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

[Jaenera Targaryen]

Guinan’s bar on Mars was busy with customers. That in itself wasn’t unusual, what was unusual was the makeup of the crowd these days. Just a month ago, most of her customers would be Starfleet officers, men and women of various species in red, yellow, or blue uniforms. Nowadays, Imperial officers made up most of her clientele, Humans every last one of them, the regular military in olive-grey uniforms, Imperial Stormtroopers in black uniforms, and the ISB in white uniforms. Appearances aside, they also had different tastes compared to her past clientele, Guinan’s Orion contracts warning her that the Coruscanti Humans preferred real alcohol over synthehol.

Not that she could have served them anything else, anyway. Starfleet had stripped the replicator feedstocks even before the Battle of Mars, and blown the refineries afterwards. If not for Imperial logistics willing to pick up the slack, Guinan couldn’t have served them much or for long. As it was, they’d supplied her with various liquors, in exchange for reduced prices for Imperial officers and enlisted frequenting her bar.

A fair exchange, all things considered, and Guinan wasn’t one to judge anyway. That wasn’t her role. It never had been. Her role was to listen, to watch and testify to the unfolding of Humanity’s history, whether its Terran or Coruscanti branches. Granted, she’d only known the latter existed for barely a month, but it changed nothing.

She would listen, she would watch, and she would bear testimony.

No more and no less.

It simply wasn’t her place to shape their history for them.

“Here’s five beers for table fifteen.” Guinan said, gesturing for one of the waiters, who took the tray and carried it to where five officers – all pilots, from the sound of things – were trading stories between each other over beer and cards.

“…so I got on top of the bastard, and unloaded a pair of torpedoes on his ass.” One pilot was boasting with exaggerated hand gestures. “Bam! Just like that! Nine stars on my cockpit window, and ace status on my first battle to boot.”

“Nine stars on your first combat mission, huh?” another pilot said. “Not bad, not bad at all, even by Clone Wars standards. And say what you will about their capitals, the Feddies have sturdy attack craft, well-shielded and well-armed, if a bit slow. Good pilots too…taking nine of them down is worth more drinks than taking down nine clankers.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Likewise!”

A round of cheers went up from the table as the pilots took their beer mugs and toasted each other before downing their drinks. Guinan made a small smile at such a nostalgic sight, having witnessed such things centuries ago, long before the rise of the Federation, when Earth was still divided into small warring countries.

Then she blinked, and turned to the upper level, where a bald man was staring out over the Martian landscape from a private booth. He was in civilian clothing, unsurprising considering how…unwise, it was, these days to go around in a Starfleet uniform, and not because the Empire was arresting its members, those of them left stranded in the system after the Battle of Mars.

No, it was the civilians who Starfleet was wary of. They felt…betrayed, and abandoned, after Starfleet had retreated from the Sol System after the Battle of Mars, and even tried to destroy everything of value while leaving. And after the Empire had exposed all of the Federation’s – United Earth’s – secrets for the galaxy to see, the civilians also felt deceived and used.

Starfleet had long been the most visible institution of the Federation, its most prestigious branch.

Now, it was the most hated. The Imperials had already impounded what ships remained, and while they allowed crewmen to come and go during the day so long as they respected curfew, which alone kept mass lynching from taking place during the riots after Admiral Targaryen’s public address. Even then, the mobs might have stormed the grounded Starfleet ships, if not – ironically – for the Imperial Stormtroopers guarding them.

Eventually, the mobs had relented, the people’s anger cooling before they returned home, but it was still there. After a number of officers were beaten, raped, and even murdered after going around in uniform, Starfleet had gotten the hint and its members took care to avoid being recognized as such in public.

It was…disturbing, no matter how unsurprising and even natural a reaction it was to all the manipulation and deception that both Starfleet Security and Section 31 had had to do to keep the Federation safe. A sign that despite their claims to the contrary, Humanity – or at least the Terrans, as from what she knew the Coruscanti had never claimed as such – had never truly overcome its nature, and only suppressed it.

And Guinan didn’t know how to feel about that.

She knew, though, that a longtime friend of hers would be very broken up over it.

“Kendra,” Guinan said, turning to one of her assistants. “Take over for me. I need to attend to an old-time regular of mine.”

“Will do.” The junior bartender said, already fixing up cocktails for a pair of Imperial officers.

Meanwhile, Guinan was slipping out from behind the bar, through the crowds, and up a nearby staircase to the upper level, making her way to where Picard was sitting with a half-empty bottle of red wine. “Do you mind if I join you?” she asked.

Picard started at Guinan’s words, and then quickly relaxed and smiled. “Oh, no.” he said. “It’s perfectly alright. Please, sit. Help yourself.”

Guinan sat down opposite, patiently waiting for Picard to open up on his own. The old man was silent for a long time, though, staring out wistfully over the Martian landscape. As it was, it took about fifteen minutes before he finally spoke up.

“Did you know?” Picard began. “Mars was terraformed during the 22nd Century. It was a dream come true, one that went back centuries, to the 19th Century if not even earlier. Men and women could finally walk out onto the rust-red sands, and breathe deep of the air of another world.”

“I’m aware.” Guinan said. “Even though Humanity had colonies on other Earth-like worlds out there, to have another habitable world within the system of your own birth was something else entirely.”

“Yes.” Picard agreed with a nod. “But…while Humans could walk around without external air sources, the air remained thin. So thin you’d tire within minutes, and you’d blackout if you tried to exert yourself. Cold too…did you know Mars’ temperature barely averages one degree above the freezing point of water?”

“…Jean-Luc,” Guinan began. “What’s the matter?”

“…I was just thinking,” Picard said after a moment. “That Mars’ terraforming…it’s such an apt metaphor for everything we’ve believed about ourselves. For so long now, we’ve believed that we’ve overcome the flaws and frailties of the Human condition, and maturing as a species, were ready to move out into space. Only…we haven’t. Not really…it’s just a comforting lie, one built on countless corpses and inhumanities…we’ve become the next Soviet Union…if not the next Third Reich…”

“Jean-Luc…have you been talking to Q?”

Picard glanced at Guinan, and gave a sad smile. “Is it that obvious?” he asked.

Guinan didn’t answer, and just gave a knowing smile. Picard looked back out over the Martian sands, before sitting back and thinking to his meeting with the transcendent being days ago.

“Why?” Picard asked. “Why go this far?”

“Because you needed to open your eyes.” Q answered. “You could never understand how long I’ve watched your species. Believe it or not, Picard, your species truly has the potential to become like us. Not just the Continuum, but other transcendental races like the Metrons, the Organians, the Medusans, or even the Celestials of the Coruscantis’ past. But not like this. Not like this…would you entrust phenomenal cosmic power to your species, knowing what you now know about your civilization?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” Picard answered immediately.

“For once we agree.” Q said. “But like I said, I’ve watched your species for a very long time. And I’ve long since learned that when Humans get comfortable, or find themselves facing something they need but don’t want to see much less confront…they’d rather clap hands over their ears, close their eyes, and go ‘la, la, la, I can’t hear you’. When that time comes, the only way to get them to see, to understand, to actually face and overcome what’s staring at them in the face…it’s to remove all other choices beyond just that.”

“…yes.” Picard said with a sigh after a long moment. “I suppose I can’t argue with you there. Not after everything I’ve just seen, and putting my own past actions and beliefs in their new context.”

Q gave a sad smile. “You were never stupid, Picard.” He said. “Just so very Human.”

Picard gave Q a hard look, before licking his lips to moisten them. “Then let me act so very Human once more.” He said. “Are you one to judge?”

Q smiled wider. “Good question…” he said. “…but a complete answer would also answer another question beside that. So, ask.”

“Is the Empire really any better?” Picard asked. “They’re an expansionist, militaristic power, and from what we know of their history, has barely progressed socially in over twenty thousand years. In fact, they might even have regressed recently, with their Republic abandoning its democratic ideals to embrace autocracy by becoming the Empire after the Clone Wars.”

Q beamed. “Now, you’re asking all the questions.” He said. “No and yes. No, the Empire isn’t much better, but yet, it…or rather, your Coruscanti cousins, are better. In one way: they don’t deny their nature, or rather its darker part. By now, you’ve seen it yourself, haven’t you? They’re not all that different from you. But while you suppress the darker side of your being, your true selves, they don’t. It’s a part of them. It’s a part of all of you.”

Q paused and tilted his head. “It was, and still is, the same with us.” He said. “Little progress, you said, in over twenty thousand years? Picard, what is twenty thousand years in the grand scheme of the cosmos? For fourteen billion years it existed before you, and it might just exist for eternity after you. Even we took billions of years by your reckoning to even get at the start of where we are now. And even now, we struggle with who we once were, and still are. Or have you forgotten Q? Or Q?”

“…you said the trial never ends.” Picard said with sudden realization. “It’s not just for Humanity, is it? It’s the same for you too.”

Q spread his hands. “That’s the nature of life, Picard.” He said. “A constant struggle, against forces beyond its control from without, beyond, and most importantly, from within. And look, it wasn’t all bad.”

“What do you mean?”

Q clicked his tongue. “Come now, Picard.” He said. “Don’t be disappointing. Asking isn’t the beginning of learning. Before you can even ask a question, you need something else. And you know it. You’re a scientist, after all.”

“…I don’t know.”

Q nodded. “You don’t know.” He said. “Once you admit that, you can begin to learn. The Coruscanti have opened your eyes. Not just you Terrans, but also every other species the upstart Federation had also dragged into the mud. Now, you can truly begin anew.”

And beaming reassuringly at Picard, he was gone.

“And…do you believe him?” Guinan asked in disbelief, at the notion that Q could even hold an honest conversation with someone who wasn’t a transcendent themselves.

“In light of everything that’s happened, yes.” Picard said with a sigh. “But, don’t misunderstand. I don’t believe our ideals were wrong. They weren’t. Only the methods our…leaders, used were wrong. And while we’re back to step one, well, that only means we’ll have to try again, and do better this time.”

Despite herself, Guinan smiled. “Some would say you shouldn’t try, but simply do or don’t.” she remarked.

Picard smiled back. “Then I’ll say,” he responded. “Such black and white reasonings would be why the Federation failed in the first place. In particular, the notion of…utopia, at any cost.”

Guinan chuckled. “Utopia?” she echoed. “It almost sounds like you think the world where your ideals can truly bloom is just a dream.”

“It is.” Picard admitted. “At least for now…like I said, we’re back to step one. And I believe before everything else, we need to take a good long look at everything we know and has been revealed about our past, and give it all an equally good and long think. Only then can we learn the lessons we need to learn, and only with those lessons can we truly begin to move forward.”

Guinan sighed and smiled sadly. “It’s not going to be easy.” She warned. “Especially for people like you, who used to be such a…visible, figure of authority in the Federation, or at least Starfleet.”

“I never expected it to be.” Picard replied. “And it shouldn’t be. Otherwise, we wouldn’t value what we’d achieve in the end.”

Guinan smiled wider. “Well,” she said. “I guess that’s not a bad way to cope with your world getting turned upside down in the space of barely a month.”

Then she paused, and looked back down at the bar. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” She said. “But if you ever need someone to talk to, you know where to find me.”

Picard nodded, and then getting up, Guinan left with a reassuring squeeze of Picard’s shoulder. Alone again, Picard took his wineglass, and took a sip while looking out over the Martian landscape.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Reality flickered as a quintet of Klingon Birds-of-Prey dropped out of warp within the Sol System. They were immediately tracked by numerous Imperial patrols, followed by demands for identification. The Klingons responded promptly, the Imperial Fleet responding by sending a trio of cruisers to escort them closer into the system.

On the lead Klingon ship, Captain Orath Alvezh silently regarded the Vindicators leading them to where the Imperial Command Fleet was waiting. “Interesting.” A voice said, and the captain looked up in surprise at Dahar Master Akiz Mvonnek standing at his shoulder. And he didn’t even hear the other Klingon approach.

How terrifying of him, not that Orath would admit it.

“The Imperial ships?” he asked instead.

