mars orbit at maximum battle speed, their fighters and bombers sweeping ahead to attack ahead of the fleet. On the Empress Teta, Debrini tugged at his moustache thoughtfully while watching the tactical display with a satisfied smile.

Similarly, on his flagship Valiant, Vice Admiral Felidoron had even opened a battle of Alderaanian white and poured out glasses for his command staff in advance celebration of victory. Raising the bottle high, cheers erupted from the crew pits, before the admiral turned his eyes to the tactical display, showing something dreamed of but rarely if ever achieved by military officers through history.

Complete double-envelopment.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

Massive storm systems swirled across the Earth’s atmosphere, the dark and brooding mass of clouds randomly flickering with lightning flashes. Here and there, rainbow light shimmered as radiation danced over the planet’s ionosphere, while fireballs flickered as bits and pieces of Lunar debris burned up in the air.

That, or the slagged remains of Federation starships.

Hulks and debris drifted across space, dancing with the inertia of the Battle of Earth just weeks, neither the Federation nor Starfleet having the time or resources to conduct even the basic cleanup. Not with the war going on. In the distance, the scarred corpse of the Moon somehow maintained orbit, a gaping blown into its face, its depths glowing a faint red with residual heat.

Ion engines blazed hot as a pair of TIE Fighters flew escort duty, flying alongside a Federation shuttle along a specially-cleared route, and towards the gleaming forms of the Imperial Fleet. Normally, the fleet would be arrayed in parade formation, but given the hazard of the Earth-Luna System, they were instead arrayed protectively, smaller ships screening the larger ships within the formation.

Explosions randomly flared in space as turbolasers blasted debris or hulks that got too close, while those small enough to not be a threat simply dashed themselves harmlessly against the fleet’s navigational deflectors. The fighters and the shuttle flew towards and into the formation, more fighters swooping in to join the escort as they approached the Imperial flagship, the Star Destroyer, Courageous.

The fighters peeled off even as the shuttle slowed, and came to a halt under the Star Destroyer’s cavernous hangar bay. Then it floated up, through the energy field that maintained the hangar’s atmosphere, and then slowly moved forward to the designated landing space, before landing with a soft thud.

Then the shuttle’s door opened, moments before the President of United Earth, Noel Boucher, stepped out, wearing a formal suit. A pair of Starfleet officers accompanied him, a nervous and twitchy lieutenant and a grim-looking read admiral who was the highest-ranking officer left in the Sol System after Fleet Admiral Shanthi and her command staff’s death in the Battle of Mars.

The Empire greeted their presence with all due decorum, Stormtroopers, Imperial Army troops, and even Imperial Navy armsmen in full battle gear standing in disciplined phalanges to either side of the hangar. Closer, and forming an aisle forward between them, there were twin files of Imperial officers standing to attention, the army and navy officers indistinguishable in their olive-grey uniforms, while the Stormtrooper officers stood out in their black uniforms.

Maintaining a stoic air between them, United Earth’s President and the ranking Starfleet officer stepped forward and down the aisle, to where a chair and table had been prepared. Documents and pens lay neatly on the table, while behind the table stood another file of Imperial officers, all flag-ranked, with the Commander of the Imperial Expeditionary Force standing front and center.

Admiral Jaenera of House Targaryen, Viscountess of Summerhall.

It was the first time anyone in the Federation or Starfleet had a full and clear view of the enemy commander, and she struck a beautiful and terrifying sight. Her eyes, especially, with their simply unnatural violet irises that seemed to have an inhuman sharpness to them.

It was enough to bring them up to a halt, and have the Starfleet lieutenant present to swallow dryly. Then bowing to the inevitable, President Boucher sat down, and briefly read the documents waiting for his signature. The words were all in what the Empire – the Coruscanti Humans – called the High Galactic alphabet and the Galactic Basic language, but which he otherwise knew as the Roman alphabet and the English language.

Fighting back the urge to cry, or to rage and leap at the Imperial butcher standing in front of him, President Boucher took the pen provided, and placed his signature at the indicated lines. Then standing, he stepped back, while Rear Admiral Jean-Marc Masse stepped forward in his turn to sit and sign.

After over two hundred years, so ended United Earth, all with a single scrap of paper.

The Instrument of Unconditional Surrender.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Even as United Earth was surrendering to the Galactic Empire, skirmishes continued to take place across the Sol System.

One such skirmish was taking place in interplanetary space near Uranus, where a trio of Imperial Vindictator cruisers were chasing down a Starfleet Prometheus. As much as the Empire hated to admit it, Starfleet warp drives had one advantage over hyperdrive. While so very much slower in comparison, they were much more precise, allowing planet-to-planet jumps which hyperdrive could not do.

At least, not without external assistance, as proven by the Targaryen Gambit.

That said, warp drive also had one major weakness: ships using them didn’t need to have a tracking device to be tracked through subspace. And while the Empire didn’t have – yet – subspace-tracking sensors, their new allies in Orion did. So when Fleet Admiral Nechayev commandeered the newly-completed Prometheus Class Medium Cruiser Mnemosyne, the Empire was quick to respond.

An interdictor cruiser forcibly dragged the Mnemosyne out of warp near Uranus, where an Imperial interception force waited. Almost immediately, the Mnemosyne went to what was called multi-vector assault mode…

…which didn’t really help much when the Empire had both superior numbers and firepower. In addition to the Vindicators and the interdictor, the latter was closely escorted by CR90s corvettes and Carracks. One of the Mnemosyne’s sections was quickly blasted apart by turbolaser fire as it attempted to take out the interdictor, with the second section destroyed as it tried to buy time for the Mnemosyne’s main section to get out of the interdictor’s range.

The three Imperial cruisers gave chase, turbolasers lashing out in precise volleys to knock out the Mnemosyne’s shields. The ship’s crew and computers desperately rerouted power to the shields to try and keep them active longer, but against turbolaser fire it just wasn’t enough.

As the ship’s shields failed, the lead Vindicator fired off a sustained volley from one of its ion cannons. This caused the Mnemosyne’s remaining nacelles to explode as the ship’s primary EPS relays blew out, knocking out main power and the main computer alike. A tractor beam then latched out, drawing the Mnemosyne in for boarding.

Aboard the ship, Section 31 commandoes and Starfleet Security rushed to form defensive positions, while Fleet Admiral Nechayev was hurried to the transporter room. It was a risk, but they needed to get her out of there. There was simply no telling how much the Empire had learned from all the Section 31 captives they’d taken at Orion, and Fleet Admiral Nechayev falling into Imperial hands simply could not be allowed.

Sparks flew from one of the ship’s entryways as Imperial troops began cutting their way into the ship, commandoes and security personnel alike bracing themselves while holding Type-2 and Type-3 Phasers to themselves. Then the door exploded inwards, moments before white-armored Stormtroopers burst in.

Orange pulses flew through the air as the Starfleet personnel opened fire, the leading Stormtroopers falling with cries of pain as their shields and armor failed against concentrated phaser fire. But more Stormtroopers were pouring through, the ones in front going prone to lay down suppressing fire, those behind them adding to the curtain while firing crouched. As more Stormtroopers arrived, they advanced by fire and movement, precise shots taking out any Starfleet personnel who tried to peek out from cover, before thermal detonators cleaned out the Starfleet positions.

The Stormtroopers advanced, leaving their wounded behind to be recovered and taken away for medical assistance. All across the ship, Imperial troops were boarding en masse, with the bridge falling especially quickly after the Stormtroopers blew through the ceiling with demolition charges.

Main engineering fell quickly as well, albeit with heavy Imperial losses: the Stormtroopers accidentally ruptured a plasma line, flooding the engineering space with plasma and killing everyone inside. This eventually forced Imperial engineers to go in with armored suits to close the line and secure the interior.

On the plus side, they were absolutely certain no one was hiding in any of engineering’s spaces, not when the whole place had been flooded with plasma.

Overall, it took only about three hours to fully clean out and secure the ship.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A punch to the face.

“Where were you going?”

A punch to the gut.

“Where is Fleet Admiral Nechayev?”

A punch to the face.

“What was your plan?”

A punch to the groin.

“Tell us!”

“Fuck you!” the Captain of the Mnemosene spat in his interrogator’s face.

Another interrogator sighed. “Look, captain.” He began. “This doesn’t have to be hard.”

“Do your worst, Imperial dog!” the captain spat again. “I’m not going to talk, so you might as well…!”

He broke off abruptly as the first interrogator punched him in the gut again. “…Imperial…dog…” the captain wheezed. “…I’m…a prisoner of war…where’s your…Alderaan…Conventions…now?”