“Yes.” Akiz said. “You can learn a lot about your enemy by looking at the way they hold themselves…or even build their ships. Terrans build fast and light ships, with lots of weapons to hit hard in many different ways. But their weapons aren’t weapons, not really. Phasers are just overpowered tools, while their photon torpedoes are probes just loaded with an antimatter warhead. In short, they’re men of science playing at war.”

“Not all of them.” Orath demurred. “The Dominion War proved that much.”

“And yet,” Akiz countered in his turn. “The Coruscanti trample the Terrans underfoot, do they not?”

“…yes.” Orath admitted after a moment. “But the Coruscanti are…different. Not just from the Terrans, or the Vulcans, or indeed, any other Federation race. Different from us or the Romulans, or even the Dominion.”

Akiz chuckled. “Indeed,” he said, crossing his arms and gesturing at the Imperial cruisers. “I’m told their ships can be slow and ungainly, at least when traveling at sub-light. But their shields and armor are incredible for ships of their size, and they do have proper weapons.”

“They do.” Orath said with a nod. “Plasma cannons of some kind, very powerful, enough to gut most ships, whether ours or the Terrans with shields down. Ion cannons too, to disable ships for boarding.”

Orath paused, and grinned. “I hear their soldiers fight more like the Andorians than either Terrans or Vulcans.” He said. “A shame I never had the opportunity to face Coruscanti trying to board my ship. It sounds like it would have made a most interesting encounter.”

Akiz laughed uproariously at that, Orath chuckling in the captain’s chair. “They’re not warriors, though.” Akiz eventually said. “Not from what I’ve seen and heard of them. They’re soldiers. Different from us…almost like our mirror images…not that it changes things. They are worthy opponents…for the future. Now, though? They will make for worthy allies…proper allies, with which to spill blood and wash away the stains of dishonor left by the Terrans.”

“I do not think the Coruscanti will disappoint.” Orath said, and pressing a button, brought up long-distance scans and with them, an image of Earth’s Moon. “This…Targaryen, is a dangerous woman.”

Akiz smiled. “A woman after our own hearts, then.” He said, and shared another laugh with the captain.

It wasn’t long after that they approached the Imperial Command Fleet, gathered in orbit over Iapetus, a moon of Saturn, the second gas giant and sixth planet in the Sol System. And at its heart were the colossal Star Destroyers, from the kilometer-long Venators to the even bigger Imperials.

“Impressive.” Akiz said approvingly. “The Romulans build big too, but their ships mass less than they appear. The Coruscanti have the mass to match their ships’ size.”

“Those ships have plenty of empty space as well.” Orath pointed out. “They carry a lot of smaller craft, from small one-man fighters and bombers, to small troop transports.”

“It matters not.” Akiz scoffed. “The Coruscanti at least use what spaces their battleships – or even their cruisers – have well, to carry more means with which to bring the fight to their enemy. All the empty space a Romulan warbird has is just that: empty space. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, though.”

“Romulans…” Orath sneered. “…treacherous and craven knaves who skulk about with poison and hidden daggers, instead of fighting and killing their foes with honor.”

“…and yet even they have more honor than the Terrans’ hidden masters.” Akiz darkly said. “Contact the Imperial flagship, and ask for permission to board. Contact the rest of our ships as well. It’s time we meet this…Admiral Targaryen.”

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

The Dahar master's first thoughts on the interior of an Imperial Star Destroyer was that it was cold and mechanical. Everywhere he looked, there was only dark-finished metal, broken by glowing lights, glittering control panels, harshly-lit displays, and flushed access panels. The same went for the Coruscanti Humans themselves, the officers in grey or white, and the rank-and-file in black.

Paradoxically, though, it wasn't soulless. On the contrary, an air of purpose permeated the ship's interior, men and women alike coming and going with crisp movements as they went on about their duties. This was especially apparent with the white-armored soldiers – Stormtroopers, that's what they were called – either standing guard at important areas, or patrolling the decks, as well as escorting Akiz and his fellow Klingons to the ship's bridge.

In short, the ship was very Human when all was said and done.

It just wasn't very…Federation.

Not that Akiz had any problems with that. If anything, it was all very refreshing, and together with the devastation the Coruscanti had wreaked against the Federation in the war thus far, painted a very impressive picture of what Humans were truly like when they were at war.

A worthy ally, at least in the short-term, to wreak vengeance on the impious and dishonorable Federation. And in the long-term, a worthy opponent…

…yes, if the Klingons were to fall, they should fall only against an overwhelming foe, their last war cries echoing defiant in glorious defeat across the pages of history. Not for them the slow death the Federation and its cowardly leaders had planned, the Klingons losing who and what they were to become just another set of forgettable threads in the bland and ignominious tapestry of mediocrity that was the Federation's vision of the future.

But those were thoughts for another time. Heavy blast doors hissed open to allow access to the bridge, the Klingons seeing a raised walkway going past sunken pits where officers and crew manned stations towards a set of windows that looked out into the depths of space. The rank-and-file ignored the Klingons newly-arrived on the bridge, while the officers gave only quick looks before returning to their duties.

Then the Klingons turned away, led elsewhere by their escorts, and Akiz was once again impressed. Had they been meeting with the Federation, there would no doubt be hours of long-winded speeches, formal dinners filled with nonsense, double-dealing, and serpent-tongued conversation, and by the end of it all, the Klingons bored into acquiescing to some agreement somehow worth even less than what it would be printed on.

The Coruscanti – the Imperials – had none of that. Or at least, their diplomats were dealing with that elsewhere, with matters of war – and more importantly, vengeance – to be decided by those actually qualified for it.

"Welcome, Dahar Master Mvonnek." Admiral Jaenera Targaryen said with a curt nod, violet eyes hard and cold like jewels as she regarded Akiz from across a glowing map table. "I understand you and your allies are here on your own initiative, independent of the Klingon Empire. Or am I wrong?"

"You are not." Akiz said. "And it matters not that the Klingon Empire has decided to drag its feet on its involvement in this conflict. By the time Martok has finished knocking heads together and secured his power base, this conflict will be over. The chance for vengeance will be lost. That cannot be allowed to stand."

Targaryen smirked. "Yes…" she mused aloud. "…I have read about your people's culture…your laws and customs, when it comes to this war. Or rather, the century you spent imprisoned in Tartarus thanks to those Section 31 dogs…you and yours claim the Right of Vengeance, something even your leaders cannot deny you, lest they dishonor themselves in the eyes of your entire people, and thus prove themselves unworthy of the power they wield."

"So we do." Akiz said before baring his own fangs. "Will the Empire deny it to us?"

"This is our war." Targaryen immediately said. "You may have your vengeance, but I'll have you follow my strategy in pursuit of total victory. This is not negotiable."

Akiz's companions stirred and muttered at being dictated to by a Human, but Akiz himself just met Targaryen's eyes. For several moments, Klingon and Human matched their wills, then Akiz threw back his head and laughed. "Were it any other," he began. "I would spit on your words and force them back down your throat. But you have since proven yourself, and your strategy as something worth following. Very well, I accept your condition, and look forward to claiming blood owed as part of it."

"You will have your chance." Targaryen said, pressing icons on the table controls, and bringing up the map's details. "Even as we speak, the Federation assembles its remaining fleets at Kharzh'ulla. No doubt, they plan to use its vast resources and industrial capacity to support the continued conflict."

"And with that support," Akiz remarked while looking at the map. "Their fleets can threaten any advance towards Betazed and Bolarus IX, among other systems on the far side of the quadrant. Or for that matter, contest Tellar against any advance from Sol and other occupied systems."

"Indeed." Targaryen said. "Kharzh'ulla must be reduced before any decisive advance can be made past the Tellerite Sector. Even more so, considering Kharzh'ulla has now become the Federation's wartime capital, with Earth under Imperial capital."

Akiz chuckled. "Plotting to force the Federation President to kneel before your Emperor, Admiral Targaryen?" he asked. "You are dastardly."

"This is war." Targaryen remarked. "It is not a game. There is no point in fighting unless it ends in total victory."

"There is no greater honor than victory." Akiz sagely said. "And? What role do you see for us to play in this stage of your campaign?"

"Just because we cannot decisively advance past the Tellerite Sector until Kharzh'ulla is reduced it does not mean we cannot act past it." Targaryen said. "Operations White and Typhoon prove that much."

"Indeed." Akiz said with a wolfish grin. There was nothing else to say, the simple yet brutally effective onslaught that was White and Typhoon spoke for themselves.

"Typhoon, however," Targaryen continued. "Has met an unexpected setback. We can destroy starbases, antimatter production plants and storage facilities, and other similar facilities at ease. Even more so for simple subspace relays. That said, the Federation – or rather, Starfleet – has a habit of simply fleeing into warp where we cannot fight them even as they launch pinprick attacks against us."

"Ah…so that's how it is…" Akiz said with an understanding nod. "…since you use…hyperdrive, instead of warp, you cannot fight vessels in warp…but we can. Is that what you want us to do? To chase after those Starfleet curs, like dogs sniffing at a trail?"

"No," Targaryen said, meeting Akiz's eyes. "I want you to hunt them down and kill them in proper battle."

"A proper battle they will not give you," Akiz said with a fanged grin. "But one we can have."

"Yes."

Akiz's smile widened. "It will be a good day to die." He said, and Targaryen smiled back, before she brought up tactical data across the entire quadrant, more than enough to get Akiz started on his 'hunt'.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"I still think we're taking something of a risk by involving the Klingons in this campaign." Torrhen remarked while standing next to me and watching the Klingon ships leave in the distance through the bridge windows.

"Agreed," I said with a nod before narrowing my eyes. "But, Imperial Intelligence strongly suggests the Klingons – or at least those Dahar masters we freed from Tartarus – would have waded in regardless, to claim blood for Section 31 and the Federation's misdeeds. We'd have been forced to confront them in addition to prosecuting the war against the Federation, and which would also lead to…unpredictable, complications further down the road."

Torrhen sighed. "At least this way we can keep them on something of a leash," he remarked. "And get something out of it by directing them to those Starfleet vessels running around and attacking like insects while at warp."

"Don't forget some leeway with the Klingons." I added. "Oh, I fully expect there will be a confrontation between us and the Empire in the future, but at least this way, we have more control when and where it happens. That could be very important when it comes to seizing the initiative."

"I see your point, admiral." Torrhen said before giving another sigh. "However, as your chief of staff, it's my duty to voice these concerns."

"So you do." I said with a nod. "In any case, we'll keep an eye on the Klingons. That, and while they're free to run around shooting up Starfleet vessels at warp, and will be resupplied at our expense, under no circumstances will they be getting any planets out of this."

"That might result in complications especially with the Romulans having occupied the Neutral Zone." Torrhen said.

"The Romulans occupied unfortified and even unsettled frontier territories." I said while turning back to the map table. "The loss of those worlds is a trifle, and which we can always get back in a future war. The Klingons, though, will be operating deep in the so-called Alpha Quadrant, in what will become part of the Empire's New Territories. We cannot allow a foreign power to have enclaves inside our space, and if they cannot understand that, well…"

I trailed off, but Torrhen nodded in agreement. "We'll have to take those worlds back if that's the case," he said. "And although it means an early confrontation with the Klingons, we'd still have the initiative in such a scenario."

I smiled at my chief of staff. "Let's not get too far ahead," I said. "And play at another war while we're still fighting this war. Let's win this war first, and then we'll see."

"Understood, admiral." Torrhen said with a small bow.

I nodded and looked down at the map table, zoomed in on the Tellar Star System. "The Fifth and Thirteenth Battlegroups should be arriving at Tellar Prime shortly." I mused. "One way or another, that world will be our bridgehead for an assault on Kharzh'ulla. And from there, the door will be open for a decisive advance on Betazed, Bolarus IX, and ultimately, Bajor itself."

Sara took the opportunity to cough. "Speaking of advances," she began. "I must remind you, admirals, of other territorial breaches in the Beta Quadrant. The Tholians are menacing the Icor and Iadara Sectors, the latter of which has also reported incursions from the Sheliak Corporate."

"And with Starfleet unable to respond," I said. "It falls to us to take action."

"Task Forces Seeker I, II, and III are ready to deploy at your command, admiral." Torrhen said.

I nodded. "Very good, then." I said. "Give the word. The Empire doesn't abandon its worlds. If these…Tholians, and Sheliak think they can have worlds we've laid claim to without a fight, they're in for a rude awakening."

"I'll have deploy within the hour, admiral." Torrhen said, snapping a salute and striding off to issue the necessary orders. I nodded, and then focused back at the hologram of the interstellar theater.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Several hours later, and Vice Admiral Natasi Daala of the newly-formed Thirteenth Battlegroup was conferring with a hologram of Vice Admiral Tye of the Fifth Battlegroup. The two of them formed the Imperial vanguard, tasked with advancing on Tellar Prime and, if possible, securing it as the beachhead for the Imperial attack on Kharzh'ulla.

"Well, this is disappointing." Daala grumbled. "The Tellarites just…surrendering without even putting up a token fight."

"I can't really blame them, though." Tye said. "Starfleet practically conscripted their entire defense force, and pulled them back to Kharzh'ulla. They've no ships left, and only police forces on the surface."

"…fair enough, I suppose." Daala conceded.

Tye smirked. "Here's something that might cheer you up." He said.

"Oh?"

"It's a copy of the Tellarite leader issuing their terms of surrender to our diplomatic team."

Daala raised an eyebrow curiously…

…a few seconds later, and her second eyebrow joined in as her eyes went wide, while her mouth similarly fell open. Nearby, the Terror's captain, along with Daala's adjutant and chief of staff weren't much better, and as the stream of profanity echoed across the Star Destroyer's bridge, other officers and even strait-laced and hard-bitten Stormtroopers turned to look at the command deck in shock.

"…how long has it been now?" Daala eventually asked in a faint tone, causing her adjutant to quickly check a chronometer.

"…over four minutes, admiral." The young man finally said.

"Wow." Daala could only say, with the reaction of the other officers on the command deck not much different. Eventually, the Tellarite leader's profanity-laden rant came to an end, and Daala rubbed her forehead, completely at a loss. "How long?"

"…six minutes, thirty-two seconds…" her adjutant faintly replied.

"And it all boiled down to the Tellarites' expecting the same starting terms offered to the Orions," Tye said with a laugh. "Plus demanding the Empire put the boot on both Starfleet and those Tellarites who ran to Kharzh'ulla and left Tellar Prime completely defenseless."

"…I don't think any drill sergeant back in officer school was that foul-mouthed." Daala remarked. The Tellarite leader's profanities had been both colorful and wide-ranging, reflecting on parentage, birth, and sexual habits of Starfleet, the Federation, and the so-called Tellarite Defense Force, all of which were holed up at Kharzh'ulla. By itself, that wasn't anything special, but to keep it for over six minutes straight?

Damn.

"Agreed." Tye said with another laugh. "Still, they're not unreasonable terms, wouldn't you say?"

"Definitely not." Daala agreed. "We were always going to crush Kharzh'ulla with an iron fist anyway, so no loss agreeing to that. As for other terms…well, I'm no diplomat, but I know enough the generalities are fine as they are. Only the details really need to be hammered out with regard to strategic and economic differences between Tellar Prime and Orion, but that's something for our diplomats to deal with."

Tye nodded. "Indeed." He said. "I'll contact Admiral Targaryen, in the meantime, I'll leave it to you to coordinate the landings."

"That should be no problem." Daala said with a nod before narrowing her eyes. "Still, we're pretty close to the frontlines here. And Starfleet has already stripped the planet of its defenses."

"What are you getting at, Daala?" Tye asked

"We could do more than deploy a Stormtrooper garrison at the planetary capital." Daala pointed out. "We could also add air defenses, and localized anti-bombardment countermeasures. Only enough to protect the capital, to be sure, but it's better than nothing. It might also help us on the political end of things."

"…good idea." Tye said after a moment. "I'll advise the admiral on our initiative, and if there's any complications from it, I'll stand with you."

"I doubt there will be," Daala said. "Considering Admiral Targaryen's record, but still, thank you."

Tye nodded, and then his hologram flickered. "Right, then," Daala said with a sigh. "Signal Colonel Beaxxon, prepare for surface deployment. And inform the combat engineering brigade of the additional fortifications they'll need to setup around the planetary capital."

"Yes, admiral." Her adjutant said, and Daala nodded.

"Very good." She said.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Elsewhere in the galaxy, specifically in the neighboring Actium Sector, five Miranda Class Starships led by an Excelsior Class Starship were cruising at Warp Four while on the hunt for Imperial raiding groups as part of Operations White and Typhoon. Their sensors were actively scouring out the surrounding light-years of space as they flew past faster than light, but tuned as they were to pick up Imperial engine signatures, they failed to pick up other engine types even as they ate up the intervening light-years.

That is not to say the Klingons wouldn't have been picked up…

…except they were cloaked, and with the Starfleet vessels specifically looking for Imperial warships, they missed the faint tachyon and even engine emissions of the Klingon Birds of Prey as they closed.

"Range?" Akiz asked as he sat on his flagship's command throne.

"Five million kellicams." The sensor officer said.

"Steady…keep at their tails…" Akiz softly but firmly said, eyes fixed on the Starfleet vessels slowly growing larger on the viewscreen. "…steady…range…"

"One million kellicams." The sensor officer replied.

"…on my mark…" Akiz slowly said. "…transfer power from cloak to weapons…gunners on all ships…destroy the smaller vessels but targets engines only on the flagship…we want prisoners to talk about Starfleet's fast raiders…range…"

"Five hundred thousand kellicams."

"Steady…steady…"

"Range…two hundred thousand kellicams…enemy shields reading as inactive…"

"…Starfleet's gotten sloppy…fighting imperials unable to shoot at them in warp…range?"

"…one hundred thousand kellicams…"

"…steady…"

"…fifty thousand kellicams…"

"…steady…"

"…ten thousand kellicams…"

"…wait…wait…"

"…five thousand kellicams…"

"…decloak, and fire!"

Reality shimmered as the Klingons decloaked, and faster than Starfleet could react unleashed a volley of torpedoes at the Mirandas. With their shields down, the old and obsolete vessels were simply torn apart, while the lone Excelsior was battered by a volley of disruptor beams that blew out the ship's primary power relays.

To Starfleet's credit, the transition to auxiliary power was seamless, keeping the ship's inertial dampeners and structural integrity fields active otherwise the Excelsior would have been torn apart as it was violently thrown out of warp. Just seconds later, and the Klingons also dropped out of warp, disruptors blazing away and blowing off the crippled starship's nacelles. Others shattered the ship's secondary power relays, leaving it a dying hulk in space.

"Prepare for boarding!" Akiz barked while getting up from his seat to leave the bridge. "Captain, you're in command! Signal the boarding teams: today is a good day to die!"

"Qapla!" Captain Orath said while retaking the command throne.

This wasn't the only such engagement taking place, of course. Dozens of similar ambushes were taking place across unoccupied Federation territory, in fact. And to their credit, Starfleet would quickly react, giving their ships a fighting chance against being jumped by cloaked vessels.

But with the Empire now within striking range of Kharzh'ulla, there was little else they could do. A protest was lodged with Chancellor Martok over what Starfleet called rogue Klingon elements fighting beside the Empire, but the chancellor himself was already under fire from the various Great Houses of the Klingon Empire for his pre-war ties with the Federation. With said rogues being led by Dahar masters illegally abducted and imprisoned by (officially rogue) Federation agents, the chancellor was left with few if any options to respond in any way the Federation could call favorable.

In the end, Starfleet could only grimly resign themselves and tighten their belts further as combat options grew even more limited, along with supplies, crew, and most importantly, ships.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

"Admiral," Sara began. "Your household troops are here."

"They've arrived, then." I said, briefly looking up from the reports I was reviewing. "Excellent, I'll meet with them shortly. I'll just need to finish these."

"I'll inform Captain Calanyon then." Sara said with a nod.

"Make it so, lieutenant." I said.

"Yes, admiral." Sara before saluting and leaving my office.

As it was, it took several more minutes before I could leave to meet with the newly-arrived Targaryen Household Guard. The report from Ambassador Lee was especially pressing, over Earth's political future. Originally, United Earth was planned to be retained as the planetary government of Humanity's homeworld in this galaxy, but with the exposure of the Section 31 – or rather, the Majestic Twelve – conspiracy to subjugate not just Humanity but every spacefaring race under their quasi-utopian totalitarian nightmare vision of the future, those plans had been thrown out.

Both the UNAS and the provisional government of what was calling itself the European Federation had made it clear they would not simply refuse to join a restored United Earth, but outright wage war against it. Likewise for the coalition of emerging northern Chinese warlords under the leadership of the self-proclaimed Generalissimo Tai Yuan.

Speaking of which, the ISB had also delivered its own report on Tai Yuan, on how the man might try and claim the Mandate of Heaven, and with it, proclaim himself the first Emperor of China in over four hundred years.

"That can work to our advantage," I mused. "But we have to work at it with a delicate hand, and avoid looking reactionary. No…much like with the Federation and its shadow leaders in the Majestic Twelve, it's best to let our enemies destroy themselves on their own."

All that said, though, with United Earth of no further use to the Empire beyond the psychological blow of its unconditional surrender, to say nothing of the backlash after its exposure as nothing more than a front for an conspiracy of Terran ideologues and their lackeys, entire plans drawn up by the Empire to cement its grip in the New Territories after the war was over and won needed to be gone over.

"Well," I thought while heading out to meet with my family's guards. "No one said this would be easy. Besides, this might even turn out to be better, with proper management of succeeding events as they develop."

Leaving my office, Sara saluted me outside before falling into step beside me, following in my wake towards the lift. From there, it took a few minutes to reach one of the Courageous' lower decks, and a couple more minutes to reach the assigned troop areas.

The Targaryen Household Guards stood to attention at my arrival, over a hundred men and women dressed in matching blue jackets and trousers saluting with white-gloved hands. They also wore white hats, those of the officers peaked, while the enlisted and noncoms wore side caps instead.

"At ease." I said, the guardsmen standing down to parade rest. "Soldiers of House Targaryen, I thank you for the effort of coming this far, all the way from our galaxy to this galaxy, the furthest frontier of our great and glorious Galactic Empire. However, now I would ask even greater sacrifices from you, so great that I cannot deny you the truth."

I paused, slowly turning my head to meet the guardsmen's – my people's – eyes. Like me, they were all Valyrian, the product of millennia of Arkanian gene-crafting, with platinum-blonde hair and violet irises. They all met my gaze stoically, social and cultural inertia born of millennia reinforcing loyalty and duty drilled by training and years if not decades of service to my family.

"I suppose you're asking, why you?" I continued. "Why send for you all the way across the universe, when I could just have the Imperial Armed Forces handle. I do have an entire expeditionary force under my command, after all. So, why? And the answer is that this mission is too dangerous to involve the Imperial Armed Forces. Failure would, at best, tarnish if not outright destabilize the entire Galactic Empire. As such, I myself will take personal responsibility for this mission, with my family's honor and future on the line, and personally submit its outcome before His Excellency the Emperor whether in victory or defeat."

I paused and nodded. "That is why you are here," I continued. "And that is why I will not command you to go on this mission, but ask you instead. And even then, I will ask that you submit to mind-wipe after the mission is completely. Only volunteers will continue going forward, with any who refuse being allowed to return home with no stigma or mark against them going on record. Having said that, I now ask any of you who find my request on your loyalty and duty to be too much, to step forward."

No one stepped forward.

If anything, the guardsmen just straightened further and looked expectantly at me.

"There will be no going back after this." I warned. "Is that clear?"

"Permission to speak freely, ma'am?" Captain Vamyx Calanyon asked.

"Granted." I said.

"I say it'll be a good day to die." He said with a smile, and despite myself, I smiled back.

"Outstanding, captain!" I said. "Very well then…saddle up!"

Over a hundred heels clicked together in a uniform motion, along with arms swiping up in salute. "HAIL, THE EMPIRE!" the guardsmen chorused. "HAIL, TARGARYEN!"
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Elsewhere in the galaxy, the Fifth and Thirteenth Battlegroups of the Imperial Expeditionary Force were once again leading the charge in the name of the Galactic Empire.