“The Alderaan Conventions only cover prisoners of war belonging to legitimate military forces.” The second interrogator explained. “And while Starfleet is a legitimate military force, you are Section 31, a group of fringe extremists disavowed by Starfleet and its parent Federation. In short, you’re not covered by the Alderaan Conventions.”

“And in other words,” the first interrogator said, grabbing the captain by the hair and pulling his head back. “You’ve no protections.”

He drew his fist back to strike…

…only to be restrained with a firm hand on his wrist by his fellow interrogator. “Come on, captain.” He began. “This isn’t going to end well for you. So just tell us what you know, and make it easier for yourself. It’s not like there’s much point in holding out, your core worlds have fallen, and the Federation practically done for already.”

“…yeah…sure…keep thinking that way, Imperial dog.” The captain spat, and causing both interrogators to blink in surprise. “But you’ll see soon enough. The Federation’s going to win this war…we’ll bring down your Empire…no way we can lose…regimes like yours always fall before us…history’s on our side…”

The two interrogators looked at each other, with the first one tilting his head. The second one just shook his head, then heading to the door, opened it. “Well…if that’s how you feel…” he said with a sigh. “…then I guess we’d best get serious.”

“Do your worst!” the captain shouted, before his eyes widened as a spherical droid floated into the room.

The second interrogator chuckled. “Oh, we will.” He promised. “And you’ll both wish you’d talked, and that I stayed in charge of interrogating you.”

The door slammed shut, and keeping the screaming inside.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I looked up from the report I’d received, looking at Sara with wide eyes. And to think I was just about looking forward to watching the victory parade down the Champs Elysees, through the Arc de Triomphe, and watching the Imperial flag fly from the Eiffel Tower.

Damn Section 31.

“Watch Station Argus…” I echoed with a sigh. “…well, I’m not surprised. They did have a prison for political and…cultural, prisoners on Pluto, so it follows they’d have some kind of…listening post, somewhere in Sol monitoring all subspace communications for various purposes.”

“Your orders, ma’am?” Sara said.

“Inform Admiral Tye of the Fifth Battlegroup to detach a force of ships to seize Watch Station Argus.” I said. “Also, when boarding the station, I want Spacetroopers to take the lead.”

Sara’s eyes went wide. “Spacetroopers, ma’am?” she asked in surprise.

“Yes, Spacetroopers.” I confirmed. “I’m not taking any chances. Winning this war is easy enough, just crush Starfleet, force Earth to unconditionally surrender, make treaties with everyone else, and everything else will follow. Winning the peace, though, now that’s hard.”

“With all due respect, ma’am, but is that what Plans Z and MO are for?”

“True…but Section 31’s existence complicates matters…hence a new plan Torrhen and I are currently drafting, Plan Osk.”

“I…see…”

I nodded before narrowing my eyes. “Section 31’s existence,” I continued. “Along with every other…measure, the Federation has resorted to in order to maintain the system of smoke and mirrors to preserve the façade of a utopian society should work to our advantage. Provided we play our cards right, that is.”

Sara blinked and then narrowed her eyes in understanding. “People don’t like being lied.” She said. “I see your point, ma’am.”

“Quite.” I said before gesturing dismissively. “You have your orders, lieutenant.”

Sara stood to attention. “Yes, ma’am!” she said, before turning and leaving. Alone in my office on the Courageous, I relaxed in my seat thoughtfully, before pulling up the data on planetary operations. Most of it was pretty routine, Stormtrooper garrisons being deployed in key areas, along with Imperial Army units in supporting positions.

Others, though…

…well, only preliminary reports were coming in so far, but…resocialization camps in Antarctica, Siberia, the Australian Outback, and other such places?

I knew the Federation was just another authoritarian government pretending to be otherwise, but to go this far…

…even I didn’t think they had it in them.

But…if so…then the Federation isn’t even an authoritarian state at all…not even close…

…it’s a totalitarian state.

Just what kind of future is this?
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Constantly hidden on the opposite side of Neptune from the Sun, Watch Station Argus was a modified Regula-I Class Space Station. Its modifications included reinforced shielding, heavy armor plating, advanced sensor and listening systems, as well as heavy weapons such phaser lances and anti-proton cannons.

One of the latter even crippled a Vindicator Cruiser shortly after it dropped out of hyperspace, with its shields down. Venators immediately returned fire, turbolasers and proton torpedoes hammering Argus Station as the task force hastily raised shields. It took a few moments to bring Argus Station’s shields down, followed by ion cannon strikes to disable its primary systems. Meanwhile assault boats closed in, latched on with magnetic clamps, before using boarding charges to open up passageways into the station.

Section 31 commandoes and new model battle androids quickly set up defensive positions…

…and found themselves facing down the Empire’s best of the best of the best.

“Contact with enemy forces.” A Spacetrooper – officially Zero-G Assault Stormtroopers – sergeant called in. “Engaging.”

Even as he spoke, he was already loading concussion grenades into his shoulder-mounted grenade launchers, while simultaneously taking aim. Then he fired, his shields easily tanking Type-3 Phaser fire, before the enemy position collapsed from the artillery volley. The rest of the squad was already mopping up, with short and precisely-targeted bursts from gauntlet-mounted blasters.

Proximity sensors sounded the alarm, and the sergeant responded on instinct, blocking a melee attack by a droid of some kind. Briefly grappling with the humanoid machine, the sergeant slammed into the nearest bulkhead with enough force to crumple the metal, before using laser cutters to cut the droid apart.

“Be advised.” He called in again. “Enemy forces include battle droids. Moving to objective.”

The Spacetroopers moved on, turning a corner and advancing down a corridor detected the enemy dug in to form a crossfire up ahead. Gas grenades were launched in response, blood toxins quickly crippling if not outright killing the Section 31 commandoes, while also obscuring line of sight.

“Launching proton torpedo.” The sergeant said. “Brace!”

“Braced!” the squad responded, deploying magnetic locks.

The sergeant fired his torpedo, and blew out an entire bulkhead. Men screamed as they were dragged screaming into space, but several of the Federation droids were able to secure themselves.

The Spacetroopers advanced, blasters shooting the remaining droids to pieces, before cutting their way through a blast door. Alarms screamed as the air beyond began to be sucked out, but the Spacetroopers ignored it.

“Approaching objective.” The sergeant said. “Standby.”

Another blast door blocked their way, and again the Spacetroopers cut through it. Phaser blasted at them, Section 31 commandoes and droids falling back as the air was sucked out, the Spacetroopers returning fire with their blasters. Most of the commandoes were already dead by the time the air was gone, leaving them to asphyxiate as the last of the droids were put down.

“Objective secured.” The sergeant said, he and most of the squad forming a perimeter while the squad tech specialist accessed the local systems and disengaged the lockdown.

“Access Port 12 is secure.” He reported.

“Acknowledged.” The sergeant replied. “Standing by for reinforcements.”

“Reinforcements inbound.” The response came from tactical command.

“Acknowledged.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

ISB Agent Hiram Thorn didn’t look happy. And why would he be? He’d come all the way to Neptune in anticipation of actually interrogating a Section 31 member as highly ranked as a Starfleet Fleet Admiral…

…only to be badly disappointed.

“So…this is Fleet Admiral Nechayev…?” he asked.

“Yes, sir.” The navy doctor said, looking very ill. Thorn couldn’t blame him. Who knew that trying to conduct an emergency transport through an active mass gravity shadow was a bad idea?

Nechayev had apparently been fused to the floor on one of Argus Station’s transporter rooms, forcing Section 31 to literally disassemble the room to get her out. And that was only the first of the transporter mishap’s…effects…

…for one thing, Nechayev’s skin and uniform had somehow exchanged places, with her uniform where her skin should be, and leaving her wearing her own skin on top. Thankfully, the fleet admiral had died in the botched transport, as the autopsy report proved.

Apparently, the botched transport had completely rearranged her brain, which had resembled that of the electronics of her tricorder, while her bones had included alloys and polymer compounds from the floor plating she’d been fused into.

“…they’re never getting me to use any of those…things.” Thorn firmly said.

“Even if they work as advertised,” the doctor said with a shudder. “I honestly don’t understand why anyone would. I mean, it breaks you down into energy which then gets reconstructed at the destination? I don’t know about you sir, but that sounds a whole like jumping into a molecular furnace which then simply makes a copy of you on the other side.”

“…yeah…that’s what it sounds like to me too…” Thorn said with a shudder. “…anyway…we need to make sure.”

“Sure…?” the doctor asked.

“This could just be a way to get us off Nechayev’s scent.” Thorn explained. “So, conduct your own autopsy, investigation, and everything else you need to do to confirm that that’s her body right there, and the Head of Starfleet Security is dead.”

The doctor nodded. “Leave it to me, sir.” He said.

“Good man.” Thorn nodded, before leaving accompanied by an aide. “On the plus side…with the main knocked out early on…even without Nechayev to interrogate, we have access to the station’s logs and archives. That should prove useful.”

“Federation incompetence…” the aide sniffed. “…it’s a wonder they even fight back.”

“Don’t underestimate them, lieutenant.” Thorn warned. “Both the Federation and this…shadow dictatorship behind it, are getting desperate. And desperation has been known to make geniuses out of fools. It wouldn’t do to come so far only to fail because we got careless.”

“I see your point, sir.”

Thorn nodded, and then gave a small sigh, as his mind turned on the Section 31 conspiracy – or what the Empire knew of it – in full.

Gods above and below, what a mess.

And we have to be the ones to fix it.

Just what the hell did the Empire get into?

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

Augustin le Favre was feeling just a little confused.

It had barely been a month since this ‘Galactic Empire’ had launched an unprovoked war of aggression against the Federation, and over two weeks since they’d bombarded San Francisco into a smoking crater. Oh, and blown a chunk out of the Moon while they were at it too. And now, it had about four days since United Earth had surrendered, with Imperial troops quickly landing to set up an occupation.

He remembered that day, watching columns of white-armored soldiers along with more lightly-armored ones marching down the Champs-Elysees. They’d brought walkers with them too, ranging from smaller ones with legs like chickens, to colossal machines with a passing resemblance to them. Imperial ships had even joined in on the parade, the largest of which, a Star Destroyer – not literal, but it didn’t need to be – had even cruised overhead low over the city.

The parade had marched through the Arc de Triomphe, while white banners with the black, cogwheel-like symbol of the Galactic Empire had been flown from the Eiffel Tower. Other banners were hung from the walls of the Elysees Palace, and other public buildings besides.

At the time, Augustin had been…

…yes, he’d been afraid. These people had torn the heart out of the Federation, and had forced the President (of United Earth) to surrender unconditionally. Even now, they continued to fight a war of conquest across the Federation, while the Federation’s own allies the Klingons hammered away ineffectively across what was once the Klingon Neutral Zone.

But…Augustin was also awed. There was just something…something in the way the Imperial soldiers marched in perfect unison that he couldn’t help but admire. Something…powerful, inspiring even, similar to but different from Starfleet’s own celebrations, which in hindsight, seemed low-key and downright casual in comparison.

Surprise and confusion followed awe. The occupational authorities had imposed a curfew, which caused fear to return, but they also distributed food, something in short supply since the war began. Replicators needed feedstock to operate, after all, physics demanding something in return for, well, something else, but Starfleet had priority, and causing an unexpected food shortage, one that only grew worse after San Francisco was destroyed.

With the occupation in place, people grimly and fearfully expected food to run out in short order, Starfleet having taken almost all foodstock before the Battle of Mars, and then destroyed the production facilities for such as part of a scorched earth response to the Imperial victory. This had caused considerable anger and a sense of betrayal, as Earth didn’t even have close the food production needed to feed all its people.

Which made the Empire’s response all the more surprising, as they quickly set up food distribution centers. Nothing fancy, but people weren’t going hungry anymore, and the food given was wholesome and nutritious if simple. Likewise, the Empire made certain to keep the public utilities running, like electricity, clean water, and the plumbing.

They did, however, take the transporters offline, and instead provided unarmed hovercraft for public transport purposes.

That was another source of confusion, the Imperials looking at transporters with a mix of fear and disgust, followed by confusion and disbelief that anyone would willingly use them. Nor was it the only thing that confused the Empire, in fact, they were completely shocked at Earth’s near-complete lack of food production (outside of transporters) and even pharmaceuticals among other necessities.

In hindsight, Augustin could understand. Replicators had made things like…like mass production, or large-scale farming, those Imperials he’d spoken to while working as a waiter had mentioned, obsolete. In fact, Augustin could even remember it being taught in school as a point of pride and proof of social progression if not civilized achievement.

A shame it didn’t take into account the effects of war. Or, even if war hadn’t erupted, accidents or anomalies or whatnot that might disrupt replicator use.

Earth barely even had large-scale emergency stockpiles, apparently, and what existed belonged to Starfleet.

Naturally, they’d already been stripped empty by the time the planet surrendered.

If not for the Empire distributing food (and other necessities), things would have gone bad very quickly. They probably didn’t just want to rule over starving people, or provoke a revolt, but Augustin didn’t care. A loaf of bread, a serving of vegetable soup of some kind, and cooked meat three times a day was worth a bow before the Imperials’ extragalactic Emperor, and damn the Federation and Starfleet for leaving them to the Empire’s surprising mercies.

And today, Augustin was confused again.

Apparently, some miscreants had been up and about breaking curfew the previous night. That in itself was trouble enough, as the Empire locked up anyone breaking curfew for no good reason (they made exceptions for doctors or patients rushing to hospitals, for example) for a couple of days, but this time, the miscreants weren’t just sneaking about at night.

No, this time, they’d broken into an apartment, robbed the place, killed the man of the house, and raped his wife while kids watched.

The Imperial Occupation Authority, or its Parisian branch, worked quickly. Evidence and testimony were collected, and bounties offered for information, in the form of extra food rations. This allowed the miscreants to be caught quickly, followed by a trial and sentencing on the charges of breaking and entering, armed robbery, murder, and sexual assault.

And now that sentence was being carried out, as Imperial Stormtroopers secured the convicts to posts in the middle of a public square. Imperial Army soldiers in riot gear held back the anxious crowds, while journalists and other media people filmed and broadcast live.

“We will now carry out the death sentences on the five people convicted of rape and murder.” A Stormtrooper lieutenant bellowed out, drawing attention in his black uniform. “Squad, aim!”

White-armored Stormtroopers stepped out of parade rest and into firing stances, blaster carbines aimed at the convicts. A hush fell over the crowds, even as the lieutenant dropped his arm sharply. “FIRE!” he roared.

Blasters erupted with sharp sounds of displaced air, orange bolts rippling through the convicts’ bodies. They gave cries and groans of pain, and then slumped dead in their restraints.

A collective gasp echoed across the crowds, Augustin letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. And they he, and everyone else around him, was letting out loud cheers.

He didn’t quite understand it, in fact, the rational part of his mind was telling him that what he’d seen was…inhumane. Wrong…barbaric, even…yes, the crimes they committed were horrible, and they should spend the rest of their lives in confinement for it, but…

…but even knowing all that, he couldn’t help but feel…yes, he felt satisfied, a savage joy burning through his veins at the sight of the Imperials publicly executing those criminals.

Augustin was nobody. He spent his days working as a waiter at various cafes across the city.

In short, he was just an ordinary person, all things considered. And he was feeling just a little bit confused.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“…kilo of tubers, and one kilo of meat.” A speaker droid cheerfully sounded as it flew over several queues of peoples lined up for food rations at an Imperial Food Distribution Center in Saint Louis, in the United North American States (UNAS). “Please queue in an orderly fashion. Any unruly actions will result in rations being withheld. Please cooperate with the occupational security forces in keeping the peace in the current crisis.”

Neil Milner of Saint Louis patiently stood in line, moving up periodically as the people up front received their rations. He winced as he felt phantom pain creeping up his arm, and lifting it up, did a simple exercise a medical droid had taught him after it had replaced his arm.

“Oh wow,” the man next to him spoke up in surprise. “Cybernetics…wait. You’re not Starfleet, are you?”

“No, I’m not.” Neil replied. “I used to do general maintenance work over at Saint Louis. Meant I got hit with just a little bit too much fallout. Docs and…droids, did what they could, but some of the mutations got out of control. They had to chop my arm off.”

“Oh, sorry, man, that’s…that’s rough…”

Neil smiled and shrugged. “Nah, it’s alright.” He said before flexing his new mechanical fingers. “At least I got myself a new robot arm for it. I mean, tech like this isn’t supposed to be new, but up until now, unless you were Starfleet, you’d never get a chance at it.”

The man laughed. “True!” he said, before holding out a hand. “Justin Green.”

“Neil Milner.” Neil introduced himself in turn, and shaking Justin’s hand. “You here just for yourself, or have you a family to feed?”

“Wife and two kids.” Justin replied. “You?”