The Thirteenth Battlegroup, in particular, had the honor of firing the first shots of the Siege of Kharzh'ulla. With forward shields at double power, Vice Admiral Natasi Daala led her fleet into the range of the planetary defenses, phaser lances and charged particle cannon hammering them from the planet's orbital.

But even as smaller vessels began to burn in space, the Imperial Fleet returned fire, turbolaser beams lancing through space. They splattered against the orbital ring's shields, distributed power sources and generator systems helping them hold against the Imperial onslaught. In response, the Imperial Fleet concentrated its fire, entire flotillas literally pounding down the shields of entire defensive sections along the orbital ring, allowing turbolasers to destroy not just the gun emplacements, launch bays, and naval docks built onto the ring, but also the adjacent void habitats.

Worse, the ring itself began to take damage, especially as fusion reactors went critical and exploded in flowers of nuclear fire. Fortunately, civilians had already been evacuated from the ring, but that didn't change the fact that if the ring collapsed, entire sections could fall to devastate the surface below. That, and it was the main line of defense for the entire planet, with which Starfleet could finally halt the Imperial advance, and hopefully rallying the local civilizations, begin pushing them back.

That hope was now being put to the test, with Starfleet's Fourth Fleet under Admiral Michael Fraser scrambling to intercept the Thirteenth Battlegroup. The plan was to charge in, making it appear as though trying to get in close and throw the battlefield into chaos, thus negating the Empire's advantages and allowing Starfleet to fight on even terms.

The Empire wasn't stupid, though, or rather Daala wasn't. She immediately pulled back, not enough to actually withdraw from the battlefield, but enough to contract her line of battle to keep Starfleet from achieving their tactical goal.

Just as planned.

"Damnation!" Daala spat on the Terror's bridge. "Starfleet's forced us into a choice. We either engage at long range, and give their faster vessels greater freedom of movement to evade our artillery fire, or close in but risk them throwing the battlefield in chaos."

"What do we do, admiral?" her adjutant asked.

Daala didn't answer at once, instead lifting a gloved hand to rub over her chin in thought. Her first instinct was to simply charge in, and despite giving the enemy what they wanted, use the Imperial Fleet's superior firepower and endurance to hammer them up close, battle of attrition be damned.

But, she was a fleet commander now, and needed to think bigger. See the wider picture as it were, and minimize losses for maximum gain.

Soldiers dying in battle was inevitable, and indeed, was both expected and normal.

No commander could succeed without facing and accepting that truth.

What mattered was that soldiers died for something…

…that, and killing more of the enemy than they killed of your forces.

"…the enemy thinks they're being clever." Daala finally said. "Signal the fleet: advance, double power to forward shields. Concentrate your fire and destroy the enemy fleet."

"Yes, admiral." Her adjutant said before relaying Daala's orders.

The Thirteenth Battlegroup adjusted its formation, reinforcing its forward shields before pressing onward, turbolasers lashing out. Again, the Fourth Fleet sallied forward in response, Daala nodding in approval. "Here they come…" she said. "…fall back, now!"

"Admiral…?" her adjutant asked in confusion.

"Do it!" Daala barked, and the man all but jumped to relay her orders.

The Thirteenth Battlegroup fell back, and a few minutes later, so did the Fourth Fleet. "Good…very good…" Daala said, emerald eyes staring intently at the tactical display. "…all ships, advance."

Once again, the Thirteenth Battlegroup advanced, and the Fourth Fleet responded in turn. Then the Thirteenth Battlegroup fell back, and the Fourth Fleet did likewise. A pattern that repeated itself for over an hour, both sides taking casualties in the process, while maintaining fleet integrity regardless.

"Status of the Fifth Battlegroup behind us?" Daala asked.

"Admiral Tye in holding position." Her adjutant replied.

"And the enemy's other fleets are likewise doing so to our flanks and over the other sections of the ring." Daala mused aloud. "Yes…after the Battle of Earth, they're worried that we're just the vanguard…no, more than that, bait, to draw them in for the main fleet as it jumps out of hyperspace. They're being cautious. Let's see how well they can keep it up: all ships, advance."

"Yes, admiral." Her adjutant said while relaying orders, and again, the Thirteenth Battlegroup pressed forward. The Fourth Fleet moved to intercept, and Daala clenched her fist.

"All ships," she barked. "Maximum battle speed!"

In a surprising show of sudden aggression, the Thirteenth Battlegroup launched a full attack, catching the Fourth Fleet by surprise, used as it was to Daala's cautious maneuvers over the past hour. The Fourth Fleet's entire advance guard was wiped out, and the central formation decimated with the fleet's command element coming under fire.

Starfleet responded quickly, dispatching the Eighth and Ninth Fleets to reinforce the Fourth Fleet. The two fresh fleets moved to flank the Thirteenth Battlegroup, but attempts at encirclement were foiled thanks to the Fifth Battlegroup, which opened fire at long range.

Daala nodded as she looked at the tactical display, bracing herself at the rails as photon torpedoes shook her ship from a direct hit. "We've done enough for now." She ordered. "Fall back, but have our guns lay down a curtain of fire as we withdraw."

The Thirteenth Battlegroup fell back as ordered, laying down a murderous curtain of fire against any would-be pursuit, in addition to the cover fire from the Fifth Battlegroup. By the time the firing stopped, the Thirteenth Battlegroup had suffered five per cent losses, mostly smaller vessels, although that number would rise to twenty-five per cent if one included not just destroyed vessels, but damaged ones as well. In contrast, Starfleet's Fourth Fleet had suffered forty per cent losses, while the Eighth and Ninth Fleets had suffered two and three per cent losses, respectively.

Not a bad rate of exchange, all things considered.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"We'll have to be more careful going forward." Daala remarked. "The Federation won't fall for such a ploy next time."

"Agreed." Tye concurred via holo-call from his flagship, the Iron Duke. "But that doesn't mean we can't continue to use aggressive, equally bold and subtle tactics in the siege as it develops. At least, until the main fleet arrives."

"You have something in mind then." Daala said. It wasn't a question.

"I do." Tye said with a nod before forwarding his tactical plan, Daala looking it over for a couple of minutes.

"Interesting…" she finally said. "…simple and straightforward, but with a degree of subtlety to it."

"That is the idea." Tye said with another nod. "Besides, simple plans are less likely to kriff up on the battlefield, and play better with our strengths than with that of Starfleet."

"True." Daala admitted. "Very well, I'll expedite field repairs, my fleet should be ready to move within the next thirty-six hours."

"Understood." Tye said. "As for the main fleet, they should be arriving within the next five days. There's been a…minor delay."

"Oh?"

"Operation Staple has been moved up, apparently."

That had Daala's eyes widening. Then she blinked, and narrowed her eyes as she quickly went through the possible causes behind what was originally supposed to be something for after the Federation had been brought to heel.

"Section 31…?" she asked.

"Possibly," Tye replied. "The clearances for the operational details have all been ranked-up. All I know is that something they found on Earth shook up expeditionary command, so much so that the admiral brought in her own family's household troops."

"What?" Daala incredulously asked

"Yes," Tye said grimly. "Apparently, whether in success or defeat, Admiral Targaryen plans on taking personal responsibility for…one or another, detail of Operation Staple. If there's to be any blowback either way, she wants the Empire to stay as clear of it as possible, with only House Targaryen to potentially get dragged down."

"That…or to monopolize the rewards." Daala pointed out.

"Possibly…" Tye conceded. "…still, based on our experiences in this campaign, if we're to get dragged into the games of the nobility, then I'd say better House Targaryen than House Elegin or, gods forbid, Houses Organa or Antilles, among others."

"Or House Vandron, for that matter." Daala sourly said, considering it was Lord Crueya Vandron's misogynist vision of Human High Culture that had all but torpedoed her career right from the start. If not for the patronage of, at first, Grand Moff Tarkin, and then Admiral Targaryen, she'd probably be stuck pushing papers at a dead end post somewhere.

That, or drummed out of the military entirely.

Tye gave a cough and then a strained smile. "In any case," he said. "We should focus on the task at hand."

"This is true." Daala conceded, her fellow admiral nodding gratefully at the change in topic.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Twenty-five hours later, and the Imperial vanguard resumed its attack on Kharzh'ulla.

This time, the Fifth Battlegroup took the lead, charging forward at maximum battle speed, with forward shields at double power. At the same time, gun batteries and launch tubes fired again and again, hammering the orbital ring and the defending Starfleet forces, before making a sharp turn to port just before entering close range, and then coming back, heading away from the planet.

Normally, this would be suicide, exposing as it would the fleet's rear where it could barely shoot back. But the Thirteenth Battlegroup was right behind the Fifth Battlegroup, speeding up as the preceding fleet slowed to turn, and hammering the defenders before they could attack the withdrawing fleet in the rear.

Then once again, the Thirteenth Battlegroup turned to port just before reaching close range, and delivering full broadsides, came about to disengage, the Fifth Battlegroup just behind them for another attack. Vice Admiral Tyron-Hu Tye called this the 'revolving door', and it was devastating.

Starfleet suffered atrocious losses, with the Eighth Fleet suffering over thirty per cent losses in barely an hour. However, Fleet Admiral Ross saw an opportunity there, and committed his command fleet along with the Fourth and Ninth Fleets just as the Thirteenth Battlegroup closed in. Having calculated the relative speed and positioning of the Imperial fleets, Starfleet moved to englobe the Thirteenth Battlegroup, with the goal of destroying it and effectively annihilating the Imperial vanguard.

That it was no secret – if not actually common knowledge – that the Thirteenth Battlegroup's commander had previously commanded the Fast Attack Force which had destroyed San Francisco during the Battle of Earth added a touch of bloodlust to the Starfleet officers and crew, a desire for vengeance that gave them the strength to (figuratively) move mountains.

But if they thought Daala was easy prey, they were dead wrong.

Ignoring her adjutant, an enraged Daala all but literally punched all Imperial channels open on the control panel. "All squadron and flotilla commanders!" she roared. "This is Admiral Daala! We're surrounded, but we're not beaten yet! Engage at will! Scramble all attack craft! Destroy each and every enemy ship in range!"

The Thirteenth Battlegroup deliberately dissolved its formation, individual flotillas and squadrons launching a furious assault and closing to point-blank range. The fleet's smaller vessels suffered horrendous losses, but they gave as good as they got, while the Star Destroyers took a beating even as they left burning hulks around and in their wake.

Then the Fifth Battlegroup was closing, turbolasers blazing as they tried to cover the Thirteenth Battlegroup. "Admiral…!" Daala's adjutant shouted. "We must withdraw!"

"Not yet!" Daala roared. "Advance! The enemy flagship is right in front of us!"

"But admiral…!"

"Shut up!" Daala shouted the man down. "Fight!"

Terror and five other Venator and Victory Class Star Destroyers charged forward, turbolasers blazing as fires burned from various hull breaches. Only a handful of CR-90s and Dreadnoughts still screened them, but as the smaller vessels suffered repeated hits and began to slow and burn, the Star Destroyers finally managed to close their figurative jaws around their prey.

"FIRE!" Daala roared, and volleys of turbolaser fire and concussion missiles hammered at the Cerberus and its detached vessels. Shields failed, then the Imperial artillery fire ripped through hull plating, space blazing bright with the blinding flare of a breached warp core less than a minute later. "All ships to port! Destroying everything in our way!"

The Star Destroyers banked hard, turbolasers continuing to fire, but Starfleet was in disarray, the death of Fleet Admiral Ross in battle shattering the chain of command and dousing Starfleet's battle fury with the cold waters of uncertainty and dismay. Twenty minutes later, and the Thirteenth Battlegroup was clear, having lost just over half its forces, but had managed annihilate the Starfleet Command Fleet while inflicting heavy losses on the Fourth, Eighth, and Ninth Fleets.

"Did we win?" Daala simply asked Tye on holo-call.

The other admiral pointedly looked at the tactical display, with Starfleet milling about the orbital ring in disarray. "Yes." He said. "This battle at least."

"Good." Daala said, sighing and slumping as the high of battle waned, and the pressure and loss took their toll. "It wasn't…it wasn't for nothing."

"No," Tye agreed. "It wasn't for nothing."