“No, it’s just me.” Neil said with a sigh. “Mind you, while the new arm’s flashy as hell, the Empire’s still the reason I have it in the first place.”

“Right.” Justin agreed grimly before giving a resigned sigh. “But…there’s no point in staying angry at them, right? Starfleet put up a fight, and got their asses handed to them. Might as well just move on…or at least try…”

“Yeah, at least the Empire’s taking responsibility for the mess they started.” Neil said with a scowl. “Meanwhile, Starfleet’s just making it worse. Can’t believe those bastards not only emptied all the replicator feedstocks, but blew the refineries before they cut and run. What the hell did they expect us to eat?”

“They were emptying the stocks even before the planet surrendered.” Justin said. “I know a lot of folks who tried to join because they thought it was the only way to eat.”

“And? Did they?”

“Of course not.” Justin said with a snort. “You know what Starfleet’s like. Unless you’ve got a big brain, you’re not getting in.”

“…fair enough, I guess.” Neil admitted. “About Starfleet, mind. Speaking of which, you and your family alright? I mean…fallout, and all that.”

“Yeah, we’re fine.” Justin said with a nod. “I mean, everyone in the city’s gotten a dose of nuclear dust, but the Empire was quick to help with that. Wonder medicine of theirs, bacta or something.”

“Oh yeah,” Neil mused. “They use it for everything from what I could see. Something about mixing it up with anti-radiation or anti-microbial stuff…I guess it makes them more effective, or something.”

“Sure looks that way.”

“Mind you, I’m glad I didn’t have to take full immersion the way some patients had to. I mean, I know it helps, but I talked to one of those guys, and he said he’s still tasting, well, bacta all this time.”

“Here’s to hoping it goes away eventually.”

“Yup.”

“…what does bacta taste like, anyway?”

“I hear it’s…kind of sweet, but a little too sweet, or something.”

“Oh…yeah, that can be annoying. That said, if the choice was between radiation poisoning and tasting that stuff for weeks on end, I’d pick the latter in a heartbeat.”

“Well, no argument there.”

The conversation stilled then, as the line finally moved up and let Neil have his turn. “ID and ration card, please.” The woman in nondescript fatigues said.

Neil offered the required credentials, the woman at the table scanning it and typing in a few things at a portable terminal. Meanwhile, a droid pulled up with Neil’s rations, one kilo of potatoes (or the Imperial variants thereof), one kilo of meat (canned, of all things), and another kilo of various vegetables (freeze-dried).

“…family will receive five kilos of tubers,” the speaker droid sounded as it flew by again. “Five kilos of meat, four liters of milk…”

It wasn’t fresh stuff, and it wasn’t replicator-reconstituted, but it was food, and Neil was fine with that. The Empire might have caused this mess, but at least they were taking responsibility for it.

Life would go on. Things would change. But all that really mattered to most people was that they could have some measure of normality from one day to the next.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Enterprise had survived the Battle of Mars.

Not unscratched, of course. The ship had nearly been blown in two along the connection between the saucer and engine sections, while the primary EPS relays had been burned out. Until repairs could be done, the ship wouldn’t be going into battle any time soon, nor would it be going to warp.

And it wasn’t getting those repairs either.

Not with Utopia Planitia and various other major ship construction, repair, and refit facilities in the Sol System destroyed by crack teams from Starfleet Security. All as part of a contingency drawn up and issued by the late Fleet Admiral Nechayev, to make sure even if the Empire won in Sol, they wouldn’t have much to get from it.

It hadn’t worked as planned, the security forces of the various Martian settlements and Earth nations had prevented the worst, but right now, Sol was completely dependent on the Empire for food and various other necessities. In a bitter twist, the Empire’s material supremacy was working out for the better, as they had plenty of surplus to supply its own troops while doing likewise for Sol until production could resume.

But back to the Enterprise.

Riker burst out of the turbolift, and into a scene of chaos. On one side, there were Imperial Stormtroopers, their blaster carbines lowered, for now. There were also two ISB officers, distinctive in their white uniform tops over black trousers, along with Worf.

Pressing themselves against the walls were other crew members of the Enterprise. And opposite Worf and the Imperials, there was a nondescript officer that Riker couldn’t remember the name of, and holding Ensign Perim hostage with a phaser to her throat.

“What the hell’s going here?” Riker demanded.

“Stay back, commander!” the man shouted, before jabbing the phaser against Perim’s throat, and causing her to cry out in terror. “Stay back, or the woman gets it!”

“Alright, alright!” Riker said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “Let’s talk this out, no need for anyone to get hurt!”

“No,” the man said while frantically shaking his head. “No, no, no, no, no, no…I’m going to talk, you’re going to listen and do exactly as I say, or the Trill bitch gets it!”

Riker didn’t say anything, just making sure to meet the man’s eyes. “See, this is what’s going to happen.” The man babbled out, looking jerkily back and forth between Riker, Worf, and the Imperials. “The bitch and I are going to the shuttle bay, we’re going to get on a shuttle, and then we’re going to get out of here. No one’s going to follow us, and you’ll all forget this ever happened.”

“That’s not going to happen.” One ISB agent immediately said.

“Don’t make this any harder on yourself.” The second agent added.

“SHUT UP!” the man shouted. “You think you’ve accomplished something here, you Coruscanti savages? You’ve changed nothing! You’re nothing! You don’t know anything!”

“We know enough, Section 31.” The first agent growled. “Enough to root the rest of you out once and for all.”

The man gave a sickly smile. “We’ll see about that.” He said, before abruptly pointing his phaser at Riker. He fired, but Worf managed to push Riker out of the way just in time, and causing the phaser to clip his arm. He fell with a grunt of pain, then Perim was screaming as a Stormtrooper shot her in the arm, causing her to twist away in pain.

This exposed enough of the Section 31 infiltrator to the other Stormtroopers, who riddled him with stun rounds. The man fell to the ground, convulsing as he went into shock from multiple stun rounds, the Stormtroopers quickly moving to restrain him.

“Get a medic over here!” one of the ISB agents shouted.

“Was that really necessary?” Riker demanded.

“Would you prefer your officer be dead?” the ISB agent retorted before looking apologetically at Perim. “Sorry about that.”

“…i-it’s alright, sir.” Perim stammered out, even as Doctor Crusher arrived with several nurses.

“What is Section 31?” Worf growled, and the remaining ISB agent looked at him in surprise. Then he blinked, and narrowed his eyes.

“You don’t know anything at all, do you?” he asked. “No, don’t answer. That was a rhetorical question. But you’ll find out soon enough. For now, let’s just say that a lot of what you know, and what you’ve always believed in, were all just smoke and mirrors.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Commander, I must protest!” the chairman of the Pluto Planetary Council blustered as he was escorted by a pair of Stormtroopers into a turbolift with the waiting Imperial liaison. “We are a peaceful scientific commune! You’ve seen for yourself that we’ve no weapons beyond the bare minimum to keep asteroids and other cosmic threats away from our outposts and habitats! We’ve offered you nothing but our full cooperation! And yet, dozens of our people have been taken away on spurious charges and never been heard from again.”

“Spurious…?” Commander Brice Cohl echoed.

“You claim they’re part of some interstellar conspiracy with illicit goals and methods,” the chairman continued. “But I have yet to see any proof of this.”

“And that is exactly why we’re here, chairman.” Brice said. “In fact, you and your people are the biggest victims here.”

“What?”

Brice smiled sadly. “You never knew it,” he said. “But you were being used. You, your father, his father before him…entire generations of colonists and researchers, all used as a cover for what lies under Pluto’s surface. More than that, you were never truly in control of your world. The people behind all this…they only let you live here out of convenience. And had your convenience ever run out…well…”

“…w-w-w-w-what do you mean?” the chairman stammered out in confusion.

“All will be made clear soon.” Brice said, turning away and falling silent.

Silence reigned for several moments, and then the chairman blinked as he realized something while staring at the turbolift controls. “T-this…this is impossible!” he spluttered out. “There shouldn’t be anything this deep! What is this? Some sort of mine? A top secret weapons research facility for Starfleet?”

Brice chuckled and shook his head. “If only it were so.” He said, and then drew himself up as the doors opened. He led the way into the darkened corridor beyond, the chairman following behind him with the Stormtroopers bringing up the rear.

As they proceeded down the corridor, the chairman shivered and wrapped his arms around himself, rubbing his arms for warmth. Belatedly, he realized his breath was coming out in steamy puffs…

…and then emerging from the corridor onto a landing, found his mouth falling open. Before him there was a vast cavern, stretching out further than the eye could see, half-lit with stark lights, encrusted with ice, entire vaults filled with what looked like cryogenic stasis pods.