"That's…good…very good…"

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

"Did you know, lieutenant?" I asked as I stood with my adjutant on the Courageous' command deck, staring out into the star-filled darkness of interstellar space through the Star Destroyer's bridge windows. All around us the First Battlegroup hung in deep space, awaiting the signal from the advance guard.

"Admiral?" Sara asked.

"Shortly after the Battle of Earth," I continued. "I had the chance to look into the history of Humanity in this galaxy. While less advanced than we are, unsurprising considering they've only been spacefaring for about two hundred years or so while we've been spacefaring for about twenty-five thousand years, they are fairly advanced. Nowhere near our level, but not quite cavemen either. It made for quite interesting reading, especially that bit called the Eugenics Wars from about three hundred years ago."

"From the name I would infer it involved a confrontation over genetic engineering." Sara said.

I laughed. "Indeed!" she said. "A violent one too, but not especially so. Pre-spaceflight Earth had three…world wars, they called them, the last of which killed six hundred million people. It was from that conflict that United Earth emerged, and eventually, the Federation."

I paused and shrugged. "In comparison," I continued. "The Eugenics Wars killed what, five hundred thousand people? A relative trifle, I daresay."

"Speaking freely, admiral," Sara remarked. "That's only about as bloody as a single planetary theater from the Outer Rim Sieges towards the end of the Clone Wars. Nothing particularly special by our standards, at least in terms of the big picture."

"Quite," I agreed with a nod. "Still…it affected the Terrans profoundly. Did you know that genetically-modifying yourself or others in this galaxy is considered a crime against sentience by the Federation? And that any species that practices genetic engineering must reverse any and all modification before they can be considered for membership? At least one species even ended up going extinct trying to meet such a condition, with the Federation shrugging it off as just desserts. All because of the Eugenics Wars."

Sara narrowed her eyes. "I recall seeing a mention of this in the dossier of Section 31's political prisoners." She said. "Wasn't leading scientist placed in cryogenic stasis for refining the genetic engineering methods used to create the so-called Augments?"

"He was." I said with another nod. "I suppose the Terrans' caution is understandable. The genetic modifications of the Augments of their past left them…unstable, murderously so, and our own history has shown that Arkanian society occasionally prone to…similar, incidents. However, there is a fine line between caution and obstinacy. It'd be similar to us banning droids and ordering the destruction of all existing examples thereof simply because of the Separatists' use of droid soldiers in the Clone Wars, to say nothing of various droid rebellions throughout history."

I shook my head and leaned against the railing. "That said," she said. "There's opportunity there…"

"Admiral…?" Sara asked, and I favored her with a smile.

"Conquering the Federation isn't simply a case of defeating or even destroying Starfleet," I replied. "To say nothing of forcing the Federation's member worlds to submit before the Empire. No, to truly conquer the Federation, and turn the pages of history, we must kill its soul, and bury its ideals. And that's easier said than done."

"I've…heard a saying," Sara hesitantly said. "That ideals are bulletproof."

I laughed. "They are." I concurred. "And that's why the best way to bury them, is to convince those who believe in them to do so with their own hands."

Sara blinked and narrowed her eyes. "Section 31 has certainly helped in that regard." She said.

"They have." I agreed with a nod. "But I think we can help push it along even further."

"Is that what Operation Stapler is really meant to achieve, admiral?" Sara asked.

"In a way." I said before crossing my arms and looking out into the distance of space. "Well, I finish what I start, and while Operation Stapler as a whole will be a huge boon to the Empire's goals in this galaxy, they'll also help me achieve my own end."

I paused, and turned back to Sara. "I started this war against the Federation." I said firmly. "And I intend to end it, and see the Federation die not just in form but also in essence."

Sara was silent for a long moment, and then drawing herself up, saluted. "It will be an honor to accompany you to the end, admiral." She said.

"The honor is mine, lieutenant." I replied before looking back out to the stars.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Located in an out-of-the-way sector and system, the cultural and scientific archive known as Memory Alpha had thus far been untouched by the war. Mostly; on one hand, the Empire hadn't come calling (yet), and no battles had been fought there or nearby.

On the other hand, news, while increasingly-censored as the months passed, continued to flow to the planet. This, in turn, meant growing fears and worries among the men and women stationed there, over their families, as well as their own and the Federation's futures.

This meant that panic nearly erupted when a starship dropped out of warp unannounced not far from the planet.

Thankfully, Memory Alpha's officers kept their heads, and immediately tried making contact, while also having their sensors scan the ship.

"Ship identification confirmed," the sensor officer reported. "It's the USS Ronald Reagan, a Constellation Class Starship, formerly of the Seventh Fleet, under Captain Gaston Descombes. Sensors also show heavy damage to both the engine and saucer sections, with heavy radiation bleed from the former, while the ship's weapons also appear nonfunctional."

"We have contact with the Ronald Reagan." The communications officer piped up. "Primary and secondary communications systems are down, so they're using a makeshift analog communicator. They report half their crew dead from combat injuries and radiation poisoning, including the captain. Half of what's left of the crew is also in no condition to fight or perform their duties. They also report their medical bay has been destroyed, and ask to be allowed to evacuate all their injured crew before they proceed to the nearest starbase. However, with the radiation leaks across the ship, it's too risky to use the transporter."

"I concur, sir." The sensor officer told Commodore Arnaud de la Croix. "Our sensors detect radiation from all across the electromagnetic spectrum, as well as along plasma and antimatter frequencies. We wouldn't be able to keep pattern cohesion."

The commodore hummed in thought. "Who's in command with Captain Descombes dead?" he eventually asked.

"…Lieutenant Alvise Scianna is acting captain." The communications officer replied after a few moments. "He's requesting permission to personally report to the base commander."

"Granted," the commodore said with a nod, coming to a decision. "Also, tell them to start shuttling over their injured, and have our medical crews on standby."

"Yes, commodore." The communications officer said. "They acknowledge your response, and pass on their thanks. They're also sending us a list of the injured, along with what medical data they've gathered even without their medical bay."

"Understood." The commodore said with another nod. "Security, escort Lieutenant Scianna to my ready room once he arrives."

"Yes, sir." The security officer said with a nod. Meanwhile, the communications officer was busy receiving data from the Ronald Reagan, noting an unusually-large amount of junk and corrupted bits coming with it.

Then again, considering the amount of radiation leaking from the damaged starship, to say nothing of having to use a makeshift communications system, that shouldn't come as a surprise. As such, the man didn't think anything of letting the computer dump all the junk and corrupted bits into storage. They'd be brought up later, to see if they could be reconstituted and if anything important had been missed, otherwise they'd just be scrubbed.

A few minutes later, and a shuttle launched from the Ronald Reagan, before sensors sounded an alarm. "We've detected a radiation surge from the ship." The sensor officer barked. "If I had to guess, it's a plasma explosion, probably from a ruptured EPS relay."

"Confirmed," the communications officer said. "The evacuees will be delayed, but the lieutenant's on his way down with several others."

"I'll inform the commodore." The security officer said with a nod.

"…damn," the communications officer said after several moments. "Look at the state of that ship. It's all messed up."

"Yeah…fucking imps…" the security officer grouched, he and his fellow officers all staring at the Ronald Reagan struggling to limp along in high orbit, even as a shuttle descended down to the surface.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

It took about fifteen minutes for the shuttle to arrive, allowing Lieutenant Scianna to disembark, along with six other men. Almost immediately, he had the look of someone who'd been through hell, and not simply because of the bloody bandage around his forehead. There was…something, in his and his men's eyes, something that had most of the men who saw them shy away, but was all too familiar to the few veterans of the Dominion War present.

As such, there was no protest at the phasers holstered at the lieutenant and his men's waists, although it certainly helped that he provided security with clearance data on a battered PADD. "That bad, huh?" the man in charge at the security clearance center at the main landing area asked.

"Could have been worse." Scianna replied. "We saw ships get blown apart with single volleys, including some of our best ships, the Galaxy and Nebula Classes. Or we could have been melted by leaking plasma, like the captain was…sorry, it's just…fresh, right now."

"Yeah, I get that." The other man said, running through the data from the PADD. Strangely, there was a lot of junk and corrupted data with it, but aside from that, everything else checked out.

Besides, given the state of their ship, it was probably too much to expect even their simpler pieces of equipment to have gone unscathed. Programming the PADD was probably a pain, and it'd just be plain spiteful to ask men fresh out of battle and having just seen their fellow crewmen burned or blasted to death to keep up more than the bare minimum of appearances.

As such, the junk and corrupted data were put into storage, and the security man gave the PADD back.

"Checks out, he said." He said gesturing at a nondescript noncom nearby. "You can go right ahead, Petty Officer Allais here will escort you to the commodore."

The lieutenant nodded while letting Petty Officer Allais lead them away. Meanwhile the man manning the security station turned back to his console, noting the launch of a large number of shuttles from orbit. Quite a lot of them too, but then again, they were sending down about a third of the crew for medical help.

"Sorry bastards." He thought, even as he cleared most of them for approach, while redirecting a few towards secondary landing areas to avoid causing a bottleneck here. After receiving confirmation from the control room and other security stations, the man sat back, and pulled out a copy of a pornographic magazine from Betazed.

Technically contraband, but given how stressful things had become, the commodore had relaxed things somewhat.

The holodecks were still only for off-duty personnel, of course.

And he still had five hours to go on his shift, the man at security mused, before opening the magazine back to where he'd last left off.

Damn.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Lieutenant Alvise Scianna, reporting!" the lieutenant said with a salute as he stood before the commodore in his ready room.

"At ease." Commodore de la Croix said while returning the salute. "How are you holding up, lieutenant?"

The lieutenant sighed. "Could be better…" he said. "…really worried about my wife and daughter, they're both in the Altair Sector, and with the Klingons jumping in, well…"

"Ah…my sympathies…" the commodore immediately said.

The lieutenant took a deep breath, visibly pulling himself together, and extended his PADD to the commodore. "Our security data, sir." He said. "Along with copies of the same data about our injured we sent earlier. Once we've finished dropping them off and finished what repairs we can, we'll head for the nearest starbase."

The commodore nodded. "Understood," he said. "I'll send along some of our engineering teams to help with repairs, and I must insist you see our doctor before you return to your ship. I understand you're down to first aid given the circumstances, and from one officer to another, I must insist."

"Of course, sir." The lieutenant said before giving another salute.

The commodore returned the salute, and with a gesture, allowed the men to leave. As they walked out of his ready room, the commodore sat down, and began to peruse the files on the PADD. Barely a few moments passed when alarms began to sound, causing the commodore to jolt and look up in surprise.

"What the…" he barely had time to say before the PADD exploded, turning his world into fire, light, and pain.

A moment later and the lieutenant rush back inside with two of his men, Petty Officer Allais' lying dead with a broken neck in the antechamber outside. The other four of the men from the Ronald Reagan were busy welding the door shut, the control panel next to it blown apart by a phaser shot.

Both the commodore and his adjutant were down, and covered with burns of various degrees. The former was also unconscious, but the latter was conscious, and glared at the lieutenant and his men as they restrained the two injured officers.

"W-why…?" the man gurgled out.

"…we're all sick and tired of fighting for a lost cause." The lieutenant answered after a moment as he worked the commodore's console. "And we sure as hell don't want to die for it. The Empire offered us ranks equal to what we already hold, and enough money for our families to live in comfort for the rest of their lives."

The other officer glared as he began to slip unconscious. "…t-traitors…" he spat before finally collapsing.

Lieutenant Scianna ignored the insult, instead plugging in a small Data Storage Device (DSD). It immediately dumped junk and corrupted data into the system, which together with two previous packages of supposed junk and corrupted data, formed a modular virus that bypassed Memory Alpha's security system. The virus locked down the central archive, before severing the physical connections between said archive and the rest of the base.

"…all that's left then…" the lieutenant murmured while looking at images of fighting elsewhere in Memory Alpha.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Memory Alpha's medical teams expected to find scores of injured helped by their fellow Starfleet officers. Instead, as the shuttle doors opened, they only had a bare second to take in scores of gas masked-men with spiked helmets and light combat armor over camouflaged fatigues.