“…what is this place?” he whispered in shock and disbelief, staring out across the cavern, watching droids and Imperial personnel going to and fro, while Stormtroopers kept watch.

“Welcome to Tartarus.” Brice said. “An undocumented and officially-nonexistent prison for the Federation and United Earth both. Those of your people we took away? They were among its wardens, tasked with making sure the people living on the planet never knew what lay beneath their feet.”

Brice paused, and turned back to the chairman. “Tell me again, chairman.” He began. “Is Pluto truly a peaceful scientific commune?”

“…I…I don’t know what to say…”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

“Natasi Daala, it is my honor that on behalf of His Excellency the Emperor, that I promote you to the rank of Vice Admiral, and present to you the Order of Merit. You are hereby relieved of frontline service, and directed to report with your command to Sluis Van, where you will assume command of a new flagship, and organize your own fleet before returning to the front.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Daala saluted to the sound of polite applause. “It is an honor to serve.”

I saluted back, and then smiling held out my hand. Daala took it, smiling back while shaking my hand. “Congratulations, Natasi.” I said. “Now, let’s keep showing the men how it’s really done.”

Daala’s lips curled wider as sounds of amusement echoed through the halls of the Elysees Palace. “I’ll hold you to that, Lady Summerhall.” She said.

I nodded at that before our hands released. “If there is nothing else,” I began. “Then you are dismissed, though I believe you have a fleet to organize.”

Daala saluted again, and at a nod from myself, turned and marched out, proudly wearing a new rank plaque and her new Order of Merit medal. The short ceremony over, I walked away in a different direction, Sara trailing after me as we walked down the corridors of the Elysees Palace. Once, this place had housed the offices of United Earth and their staff, while also serving as their and their family’s residence.

No longer; now it was the headquarters of the Inspector-General of the Terran Occupation Command, from which all the various occupational authorities were overseen from. “Hmm…assuming I’m also put in charge of the New Territories after the war,” I mused in the silence of my thoughts. “…I’ll also be based from here. But I’d rather not permanently…Paris is just too…rustic. I’d prefer somewhere more…developed, somewhere more like Coruscant…damn the Federation and United Earth both. Just about every city on this planet is like a damn toy town thanks to them…then again, it’s always been given we’d have to build this planet up so…New York, maybe? Berlin? Moscow? Beijing? Delhi…or perhaps…somewhere…a city deliberately founded as the capital of a new world for a new order…hmm…ideas…”

I blinked and paused as an NCO trotted up, handed Sara a dataslate, and then withdrew with a salute. “What is it?” I asked, as the lieutenant quickly read through the report.

“It’s a status report with regard to the planetary population, ma’am.” Sara replied.

“And…?” I prompted.

“Plan Z is working as planned, ma’am.” Sara said. “While there is still fear and resentment, especially after the Battle of Earth, it’s worked to our advantage, between our troops’ discipline meaning there have been few cases of rape or looting on our part, with those few cases quickly dealt with according to the strictest discipline, and our maintaining order in the aftermath of Starfleet’s collapse.”

“Hmm…speaking of maintaining order,” I mused. “I recall the last order mentioned the various occupational authorities have also executed a number of miscreants, correct?”

“As per Imperial Occupational Directives, ma’am,” Sara said. “Rapists, looters, murderers, and the like, shall be publicly executed after a summary court martial.”

I sniffed. “And I’ve actually softened that bit.” I said. “In any case, it’s certainly helped that Starfleet decided to go scorched earth after the Battle of Mars. While it’s meant we’ve had to provide more food and medical aid – among others – than originally expected, our overwhelming material superiority means it’s an inconvenience at worst. We might have started this war, bombed the planet, and killed plenty of Starfleet drones, but Starfleet was supposed to be protecting these people. And we were supposed to be monsters out to enslave them all…instead, Starfleet left them to starve, while we clearly prepared to take responsibility for all the damages of war even before Starfleet abandoned their own people to die.”

“In short,” Sara opined. “That is, if I may be so frank…”

I gestured invitingly, and Sara gave a grateful nod. “Better the honorable conquerors than the cowardly defenders.” She said. “That, and people tend to appreciate those who feed them more than they do those who’d starve them.”

“It’s just Human…no, sentient nature.” I said with a nod. “The Federation might pretend to have…evolved past such a thing, but it’s clearly a delusion. And nothing proves that more than the mob’s response to our public executions of convicted criminals.”

“As I recall,” Sara mused. “They responded with enthusiastic cheers.”

“Yes.” I said with a nod. “They were presented with an immediate…other. Others that were clearly more…evil, or however you describe them, than they were. And we brought them to swift and final justice, essentially making us good…”

I paused and shrugged. “…good and evil are words too big in hindsight.” I admitted. “The convicts were villains, and us the heroes who brought them down.”

“As you say, ma’am.” Sara said with a nod.

“Mind you,” I said. “There will be those who hate us. Those who lost friends and family in the war, whether civilians killed in Operation Yellow or its aftermath, or…soldiers, from Starfleet. Not to mention the members of the Federation’s – and United Earth’s – leadership caste, whether open or otherwise. They will all bear watching.”

“The ISB is already on the move with regard to Section 31 and the rest of the Federation’s shadow leaders. They also have plans for the other concerns you’ve mentioned, admiral.”

“Hmm…true…but we mustn’t get careless, regardless. Especially if those involved have nothing left to lose.”

“As you say, ma’am.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Citizens of the Empire!”

Picard entered the conference room to find the rest of the senior staff looking at the display, which had Admiral Targaryen speaking from behind the podium in what Picard recognized as the public address room in the Elysees Palace on Earth. Both of the seals of United Earth had been removed, from the podium and the back wall alike, while the flags of the Federation and United Earth had been replaced with those of the Galactic Empire.

“It’s a live broadcast.” Riker said at once. “They’re broadcasting it on all channels, both in normal space and in subspace.”

“What is she broadcasting about?” Picard asked.

“We’ll find out soon enough, sir.” Riker said, and Picard set his jaw.

“…a historic revelation, perhaps even more historic than the current conflict between the Galactic Empire and the United Federation of Planets.” Targaryen was saying. “It will be difficult to hear, for it will expose everything that the Federation’s citizens have ever believed in to be a lie. However, it is a necessary thing, to face this fact, for as an old Earth saying I have recently learned says, the most unpleasant truth is a safer companion than a pleasant falsehood.”

Data tilted his head and frowned at that. “That was Theodore Roosevelt, I believe.” He said. “The 26th President of the United States, and the legal predecessor of the modern United North American States.”

“This is ridiculous.” Riker scoffed. “She expects us to believe there’s a huge lie behind the Federation, and she quotes Teddy Roosevelt to justify herself?”

Troi frowned at that. “While I can’t be completely sure given the distance,” she said. “From her body language and the…psychic echoes, present in the broadcast, I can sense that Targaryen is speaking the truth. More than that, she is genuinely…angry, and…disgusted, at…what she knows.”

“But how can that be?” Riker asked. “The Federation’s existed for over two hundred years. Surely, if there’s something fishy about it, it’d have been exposed by now. Look at Cartwright’s conspiracy back in the 23rd Century. It didn’t even last a month…”

“…there’s an old saying, Number One.” Picard grimly interrupted. “That all you need to do is repeat a lie loudly enough times, and it might as well become the truth.”

“…I’ve heard of that.” Riker admitted after a moment’s thought. “Joseph Goebbels, right?”

“That is correct, commander.” Data confirmed. “The propaganda minister of 20th Century Germany’s Third Reich, both before and during the Second World War.”

“Targaryen may be exaggerating things, or drawing the wrong conclusions,” Picard said. “But after the Battle of Orion, and Nechayev’s…insane orders, to destroy all critical infrastructure in this system after the Battle of Mars…I think it’s best we keep an open mind, the better to make sense of everything that’s getting…upended, in all this.”

Riker didn’t answer, instead turning his attention back to the screen. And just in time too, to see the perspective shift from the Elysees Palace to what looked like a vast underground structure, honeycombed with scaffolding and advanced machinery. “Data,” Picard began. “What are those…”

“Behold Tartarus, named after a mythological prison from Ancient Earth.” Targaryen answered before Picard could even finish his question. “Buried deep beneath the planet Pluto, whose own inhabitants were left ignorant of what lay beneath their feet, if not deliberately kept ignorant, the better to use them as a smokescreen for the injustice kept on this world. For in this world, Section 31 imprisoned those they considered…inconvenient, be it politically or culturally, to their vision of the future.”