A second later, and blue stun blasts lanced out, dropping medics and volunteers alike to the ground unconscious. Alarms began to sound as security personnel rushed in, but in that time the Targaryen troops switched from stun rounds to combat rounds. Red beams lashed out, and Starfleet security went down screaming, barring those managed to get behind cover. From there, they ducked in and out, firing off phaser blasts, the Targaryen troops scattering to get behind cover.

Then Z-6 rotary blasters were roaring, trapping the Starfleet personnel behind cover from a fusillade of automatic fire. This allowed other Targaryen troops to lope forward, and toss thermal detonators behind cover.

Explosions rang out, and corpses fell before Targaryen troops advanced. Across Memory Alpha, similar scenes broke out as Targaryen troops overran the landing areas, fighting their way towards the local security centers. Rooms were cleared out with gas grenades, Targaryen soldiers charging in and mercy-killing downed Starfleet security personnel, twitching and writhing on the ground as their skin speckled and their mouths foamed from airborne toxins.

"Security center secured," a platoon leader barked over the encrypted line. "Phase two complete, now commencing phase three."

Slicers got behind the consoles, and quickly plugging in DSDs, introduced more viruses into the Starfleet systems. One set of viruses shut down automated security systems across the base, another set overrode the central control system, a third set of viruses disabled the shields, while more sets of viruses shut down the subspace communication system and surface-to-orbit defenses.

Then in the skies above, the Imperial Expeditionary Force's First Battlegroup dropped out of hyperspace, interdictor cruisers quickly spreading out to form a blockade. Nothing less than an Acclamator Class also began to descend, the second echelon of the Imperial assault being formed by a full division of Imperial Stormtroopers.

"Second echelon inbound." The word came over the encrypted line. "Proceed to phase four, deploy destroyer droids."

"Acknowledged." The Targaryen platoon leaders responded. While some platoons stayed behind to hold the landing areas, others would press forward, to secure the central archive and control room. But the Starfleet complement was already responding quickly, men and women of several different species already rushing to arm themselves and attack.

And there were far more of them than the Targaryen troops.

But this had been foreseen, and the Targaryen troops prepared to make it so by the time the second echelon arrived, all they'd need to do was mop-up. Heavy crates were unloaded from the shuttles, and destroyer droids unpacked, since refurbished and repainted in black with silver trim from the old Confederacy's dun color scheme. Activation orders were sent, combat protocols updated, and then the destroyers were rolling away.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

A team of Starfleet personnel rushed down a corridor, carrying a mix of type-1, type-2, and type-3 phasers. They were headed for the commodore's ready room, where traitors had barricaded themselves in. Fellow officers had already tried to retake the room, but had so far failed to achieve their goals.

"What's that noise?" an officer from operations spoke up, the team coming to a halt as metallic rumbling could be heard.

"Something's coming." Another operations officer spoke up, the Starfleet personnel scattering to take cover behind support beams.

The rumbling grew louder, moments before a trio of bulky wheels rolled around the corner several meters ahead. They came to a halt, before unfolding into insectoid robots that deployed personal shields before opening fire with heavy blasters.

The onslaught was fast and brutal, the Starfleet personnel pinned behind the support beams as fusillades of red beams burned past or struck sparks and acrid smoke from their cover. A few tried to get off quick shots before ducking back into, but most only ended up smoking corpses for their trouble. And even if they could get off a shot, it just bounced harmlessly off the robots' shields.

"…screw this!" A Rigelian said before breaking and running.

"NO!" an Andorian shouted after her, but it was too late. Heavy blaster beams literally blew her in two along the torso, causing the rest of the team to scream.

Consumed by rage, despair, and even defiance, they abandoned cover entirely, firing wildly in the robots' direction. Their shots either missed or splattered harmlessly against the robots' shields, the robots' return fire killing half of them in an instant.

The Starfleet personnel began falling back, opening fire as they went, others trying to drag their injured away, but this barely delayed the inevitable. A few more fusillades later, and the firing stopped, the robots disengaging their shields while marching down the corridor, heavy blasters ready to fire.

Most of the Starfleet personnel were dead, but two of them were still alive. One of them was a Human, a young man from Starfleet's command decision, blood pouring from his mouth and nose as he struggled to push his guts back inside him. He wasn't very successful at all, with every inch of intestine he managed to get inside seemingly only pushing five more out.

"…m-mommy…mommy, please…it h-h-hurts…" he gurgled deliriously. "…help m-me…mommy…mommy…"

The other survivor was the Rigellian, who was crawling away, dragging her upper body along the floor and leaving a trail of blood behind her.

The robots fired twice at each of them, and satisfied that all viable targets had been eliminated, moved on.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Green blood splattered the walls and floors as Captain Calanyon slit the Vulcan's throat and neck arteries, the Valyrian pushing the dying man away afterward. Wincing, the captain reached up, and pulled out the knife the Vulcan had managed to sink into his shoulder. It didn't get in particularly deep, but the fact it got through his chest armor at all, when said armor was good at blocking penetrating strikes, said volumes about a Vulcan's strength.

"Too bad he wasn't dealing with a baseline Human." Calanyon thought.

"Sir," one of his men spoke up, splattered with blood, Human this time, as he approached. "Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine." Calanyon said. "It's just a flesh wound. More importantly, where's our slicer?"

"Already working on it, sir." The young woman replied, already wearing her visor with wires plugged into a cybernetic attachment around her neck, and accessing Memory Alpha's central archive. "The viscountess' prize is heavily-encrypted…the feddies really wanted to make sure no one could get their hands on this."

"Too bad for them." Another Valyrian said next to her. "What the viscountess wants, the viscountess gets. Especially if she's planning on handing it over to the Emperor."

"Hey, knock it off." Calanyon snapped. "Or do you want to brick your mouth up for you?"

"Sorry, sir."

"…and…got it!" the slicer said after a couple of minutes. "Downloading data, checking for viruses…alright, two minutes and thirty-two seconds in all, almost a worthy opponent."

It took a few minutes to get all the data out, before the slicer pulled out the DSD. Then she introduced a virus into the central archive, which would delete the data and all references thereof, ensuring her, and thus, the viscountess' copy, was the only existing one.

Said copy was handed over to Calanyon, who placed the DSD into a hardened container which he then secreted in his kit. "Alright, prepare to move out." He ordered. "Once the second echelon relieves us, we're heading back to orbit. All sections report in."

"Section 1 clear." The report came. "Section 2 clear. Section 3 clear. Section 4 clear. Section 5 clear. Section 7 clear."

"This is Section 8," a platoon leader spoke up. "We have control of main engineering, but Starfleet's trying to take it back. Holding out for backup from the destroyers."

"This is Section 9," another platoon leader spoke up. "Just mopping up here at life support."

"Section 10 is…clear." Another platoon leader diffidently said. "We accidentally, uh, blew hydroponics out into vacuum. No casualties on our part, but…uh…Starfleet…it's not pretty."

"Better them than one of us." A Valyrian spoke up over the encrypted line.

"My thoughts exactly." Another Valyrian spoke up in agreement to a chorus of ayes.

"Alright, keep it professional." Calanyon, although he also sounded amused at the exchange. "Section 11?"

"We've got Starfleet pinned between us and the destroyers at the living areas." The platoon leader responded. "We're reaming their backsides here, and we are loving it."

"You sick bastard." Another officer said to a chorus of laughs, Calanyon himself giving a laugh and a shake of his head.

"Good work, everyone." He said, spotting Imperial Stormtroopers and ISB agents approaching. "Mission accomplished."

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

I sat at my desk in my ready room on the Courageous, reviewing the data recovered by my family's household troops from Memory Alpha. It was the key to the future, either the chance to finish what I had started, or death to maintain a monopoly on knowledge of its existence. Maybe even both, as impossible as that might sound.

Pushing thoughts of my potential demise aside, I sighed and sat back in my seat, turning my thoughts instead to other matters. "It won't be decided until I get back to Coruscant." I thought. "That is, Imperial Center…and that won't be until the Federation has surrendered, and the New Territories brought to heel."

Despite myself, I snorted at that. The New Territories, tentatively planned to be an Oversector or its equivalent, was fairly small by the standards thereof. Tiny, even, compared to Oversector Outer. That said, though, this was a different galaxy, connected only to our own via a convenient wormhole. The latter aside, given the technically-vast distance between this galaxy and our own, making it an Oversector seemed the right call.

I sighed, and briefly closed my eyes. In that instant, there was a flash of light, bright enough to get through my lowered eyelids, but not so much to really to be even a nuisance.

"Long day, my lady admiral?" Q asked nonchalantly, once again wearing an Imperial Grand Admiral's uniform.

"More like reflecting on the Federation's overinflated sense of importance." I dryly remarked. "Tell me, honestly, are they really the first to develop this piece of technology, or for that matter, to unlock and study in-depth the science behind it?"

Q snorted disdainfully. "Hardly." He said. "The science behind it is actually quite elementary, anyone who's watched stars be born, grow, and die, only to be born again would realize the basic principles…assuming they had the wit for it, of course."

"And the tech?"

Q smiled chidingly. "There's no reason to ask stupid questions, is there?" he asked in a reproving tone.

I snorted and shrugged. "True," I said. "Besides, I guess tech like this is like a child's toy to you, or people like you."

"Well…yes, and no." Q delicately replied. "Going into the details would fly over your head…that, and would get us both into a lot of trouble. Let's just say there are the Q, and there are other, transcendental life forms."

"…fair enough."

Q shrugged and smiled. "In any case," he continued. "I came to see how you were doing, and wow! You've really outdone yourself. Not only have you managed to push the Federation into a corner, you've even broken open those closets of theirs. You know, the ones filled brimming with old skeletons?"

"Yeah, and there's so much of them that the Empire's struggling to dig itself out, and the bones are still falling out." I snapped back, although there was no real heat to it. "On the bright side, though, this might actually be a good thing."

"Oh?" Q asked, tenting his fingers and looking and sounding genuinely interested. "Do tell."

"Having to fix the mess the Federation made of Humanity in this galaxy, and other species they've encountered should keep the Empire…well, smart." I reasoned. "We'll be too busy to drop the ball, at least in this galaxy. Back home, though…well, that's something else entirely."

Q beamed. "Very good!" he said. "I chose well with you. Although, I'm rather curious…are you really sure you want to hand that over to that pretender godling who likes to call himself your Emperor?"

"Not really, no." I admitted. "But, it's the kind of thing that would really get his interest, and giving it to him while bypassing the rest of the Court and the Imperial hierarchy might just be what I need to get the chance to finish what I started."

"You could have just asked, you know?" Q pointed out.

"I suspect that would just have disappointed you." I pointed back in turn, and Q laughed.

"True!" he said. "Besides, it's not as though the pretender would cause that much damage with it, at least in terms of the bigger picture. No one could possibly mess up your home galaxy as much as they have?"

"They?" I echoed.

Q made a hushing gesture. "Way over your head." He simply said, and I rolled my eyes while acquiescing.

"…you know," I pointed out after a moment. "This is technically my home galaxy…or at least it was in my previous life…or some other version of it, an alternate timeline or something. The Eugenics Wars certainly never happened in the world I came from."

Q snorted. "As you mentioned earlier," he remarked. "The Federation has such an overinflated sense of importance."

There was a flash of light, and then Q and I both found ourselves in what looked like…Earth? Earth of the past, that is, a city in the tropics, possibly South Asia given the styles of the people on the streets. They were all dressed for mourning, with countless candles burning and just as many people openly weeping.

Petals fluttered through the air as they were tossed onto the road, stoic men and women in dress uniforms riding horses or marching in formation. All were quiet and grim, as befitted a funeral procession of some kind, and then I blinked as the bier came into view, and I recognized the old man lying within.

"Khan Noonien Singh." I said.

"Yes." Q said simply.

"This is a timeline where he won…a timeline that should never exist…would never exist, if the Federation had its way." I remarked.

"And yet it exists." Q said. "No matter how much the Federation meddles in time to keep their timeline the only one, it exists. Curious, isn't it?"

"More like hypocritical." I snorted. "The Temporal Prime Directive, right?"

"And the Temporal Accords, among other things." Q said, looking and sounding amused, as he and I again vanished in a flash of light, only to reappear in a theater. Many different species made up the audience, which laughed as the actors on the set exaggeratedly played out a time traveler trying to change the past, only to return to the future to find it unchanged.