Targaryen paused, and then continued, while scenes could be shown of Imperial medical personnel tending to prisoners being brought out cryogenic stasis. “Some of you would ask,” she said. “Would it not have been easier and more convenient for Section 31 to simply execute these individuals? It would have been, yes, kinder too, especially for those who have languished in prison for centuries and now awaken to a galaxy bereft of all that is welcoming and familiar. But they did not. In what is perhaps the cruelest evidence of their fanatical belief in the utopian lie of the Federation, they would not kill, because it would against any and all of their so-called ideals. Better then, to imprison these inconvenient souls for all time, and to erase their legacy from the pages of history…at least from their point of view. Just as it would have been better for all the Federation’s citizens to live ignorant of the truth of their world.”

Targaryen paused again, before continuing as the scene shifted back to the Elysees Palace. “No doubt,” she said. “Some of you wonder if perhaps these are all doctored videos. That we have merely prepared a grand exercise in propaganda for the Empire’s own interests. And I would not blame you, for such is the scale of the lie. But I will have us all face the truth, as told by those who witnessed and experienced it in person.”

Then she stepped aside, allowing a grim-faced man to take the podium. Again, Data started, drawing eyes his way. “Data,” Picard began. “Do you recognize that man?”

“Yes, but…he should be dead.” Data replied. “According to the official record, he…”

“My name is Brian Waters.” The man began. “Once, I was the Ambassador of United North American States to United Earth. Once, I was a citizen of the Federation, and believed in its ideals of cooperation, progress, and peace. But those ideals never meant we would lay down all our arms and leave our homes, our families, defenseless. And so, I opposed the effective demilitarization of not just the UNAS, or even of the Earth, but of the entire Sol System in the aftermath of the Khitomer Accords. For that, Section 31 took me away from my family, my home, and faking my death in a transporter accident, buried me away to be forgotten forever. Until now…”

“…Data?” Picard asked in a faint voice. “Counsellor…?”

“His physical appearance matches that of what’s on record.” Data began, while Troi shook her head, and pressed her hands over the lower half of her face.

“H-he’s…he’s telling the truth, captain.” Troi tearfully said. “I…I don’t want to believe it…but the sheer anger, loss, grief, and hatred he feels…they’re so deep and primal that it’s impossible to fake. And so powerful that even over the distance…”

Troi trailed off, while Riker took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Are you sure you can handle this, Deanna?” Doctor Crusher asked worriedly. “From the look of things, he’s not going to be the Empire’s only witness.”

Troi shakily nodded. “I…I have to be here.” She said. “I…I have to watch this…if what we’re seeing and hearing is the truth…then I’d rather accept it, no matter how hard and painful it might be, than bury my head under a pillow and live a lie.”

Doctor Crusher looked at Picard who sighed before looking at the screen, with Ambassador Waters continuing to testify about his experiences, and denouncing both Section 31 and the Federation. And as Doctor Crusher said, he was only the first. For the next hour, they listened to testimony after testimony, about how far the shadowy conspiracy behind the Federation’s very existence was willing to go.

After Ambassador Waters, there was Senator Franklin Medina, again from the UNAS. “…I spoke out against the dispossession of large farmers…entire families…generations of ordinary people who’d made a living on the land of their ancestors,” he raged. “Within a decade they were all gone, forced into obscure suburban lives just so the Arcadian idyll part of the conspirator’s utopian nightmare would become reality…assuming they didn’t just disappear into those so-called ‘resocialization camps’!”

The man paused, and pointed at Targaryen off the screen. “You’ve seen them, haven’t you?” he demanded. “Your people broke them all open! Show them…show the galaxy the truth of it all…and may God forgive me, because I knew then and did nothing.”

“…thank you, Senator Medina.” Targaryen said, walking over and helping the distraught senator away. “And yes, we have not forgotten about the resocialization camps, and not the model ones the Federation uses to deceive its citizens, or even its own well-meaning social workers and counsellors who genuinely wish to help those who need it.”

“…do I even want to know?” Riker asked, looking disturbed.

“We have to.” Picard said, his hands shaking and forcing Doctor Crusher to walk over, protocol be damned, and take a hand in her own. “We have to…if all this is true…if the Federation truly isn’t…isn’t what we thought it would is…then we owe it to ourselves…to everyone the Federation has harmed…to watch all this to the end…”

And so it continued. There was Yustina Kolodavich Guseva, a member of the Federation Council no less, and one who opposed the effective abolition of free enterprise in the Federation’s core systems, and its suppression in the outer colonies and worlds. And it wasn’t just politicians either who’d been imprisoned. Scientists, as well, such as Derek Whitehead who had uncovered evidence that transporters, regardless of the Federation’s claims, actually did destroy people and merely replicated them at the target destination.

There was an Indian geneticist, Manas Adwani, who’d actually managed to correct the flaws in the Augmentation process, allowing for the birth of psychologically-stable Augments. Intellectuals too had been targeted, from philosophers who questioned and criticized the subtly-monolithic nature of Federation society and culture, to historians who’d uncovered socio-politically-unacceptable details of the past, in particular of pre-WWIII 21st Century history. Artists and musicians had also been imprisoned, as their innovative thoughts on cultural expression were deemed dangerous by Section 31’s social engineers.

Nor was it limited to Humans. In fact, it was a Vulcan who was the oldest prisoner, along with members of his sect, all of whom had been tracked down, abducted and made to appear dead, before being imprisoned on Pluto.

All because T’Kas believed that Vulcans could learn to master both emotion and logic before living with them in balance. And he had succeeded, having lived on Earth for virtually the entirety of the 22nd Century, allowing him to gather a following of young Vulcan intellectuals and scientists whom he taught to live as he did.

“Of course, this was unacceptable to Section 31.” T’Kas sneered. “Apparently, our people’s suppression of their emotions was deemed a vital and…necessary, psychological check and balance to ensure we wouldn’t be a threat to the sociopolitical balance of the newborn Federation.”

No less than five Dahar masters were also released from the prison, all abducted and imprisoned for their opposition to the Klingon-Federation Alliance. “…this is not going to end well.” Worf growled with a shake of his head as Amash Nalkah angrily raged at the podium, even needing to be restrained by Admiral Targaryen after he finished his tirade by holding the podium so hard the wood shattered. “…brave of her.”

Then horror filled the command staff, as the most recent additions to the prison roster were revealed, three Romulan Senators including a consular candidate, all supposedly killed when a pocket of toxic gas in a nearby swamp was released and poisoned everyone in the country home of one of the senators. “I don’t know if Ambassador Spock knew or was involved.” Senator Nirus hissed. “All I know is that we led the united front in the Senate against his movement for reunification between Vulcan and Romulus. And that was enough for those hypocrites to make us disappear, regardless of the loss our families would have to endure. Because say what you want about the Tal Shiar, but at least they have the decency to not pretend to be anything other than what they are!”

Nirus looked away, chest heaving, and then wiping her eyes, staggered away from the podium. Then she paused, and looking at the screen, visibly softened her expression before speaking in Romulan. “Kunsara my son…mother will be home soon…” she said, before letting a fellow senator lead her away.

The horror story didn’t end with just prisoners from Tartarus, but also inmates from the resocialization camps. Images were also shown that looked straight like something from the 20th Century, whether the Third Reich’s concentration and death camps, or the gulags of the Soviet Union. Row upon row of small, one-man residences, differentiated only by a string of letters and numbers above the door. Hollow-eyes and world-weary inmates underwent medical examinations by Imperial doctors and medical droids. Many of them were underweight, as starvation was a common method of punishing disobedience. All of them had barcodes printed onto the back of their necks, as a means of identification.

Then there were the methods used for ‘resocialization’, most commonly being forced to watch ‘educational’ videos over extended periods of time, with electrical current being applied to keep inmates awake. Drugs were also used, of various kinds and combinations, along with pain and pleasure methods.

All too many inmates succumbed to such brutal treatment, leading to various scenes of Imperial officers and men grimly looking on as droids unearthed mass graves. Apparently, surviving inmates had been forced to dig and bury the dead in such a crude way, as a way of reinforcing the consequences of failing ‘reintegration’ back into Federation society.

By the end of it all, Troi was openly crying, Riker visibly struggling to stay calm while holding her and rubbing circles into her back. Data was looking down at the table with a torn expression on his face, while Worf was gripping the conference table so hard the wood had cracked beneath his fingers. Geordi was holding his head in his hands, and while Picard and Doctor Crusher had managed to keep their composure, their hands were white as they tightly took comfort and reassurance in each other’s physical presence.