"Changing the past doesn't change your future." I quickly reasoned. "The point being that time travel is not the same as…travelling, between timelines."

Q clicked his tongue, and patted me on the back. "And with that," he remarked. "You've proven yourself smarter than most time travelers I've met."

"At the risk of stroking my ego, there is a reason you chose me for my role."

Q beamed again. "I did." He said. "But yes, you're right. So, you change the past, congratulations. Except time is so much vaster and more complicated than the Federation thinks or like to think. All they've done is alter the variables, resulting in the creation of a new timeline, while the original timeline continues unchanged and unaffected."

"They're confusing time travel with…timeline travel," I said. "And don't realize they've been doing both, and just assume when they return to their original timeline, or a timeline where a bad end to their original timeline has been averted, that the…unwanted timeline, has ceased to be."

"Yes." Q said, and we returned to the Courageous in a flash of light. "You were saying about your past life?"

"My world probably won't end up with the Federation, what with the Eugenics Wars having been averted." I said. "That's a good thing, no matter how I look at it…well, no. Does the Majestic Twelve exist there as well?"

"Well…" Q began, and again we vanished in a flash of light, only to end up in a darkened room filled with old men, dressed in frock coats and fitted trousers, talking about world politics over brandy while sitting around a wooden table. "…I wouldn't be so cavalier about your original timeline's future."

"Damn the Majestic Twelve." I spat, and Q laughed as we returned to the Courageous again.

"Good." He said. "You are angry. Very good. Use that anger. Don't rest on your laurels. Finish what you started, and set things right, or as right as you can make it. I chose you for a reason, so, don't disappoint me."

"…a chosen one?" I asked after a moment. "Me? Great…just great…you just had to inflate my ego…"

Q laughed. "Whether or not that's a good thing is something we shall see in the future." He said. "Ciao!"

And with a flash of light, Q was gone.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The First Battlegroup dropped out of hyperspace in the Kharzh'ulla System, the other battlegroups of the Imperial Expeditionary Force already present. Half of them were within striking range of the eponymous planet, while the other half were arrayed in the outer system, as a reserve.

Interdictor cruisers had already formed up an overlapping mass gravity shadow around and over the planet, making FTL travel impossible within the area-of-effect. And as the First Battlegroup cruised in to the join the forces near the planet, distant explosions could be seen around the planet's orbital ring.

First things first, though.

"That won't be necessary." I responded to Daala's acceptance of full responsibility for her fleet's losses in the early part of the siege. "While you did lose half of your fleet in battle, you also managed to preserve your fleet's entire battleship core. Furthermore, you managed to destroy the enemy command fleet, while also inflicting heavy losses on three other enemy fleets. That is a reasonable rate of exchange, and we are at war. Losses are inevitable. What matters is that said losses have meaning. And your losses weren't for nothing. Carry on, Admiral Daala."

"Yes, Admiral Targaryen." Daala said with a salute. "Thank you."

I nodded, and the other admiral's hologram cut out. "Status of Operation Catapult?" I asked the other hologram, that of General Cullan from the Imperial Military Corps of Engineers.

"Initial recon and survey have identified over a hundred asteroids suitable for our purposes." He replied. "We're narrowing down our final selection, after which we can begin weaponization."

"How long will it take?" I asked.

"Final selection should be finished within twenty-four hours." The general replied. "Weaponization should take about seventy-two hours, after which we need to move them into the inner system. And that might take some time."

"I see." I said with a nod. "Understandable, and besides, this is a siege. We expected something like this. Carry on, general. Expedite things as best you can, but no need to rush either. It's not as though we're on a clock."

"Yes, admiral." The general said with a salute, and I saluted back before the general's hologram cut out.

"We're settling in for a siege, then." Torrhen asked.

"Just as planned." I replied. "At least until Catapult is ready for its final stages. In the meantime, we'll keep the planet interdicted, and launch random bombing raids and assault boat attacks, as well as long-range torpedo bombardment. Just keep the enemy on their toes."

"Perhaps we should make propaganda broadcasts, admiral?" Sara proposed.

I blinked, and actually had to think it over. "That is an excellent idea, lieutenant." I finally said. "I wonder why we didn't think of that before…coordinate with the ISB and Imperial Intelligence, we could use this to soften the feddies up before Catapult is finally ready."

"Yes, admiral."

I nodded, and then turned back to the tactical display, dominated by the glowing orb of Kharzh'ulla.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Ion engines hummed as a squadron of TIE Bombers soared through the void towards Kharzh'ulla, escorted by three squadrons of V-Wings. Elsewhere across the planet's orbital space, similar formations made their through the void, and in the distance, explosions could be seen as capital ship-grade proton torpedoes were either intercepted in space or made contact with the orbital wing.

"Incoming Federation fighters…engage!" the word came over the encrypted line.

The V-Wings scattered as the TIE Bombers accelerated. The Federation fighters attempted to zero-in on the latter, but were forced to break off as the V-Wings swarmed them. Laser blasts burned bright through space, followed by phaser rounds as the Starfleet pilots fought back, dogfights erupting in the void.

"I have a lock." Lieutenant Ort called out. "Missile away."

A concussion missile erupted from his V-Wing's prow missile launcher, curving into the distance as it followed a Federation fighter, and making impact, turned it into a fireball blazing brightly in space. Then alarms began to sound as photon torpedoes were launched at the lieutenant, who banked hard to evade.

Phaser beams burned through space as the Federation fighter stayed on his tail, only to be forced to disengage as one of the lieutenant's wingmen arrived, chasing it off with a volley of laser blasts. "Thanks." The lieutenant said. "Where are the bombers?"

"…looks like they're making their attack run now." His wingman replied.

Indeed, the space right next to the orbital ring was sparkling with fire, as hastily-installed point-defense guns threw up volley after volley at the fast-flying TIE Bombers. The bombers jinked and wove along their course, avoiding direct hits even as their armor was scarred and pitted by the close-proximity energy surges.

Then a TIE Bomber went up into a fireball at a direct hit, inertia keeping its debris going to arc down and crash into the orbital ring below.

"Heavy anti-aircraft fire!" the word went out.

"Stay on target." The squadron leader firmly replied.

"Enemy reinforcements inbound!" another pilot barked.

"Stay on target." The squadron leader repeated.

"More fire coming…!" a third pilot began only to be abruptly cut off as his bomber was shot down.

"Stay on target." The squadron leader repeated again, and then narrowed his eyes as the targeting computer flashed. "Bombs away!"

Flashing proton bombs fell and glided on inertia towards their targets on the orbital wing. Explosions fountained into space, debris flying fast and hot, a line of fire and wreckage following in the wake of the bombers. Then an even bigger explosion went up, as a proton bomb hit an antimatter tank, the escaping fuel violently reacting to the surrounding matter.

This, in turn, set off a chain reaction that turned several square kilometers of the orbital ring into a radioactive wreck, held together only by the ancient construction beneath all the modern additions above. "Did you see that?" a pilot asked in shock and awe.

"Looks like we hit something important." Another pilot replied.

"That we did." The squadron leader replied. "Head back to base, loser buys drinks."

Laughter echoed across the encrypted line as the TIE Bombers flew back to their carrier.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Metal exploded in molten chunks as a latched-on assault boat blew their way into a corridor with demolition charges. The first Stormtrooper through was gunned down with precise shots to the face, overloading his shields and burning through his helmet to kill him. The second Stormtrooper met the same fate, but the ones behind them had wised up, some of them opening up with suppression fire while others pressed forward.

"…clankers!" the shout went up. "We've got clankers!"

"Ion grenades, now!" the order came.

Ion grenades whined as they were armed, and then waiting for a couple of seconds, the Stormtroopers tossed them at angle at the walls. They bounced and landed close to the androids, the slight delay before the toss giving the androids no time to pick up much less toss the grenades back.

Blue flashes lit up the corridor as the ion grenades went off, and the androids collapsed twitching. The Stormtroopers advanced, finishing off the androids before they could recover with point-blank blaster shots.

Then continuing to advance, they reached a local terminal, the platoon slicer quickly plugging in to pull up a map of the local area. "Incoming reinforcements." He warned, just in time for heavy gunners to position themselves at the nearby turbolifts.

They opened to reveal a mix of men and machines, the latter the first out of the turbolifts…

…and the first to die as heavy gunners opened up with E-Webs. This gave time for Starfleet Security to get into cover, only for themselves to die and the turbolifts to be disabled by the Stormtroopers simply tossing thermal detonators inside.

"…I have the plans." The slicer said after a few minutes. "Uploading data…now."

"Acknowledged." The platoon leader barked. "All squads, move out!"

"Sir, yes, sir!"

While the command squad and two others held the landing area and with it a line of retreat, three other squads spread out towards their target. As they went, they deployed gas charges, filling the corridors with nerve gas, killing any lurking Starfleet personnel in the surrounding rooms.

Naturally, this didn't work against androids, but the Empire had plenty of experience with battle droids. "Please lower your weapons…please lower your weapons…please lower your weapons…" an android kept repeating as it twitched on the floor, disabled by an ion grenade.

A single shot to the head took care of that, and then the Stormtroopers reached their destination. Using laser cutters, they tore open a secured Jeffries tube, then clambering through and around a pair of corners, entered a shaft. One Stormtrooper then stowed his blaster carbine while another readied an anti-armor missile.

"…clear!" the second Stormtrooper said after loading the missile, which the first Stormtrooper fired straight up. If not for their armor, the resulting explosion would have deafened them both, as it was, they still had to take cover from the falling debris.

"Prepare second shot!" the first Stormtrooper said, looking up afterward and seeing the now-exposed EPS main.

"…clear!" the second Stormtrooper said after loading another missile. Again, the first Stormtrooper fired, and this time both men were thrown off their feet as the EPS relay exploded. Lights went out as power failed in the entire section, as did artificial gravity. Thankfully, all Stormtroopers had zero-g training, meaning it was only really an inconvenience.

The plasma surge that made their suits very hot was more troubling, but they were alive, and made it back safely to the rendezvous point. "Mission accomplished." The platoon leader said over the encrypted line as they retreated to their assault boat. "Don't forget your anti-radiation pills once we're clear."

"Yes, sir." The two men who'd blown the EPS main replied, and then the hatch was closing, as the assault boat pulled away to head back to the fleet. Other assault boats as well, over a hundred kilometers of orbital ring left lightless and contaminated by nerve gas in their wake, along with hundreds of dead Starfleet personnel and just as many wrecked androids.

And still the Siege of Kharzh'ulla continued.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

As the Siege of Kharzh'ulla entered its second week, skirmishes continued to rage in the hundreds of thousands of empty space extending between the planet and the Imperial blockade. This particular skirmish, though, would be different from the previous ones, as it would see the Klingons joining the siege.

The Sovereign Class Starship (roughly equivalent to an Imperial heavy cruiser) USS Maximilian Robespierre opened the skirmish with its main phaser array firing no less than six times in the space of just two seconds over a distance of sixty thousand kilometers. Her sister ship, the Sovereign Class Starship USS Jean-Paul Marat followed up with three shots also from its main phaser array over the same distance.

Trailing behind the two bigger vessels, the Nebula Class Starship (roughly equivalent to an Imperial medium cruiser) USS Jacobin also fired its main phaser array. Only four shots in just two seconds, but easily matching its bigger cousins' range. Then Jean-Paul Marat fired its main phaser array again, with Maximilian Robespierre following up before taking a few seconds to adjust its target, and firing off three phaser blasts in one second.

On the other side of the battlefield, a Klingon Bird-of-Prey cruised on a perpendicular course past the Federation vessels. Its shields flickered as phaser blasts splattered against them, while also brushing aside the wreckage of the battle. Green blasts burned through space as the Klingon vessel's disruptors fired again and again, punctuated by the blazing pulses of no less than five photon torpedoes.

Repeated hits from disruptors and photon torpedoes briefly caused a flicker in Jean-Paul Marat's forward shields, allowing the last Klingon torpedo to punch through and collapse the Federation vessel's prow in a massive explosion.