In fact, it was almost…comforting, when Q appeared in a flash of light. And for once, he didn’t look or sound taunting.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it had to come to this.” He said. “But perhaps now you understand why we don’t believe the Federation should be allowed to freely expand across the galaxy.”

He paused, and tilted his head. “You have a question.” He said. “Ask. For once, I will answer straight to the point.”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

In New York, the UN Memorial Complex was on fire, rioters rampaging unchecked through its grounds and corridors. The statues of the delegates which had negotiated the end of WWIII had been pulled down, while the stone slab bearing the original United Earth Charter had been defaced. “LIES” it read, marked in red paint across the once-gleaming surface, splattered and pitted from thrown paint and other projectiles.

In Washington D.C., a colossal crowd had gathered in front of the White House, chanting and stamping as UNAS National Guards looked on warily. Stars and Stripes flew across the crowds, along with portraits and other images of the Founding Fathers of the old USA.

In Boston, crowds gathered before the harbor as men dressed like 18th Century gentry hauled boxes onto a pier. Cheers and applause broke out as they were opened, before countless Starfleet badges were dumped into the water. Stars and Stripes flew in the breeze, a hush falling across the crowds as several young girls started singing the Star-Spangled Banner, but it wasn’t long before the crowds were joining in.

“O say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave, o'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave?”

Philadelphia was more of the same, demonstrators gathered around the Liberty Bell, flying Stars and Stripes, and even tolling smaller bells of their own. “THIS IS AMERICA!” a man shouted as he flew the Stars and Stripes and the Imperial Cogwheel from both hands, all to cheers from the crowd. “NOT THE SOVIET UNION!”

“BETTER DEAD THAN RED!” a woman shouted to even louder cheers.

“I STAND FOR FREEDOM! FOR JUSTICE! NOT COMMUNISM!” another man shouted, to a thunderous roar of approval that literally shook the camera droids.

The protests in Moscow were even more violent. In Red Square, rioters screamed their approval as countless flags, badges, and other symbols of United Earth, the Federation, and Starfleet were thrown before Lenin’s Mausoleum. Former Starfleet officers and personnel were forced to parade down the streets in uniform, subjected to a hail of spit, insults, and even rocks and other thrown projectiles.

In Beijing, corpses hung from lampposts, United Earth bureaucrats and Starfleet officers lynched by angry mobs. They’d even stormed the Forbidden City, and placed images of Qin Shi Huang, Emperors Gaozu and Wu of the Great Han, Taizong of the Great Tang, and even the Kangxi Emperor before Tiananmen Square. Anti-Federation and anti-United Earth slogans flew above the crowd, emblazoned in Chinese characters, the use of which had been discouraged by United Earth as encouraging cultural heterogeneity. Next to those slogans, the black cogwheel on white of the Galactic Empire flew in solidarity, the Imperial Stormtroopers guarding key locations regarded with quiet respect by the mobs.

In Tokyo, the Sun Disc and the Rising Sun flew by the thousands as crowds turned out by the tens of thousands to welcome the return of Prince Takahito and Princess Michiru. The last members of the ancient Yamato Dynasty, and who supposedly went down in a storm during their honeymoon at sea back in the 22nd Century. Instead, they’d been spirited away by Section 31, and locked away in the cryogenic vaults of Pluto. Now, they had returned to claim the Chrysanthemum Throne, an honor guard of Imperial Stormtroopers and AT-STs escorting them back to the Tokyo Imperial Palace. The prince and princess waved and smiled at the crowds, who cheered and shouted as the rightful king – or Emperor, as it was – returned at last.

“Tenno-heika, banzai!” millions yelled across the cities of Japan. “Tenno-heika, banzai! Tenno-heika-banzai!”

Candles burned on the streets of Delhi and other Indian cities. And not just India, either, but also Pakistan, Bangladesh, and other South Asian countries. Bards sang the tales of ancient heroes, like Rama of Kosala, Seventh Avatar of Vishnu, and prayed in thanks for vindication at long last, the wheel of karma finally crushing the impious Federation and United Earth beneath it. Tens if not hundreds of millions mourned in public for the first time since WWIII, as statues and images of Khan Noonien Singh, greatest of the Augment Rulers of Asia, were paraded in public.

In contrast, effigies of James Tiberius Kirk were raised, casting him as a reincarnation of the Demon Lord Ravana, and burned before the madly-screaming crowds, firelight dancing on the gilded images of Khan, himself cast as the reincarnation of the great King of India. Flowers were laid at his feet, along with offerings of milk, butter, gold, and even live cattle. Volunteers lined up for kilometers on end, tens if not hundreds of thousands of Indians seeking to join the Imperial Army in the fight to bring the Federation down, and in so doing, avenge their long-lost sovereign.

Paris was no different. Angry mobs marched down the Champs-Elysees, while others held vigil before Les Invalides. Images of the ancient French warlord and tyrant, Napoleon Bonaparte, stood along white banners with the blue and gold fleur-de-lis of the ancient Bourbon Dynasty. A blonde woman with long hair tied into a braid that ran down past her waist had scaled the Arc de Triomphe, dressed like a knight of ancient times. Then she’d raised the white banner of the ancient French kingdom, before drawing and brandishing a sword into the air.

“Deus vult!” she shouted, to thunderous roars of approval.

More crowds were gathered before the Elysees Palace, only they shouted encouragement instead of invective. “Protect the rights of the people!” a woman shouted.

“Don’t let them use us again!” a man shouted in his turn.

“Down with United Earth and its co-conspirator, the United Federation of Planets!” another man shouted.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“So…Watch Station Vann has been secured.” I remarked, glad to be back on the Courageous and away from the chaos consuming the Earth. Granted, I’d helped start that chaos to begin with, but it was a necessary thing, if only to burn away any lingering sentiments for United Earth, and the conspirators behind it.

Section 31…or should I say, the Majestic Twelve…President Truman, you never knew the kind of hell you were unleashing when you formed that group, did you?

“What’s the Vulcan reaction?” I asked.

“…logical.” Torrhen grunted. “There’s been arrests of Section 31 agents across the Vulcan Sector. It’s gone surprisingly smoothly…for the most part.”

“Oh?”

“Some kind of…telepathic sleeper programming…” Torrhen grumbled. “…sorry, ma’am. But, I’m not really an expert on Force or whatever kind of mechanics work behind this psychic stuff.”

“If anything, you’d prefer to avoid just that, don’t you, Vice Admiral?” I asked with an amused tone.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I laughed. “Well, I don’t blame you.” I said. “We’re soldiers, not Jedi or Inquisitors. We command fleets and armies, point guns at the enemy, and blast them away. We don’t read minds or move objects around with them. Still…this is going to be a problem.”

“Agreed,” Torrhen said with a nod. “The Vulcan security forces are working to unravel the mental indoctrination, but the ISB wants to call in support from the Inquisitorius, just in case.”

“…we’ve got no choice.” I conceded after a moment. “I refuse to take any chances. Sara, give the ISB my go-ahead for asking help from the Inquisitorius. Besides, they might come in handy for when we move on Betazed, to say nothing of Bajor.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I nodded, and then adjusted the holographic display to focus on Andor. “The fighting on Andor’s starting to wind down.” Torrhen remarked. “Thank whichever god listened that we didn’t have to deploy chemical weapons. I’ve been through a couple of gas attacks, they never end well.”

“True,” I admitted. “On all counts. Once again, the Federation’s, or rather, Section 31’s scheming works in our favor. All those Andorians they imprisoned or assassinated over the centuries to try – and fail – to…‘groom’ the Andorians out of being a militaristic society and culture have soured the Andorians out of fighting to the death for a Federation that never truly valued them.”

“Or was willing to let them die out in a couple of generations,” Torrhen rumbled in disgust. “If those reports about Section 31 discreetly sabotaging medical and genetics research aimed at curing a spreading congenital disease among the Andorians is any indication.”

Torrhen paused and shook his head. “Speaking freely, admiral,” he said in disgust. “They might be our enemies, but I can’t help but be sympathetic to them for slowly being stabbed in the back by their own allies for so long, and to never realize it until it was too late.”

I waved his concerns off. “The Andorians are worthy opponents.” I said. “They will make for a worthy addition to the Galactic Empire…not to mention will further strengthen our cause. First the Orions, then the Vulcans and Rigellians, then the Terrans, and now the Andorians…only the Tellarites remain unbowed before the Empire among the Federation’s founding races.”

Then I paused and shrugged. “As for their congenital disease,” I said with another dismissive wave. “I’m sure the Arkanians would be willing and able to help…all for a fair and reasonable price, of course.”

Torrhen chuckled before giving me a knowing smile and look. “Seeing as you’re Valyrian,” he said. “You would know all about that, wouldn’t you?”

“Naturally.” I said with a smirk. Valyria and Arkania had been close long before the Valyrian Freehold had joined the Galactic Republic in the wake of the Great Sith War. But of course: Valyrian aurodium had backed the great Arkanian mega-corporations, just as Arkanian genetic science had allowed us to achieve our physical ideal.

Torrhen laughed again. “If I were a Federation drone,” he continued. “I’d be lecturing you to death about the Andorians’ extinction being part of nature’s plan and we have no right to go against it.”

“Yes, how very…Jedi, of them.” I sneered. “Just replace ‘nature’s plan’ with ‘Will of the Force’, and it’d be something you’d hear from those meddlesome traitors.”

I paused and scoffed. “No matter.” I said. “Just as Lord Vader and the Inquisitors are already wiping every last trace of the Jedi from our home galaxy, so will we wipe every last trace of the Federation and their…backward, ideals from this galaxy. And then we will begin anew, just as His Excellency the Emperor promised, during the Proclamation of the New Order.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“…we will never surrender!” President Min Zife of the United Federation of Planets finished his speech by practically ripping off Winston Churchill. Unoriginal bastard…I didn’t let it show, but I was very annoyed. Something about the…Bolian, just rubbed me the wrong way.

“Someone shut that off.” I grouched, and Sara cut the feed. I regarded the rest of the command staff, many officers present only in holographic form. Operations White and Typhoon were still ongoing, after all, at least outside of ‘compliant’ sectors and those already negotiating with the Empire. In fact, in compliant sectors, work to repair the damaged subspace radio network was already underway…

…as well as the beginning of postwar reconstruction, given the large-scale private involvement in repairing the subspace radio network, by both Orion and Coruscanti corporations. The former had even concluded agreements with the latter with regard to buying patents, permits, and licenses for advanced subspace transceiver arrays and stations, as well as time for technical experts to oversee training programs to bring the Orions up to speed.

All for fair and reasonable prices, of course.

And it wasn’t just the subspace radio network. The various minor colonies were already seeing private expansion, starting with mining and other resource prospectors. Already, plans were being laid down for expanded resource extraction industries, while those colonies unsuitable for such but had large areas of undeveloped but fertile land were seeing COMPNOR lobbying for retiring soldiers and officers to be given colonization rights. Whether to reward them for years if not decades of loyal service to the Empire (or the Old Republic, during the Clone Wars and the preceding years of tensions), and as part of the greater Imperialization program laid out in Plan Z.

But that was all still in the future.

The war wasn’t over yet.

The Federation had been beaten down, gutted, and was bleeding out, but it still refused to surrender, determined to fight on until there was only a bloody smear on the ground.

If so, then I would grant them their wish.

“Our intelligence points to Tellar Prime readily surrendering once we arrive in force,” Agent Wolf of Imperial Intelligence continued. “But the problem is the Tellarites’ great colony world of Kharzh’ulla. One of the few truly industrialized worlds in the Federation, if not the only one aside from Orion to match what we’d consider as an industrial world. In short, it has all the resources to support Fleet Admiral Ross and his asymmetric strategy to fight the Empire.”

“Then we force him to fight us on our terms.” I said. “Not that that’s going to be easy. As I recall, Kharzh’ulla’s orbital ring is both heavily fortified and the center of its industry.”

“That is correct, admiral.” Wolf said, causing groans to go up around the conference.

“Sounds like Muunilist all over again.” Vice Admiral Orunitia grouched.

“Muunilist was botched by having Jedi in command.” I quickly disagreed. “Those fools insisted on infantry assault while neglecting mechanized support, not to mention spread their fleet too thin, causing unnecessary casualties in the orbital battle. Those, and the need to keep collateral damage low thanks to Muunilist’s importance to the galactic economy. In contrast, we do not have to operate under such handicaps.”

Vice Admiral Hans raised an eyebrow. “You have a plan, I assume, admiral?” he asked.

I smiled. “I do.” She said. “It will take time, but it would give us what we need. The destruction of the Starfleet forces assembled at Kharzh’ulla, the planet’s main defense, and even a shock and awe strike to force a mass surrender.”

There was silence across the conference, and I smiled wider. “Tell me, gentlemen,” I began. “In the days before spaceflight, how exactly did our ancestors take fortified cities?”

That caused plenty of raised eyebrows. “They would typically start by using scaling ladders and battering rams,” one general offered. “And try to take the place by storm. If that didn’t work, they’d try and starve the city into surrender, while using mining – if possible – to collapse its fortifications. And if that still didn’t work, they’d use siege engines like catapults to try and break the walls down, along with siege towers to try and overrun the walls.”

“Catapults…and how exactly would catapults break walls down?” I asked with a smile.

The general looked confused. “They’d hurl rocks at…admiral!” he gasped in realization, and I burst out laughing. The other admirals and generals looked shocked…

…with the exception of Major-General Darnat Cullan, the highest-ranking member of the Imperial Military Corps of Engineers present, who instead looked thoughtful if not impressed.

“My friends,” I began, while sliding a data file into the port and bringing up the data. “Allow me to present to you Operation Catapult, the plan to bring Kharzh’ulla to its knees. And with it, the Federation.”
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“What’s the word on the other major regional powers?” I said with a sigh, sliding into my chair in my officer after the meeting.

Sara took a quick look at the update she’d just received from the Diplomatic Corps. “Chancellor Martok has withdrawn his forces from the Archanis and Omega Sectors.” She said. “In fact, the Klingon Empire is on the brink of civil war, over allegations of the Chancellor being a Federation puppet.”

“And is he?” I asked.

“He has long supported the Klingon-Federation Alliance,” Sara replied. “And he did succeed the previous Chancellor, Gowron, with Starfleet support.”

I chuckled at that. “And so the Klingon Empire is about to tear itself apart.” I said. “Wonderful…and we barely had to fight them at all.”

“On that note, ma’am,” Sara continued. “The houses of the Dahar masters we liberated from Tartarus have opened communications, expressing a willingness to fight alongside us against the Federation separate from the Klingon Empire.”

“Is it for revenge?” I asked.

“Ambassador Lee think so, as the Klingon warlords in question have explicitly said as such.”

I gave a barking laugh at that. “I’m not against it,” I said. “But I’ll defer to Ambassador Lee to negotiate the details. Let’s not mess this up and leave a long-term problem on our hands.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said, making a note on her dataslate. “Moving on…the Romulans continue to occupy the Neutral Zone, but they’ve stopped reinforcing their fleets present, and have even begun withdrawing units. It could be a ploy to put us into a lull, the better to claim more territory from the Federation as it falls when we strike at Tellar, but both Intelligence and the Diplomatic Corps disagree.”

“Oh?”

“The Romulan Senate is in a state of outrage.” Sara continued. “Apparently, there’s a strong sentiment going around that we should be allowed to destroy the Federation without interference. However, the Romulans have also extended preliminary feelers with regard to sending at least observers for any war crime trials after the war.”

“Hmm…I’m not against the idea,” I began. “But again, I’ll let Ambassador Lee negotiate the details.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Sara said, making another note. “Moving on…the Cardassians under their…um, I’m sorry, I can’t pronounce this, so…under their Dictator Garak, have explicitly declared themselves neutral. Then again, according to Intelligence, the Cardassians are still struggling to just start rebuilding from the Dominion War, given the relatively-resource-poor regions of space they control. As for the Breen and the Tholians…all attempts at communication have been ignored, however, long-distance scans and stealth recon have shown no signs of hostile intent on their part thus far. In contrast, the Ferengi have proven…amenable, to talks, with regard to and I quote a profitable relationship with the Empire. As for other powers, such as the Kzinti among others, have also declared themselves neutral, while reserving the right to open future negotiations.”

“They’re being prudent.” I mused. “No matter…once the Federation falls, we can conduct negotiations at our leisure.”

“As you say, ma’am.” Sara said. “Those are the generals of the diplomatic update, while the details have been uploaded for your perusal.”

I nodded, and gestured in acknowledgement as Sara saluted before leaving. Sitting back in my chair, I closed my eyes and relaxed for a few minutes. Then reopening my eyes just before I could fall asleep, I yawned and stretch my limbs before pulling up the details of the diplomatic update on my personal terminal.

No rest for the weary, as usual.