The skirmish escalated then, as five TIE Bombers swooped in from the flank, the darkness of space lighting up as the Federation vessels opened up with hastily-installed flak cannons. The TIE Bombers jinked and wove through the energy blasts erupting along their course, before lobbing their payloads of proton bombs at Maximilian Robespierre, inertia keeping the bombs going even as the TIE Bombers swooped away.

To the Federation's credit, their shields held against the onslaught of proton bombs, with Jacobin briefly cutting through the Imperial jamming to avenge the attack with its main phaser array. Four shots in one second, shooting down all but one TIE Bomber before Imperial jamming again scrambled long-range targeting.

Maximilian Robespierre then fired its main phaser array, six shots in two seconds, with Jean-Paul Marat following through. The first barrage collapsed the Klingon shields, while the second barrage caused critical damage, forcing the crippled vessel to retreat, covered by another Bird-of-Prey. It was this second Klingon vessel that Jacobin targeted, firing its main phaser array four times in two seconds.

The Klingons responded with disruptor fire and a trio of torpedoes, before a salvo of phaser blasts knocked out its shields, and forcing it to peel away. Maximilian Robespierre fired off several phaser blasts in its wake, before being joined by Jean-Paul Marat in laying down curtain fire to cover the arrival of a trio of Excelsior Class Starships (equivalent to Imperial heavy cruisers). They immediately opened fire with their phasers, joined in moments later by Jacobin.

By now, the Empire was moving to fill the gap the Klingon withdrawal had left, ARC-170 Starfighters flying straight towards Maximilian Robespierre. Proton torpedoes burned bright through space as they soared past flak to explode against the Federation vessel's shields, Imperial pilots flying straight overhead as energy blasts erupted all around them, the fire intensifying the closer they got to the Federation vessel, to the point it was as if they were flying through a kaleidoscope as they flew over the Maximilian Robespierre, one ARC-170 exploding into a cloud of debris from a point-blank hit from a Federation flak cannon.

At the same time, a squadron of Y-Wing Bombers climbed unnoticed up the z-axis before coming about to dive out of the stars towards Maximilian Robespierre at a 90-degree angle. Unlike the ARC-170s, the Y-Wings had a clear approach, neither the Federation's phasers, torpedoes, or even flak cannon able to fire straight up. Dropping off their proton bombs close to point-blank range, the Y-Wings leveled out along the x-axis before peeling off, the surrounding space a storm of energy from Federation flak and explosions against its shields.

Jacobin and an Excelsior fired their main phaser arrays at the retreating Y-Wings, but they themselves were now coming under dive bombing attacks. Proton bombs collapsed the Jacobin's shields, allowing a proton bomb to punch into the bridge between the saucer and the dorsal-rear hull before exploding, and blowing the dorsal-rear hull clean off, forcing the Jacobin to retreat, covered by an Excelsior.

More ARC-170s now targeted Maximilian Robespierre, proton torpedoes pounding against its shields. Jean-Paul Marat also came under attack, its shields collapsing under repeated torpedo hits, allowing an unfortunate ARC-170 to land a lucky hit at its engine section. Flak shot down said ARC-170, but its torpedo knocked out Jean-Paul Marat's main power, with a warp core breach only delayed long enough for the failing reactor to be ejected, its explosion lighting up space for tens of thousands of kilometers.

By now Starfleet was retreating, with the last shots of the battle being a strafing run on Jean-Paul Marat's bridge by ARC-170s before the crippled vessel managed to withdraw covered by Maximilian Robespierre and two Excelsiors.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On day thirteen of the Siege of Khazh'ulla, Starfleet launched a sortie against the Imperial blockade. The target was the Vindicator Class Heavy Cruiser Vindictive, Starfleet committing sixty Peregrine fighters divided into five squadrons. The Empire had seen them coming, however, with the Vindictive maneuvering its dorsal hull to face the incoming Starfleet attack craft.

"Weapons free." The order went out. "Fire."

"Target locked…firing!" the lead Peregrine signaled.

"Firing!" the second Peregrine signaled in its turn.

Photon torpedoes flashed across space, eating up thousands of kilometers in minutes to slam against the Vindictive's particle shields, which flickered from the impact. "Shifting attack vectors…" the lead Peregrine signaled while banking to port. "…switching to plasma torpedoes, and firing!"

Plasma torpedoes strobed with white light as they launched from the Peregrines, Starfleet channels filled with cursing as they urged their torpedoes to actually penetrate. No good; again, while the torpedo volley hammered the cruiser's shields, they held fast.

"Incoming fighters!" the warning went out.

"Break formation!" the wing commander barked. "ENGAGE!"

The Peregrines broke formation, dogfights erupting across space as Peregrines fought against V-Wings and TIE Fighters. "Bandit on my six!" the wing commander signaled while evading emerald lances from a TIE Fighter.

"On it, commander." His wingman signaled. "Torpedo away!"

A torpedo flashed across nearly a hundred kilometers in barely a few second before turning the TIE Fighter into burning scrap. "Watch those Imperial ships!" the wing commander barked as sensors spotted CR90s and Carracks moving to englobe the Starfleet sortie. "They'll cut off our line of retreat!"

Then he grunted in dismay, as he saw a Peregrine ahead to starboard get shot down by a TIE Fighter. Alarms sounded as two more Peregrines went down soon after, shot to pieces by TIE Fighters. "If only we could use warp!" he cursed. "Damn interdictors…squadron leaders, abort engagement! Fall back immediately! I repeat, abort engagement! Fall back!"

There was no response, a single look at the display showing all squadron leaders were down. What Peregrines were left were responding quickly, however, trying to escape while being chased down by V-Wings and TIE Fighters, the enemy's superior numbers allowing them to simultaneously chase down Peregrines from the rear and keeping the latter occupied, allow another Imperial to shoot them down from the front or the sides.

"Bandits on our six!" the wing commander's wingman barked.

The warning was punctuated by blue beams from a V-Wing's laser cannons, the wing commander and his wingman's Peregrines weaving back and forth to avoid getting shot down. "Sir…about warp…I might have an idea…" the wingman desperately began.

"Now's not the time to experiment…" the wing commander began only to abruptly break off as his aft shields collapsed from a direct hit. "…alright, let's try it out."

"Roger…setting warp coils to resonate at a matching frequency to the graviton flux of the Imperial interdictors' simulated gravity field…"

"Hurry it up ensign…"

"Standing by to engage Warp One…engage!"

The other Peregrine's nacelles began to glow, as if to jump to warp…

…and in the next second, they exploded, the warp coils blowing themselves apart and causing a power surge that set off a warp core breach. "NO!" the wing commander shouted, but it was too late, his wingman already dead in a massive explosion.

The only upside was the explosion was enough to destroy one V-Wing and damage the other, causing it to retreat, allowing the wing commander to escape, the only survivor of his ill-fated sortie against the Imperial blockade.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Let's go angels!"

"ROGER!"

On the fifteenth day of the Siege of Kharzh'ulla, the 101st 'Cloud Dragons' Independent Air Wing of the Imperial Navy launched a sortie against the planet's orbital ring. They were led by Lieutenant-Commander Hela Calgaris of the Scarlet Angels Squadron, composed of twelve V-Wings, all piloted by Clone War veterans.

Not that any of the pilots were clones, though.

They were all, each and every one of them, born the normal way. Unlike soft and effete people of the Core, Valyrians of every stripe didn't shy back from the war, least of all when it was fought by upstart Outer Rim yokels and corporate parvenus. Even now, with the Clone Wars long over, and the Galactic Republic reorganized into the (first) Galactic Empire (!), the Valyrians continued to serve proudly.

Even more so, since it was an open secret that the Emperor was also the reigning Dark Lord of the Sith.

A worthy successor then, to the mantle of the great and glorious Darth Revan. Hero. Savior. Conqueror. Victor of the Mandalorian Wars. Slayer of the dread Mandalore the Ultimate. Dark Lord of the Sith.

The Valyrians of his day and age had been proud to march and fly under his banner, and later on, under the six-pointed star of Dromund Kaas.

How could the Valyrians of this day and age do any less, and not march and fly under the banner of Darth Sidious?

In addition to the Scarlet Angels, there were also the Silver Wolves, also composed of twelve V-Wings, for a total of twenty-four V-Wings flying escort duty. In their wake flew a total of twenty-eight Y-Wings, divided between the Black Falcons and the Sable Serpents Squadrons. All fifty-two attack craft swooped down to fly low over Kharzh'ulla's orbital ring, low enough to practically skim over the surface, various abandoned structures and other outcroppings along the ring blurring past as the Imperial attack craft flew towards their target.

"Starfleet has finally realized the stupidity of trying to defend the entire orbital ring, and thus spread their forces too thinly. Well, they had to use their brains eventually."

Laughter echoed across the briefing room, from the gathered Valyrian pilots as well as the scarred and grizzled wing commander standing next to the holo-projector at the head of the room. "Starfleet has concentrated their forces and AAA around key locations: energy production, sensor nodes, communication relays, and of course, the shipyards." The wing commander said, pointing a baton at the hologram. "Among other things, but those aren't important right now. Your target, will be this set of yards, codenamed by Starfleet as Port Invincible."

Contemptuous snorts went up from the pilots, but the wing commander was unfazed. "It's heavily-defended, surrounded by AAA batteries supported by overlapping fighter patrols." He continued. "Our Klingon allies will be launching a sortie of their own to draw away as much of the enemy fighters, but Starfleet's not stupid enough to deprive themselves of a fighter umbrella. A frontal assault is possible, but it'd be a waste of time when our objective isn't the fighters, but the yards themselves."

"Meaning we'll have to fly in low, under the radar, and bomb them to bits before they realize what's up." One pilot remarked.

"Precisely." The wing commander said with a nod. "As you can see here, these yards also house hundreds of ships, ranging from Defiant Class Corvettes to Excelsior and Akira Class Medium Cruisers. This is a prime opportunity to destroy an entire fleet at harbor."

"Or with the harbor itself." Another pilot remarked. "I like it."

"I'm guessing that's another reason why we can't just launch a frontal assault." A third pilot pointed out. "The feddies would see us coming, and launch their fleet before we get a chance to blow them to Chaos."

"You'll have your chance." The wing commander firmly said. "You'll all have your chance. Now then, the mission plan…"

Hela flew low and fast, her V-Wing gracefully weaving through the labyrinth of abandoned orbital infrastructure. A gentle left here, then a gently but long right here, and then a sharp and equally loft left, followed by a short space to level out before a gentle right and levelling out again.

"Here we go, angels." Hela said while turning left. "Alpha Point – let's dance!"

"ROGER!"

The Scarlet Angels flew fast over the last few kilometers, then rolled sideways and through a narrow space between two orbital structures. The Silver Wolves followed, then the Black Falcons, but the second Y-Wing through failed to roll properly, causing them to clip a wing, and causing their Y-Wing to plummet in a blazing death ride to explode against the surface. The rest of the squadron grimly flew on, Lieutenant Raegon Mellarys of the Sable Serpents dipping his wings as he lead his squadron through and past Alpha Point out of respect for the fallen.

Past Alpha Point, the Imperial attack craft turned hard to the right, then gently to the left, and hard again to the right, with Bravo Point right ahead. Once again, they rolled to get through the narrow space between orbital structures, this time taking no casualties as they continued along the no man's land above the orbital ring.

"Right, angels." Hela began after several minutes. "Charlie Point's up ahead, don't forget, aileron roll…HERE WE GO!"

Hela was first through Charlie Point, her V-Wing aileron rolling though and past Charlie Point. The Scarlet Angels followed one after another in her wake with no losses, but Lieutenant Jaenor Agaleos of the Silver Wolves wingmen weren't so lucky. One of them slammed clean into the portside structure, flying debris clipping the next V-Wing and causing them to spiral out of control into the starboard structure. The third V-Wing flew too low and slammed into the ground, but the rest of the squadron managed to get through.

"SHIT!" one of the Black Falcons shouted as he lost his nerve and flew up, right into Starfleet sights.

Photon torpedoes shot up into space, the high-flying Y-Wing going up in flames.

"We're made…SHIT!" another pilot angrily spat.

"Not yet we aren't!" Hela quickly countered. "Keep going! The mission's not over until the fat man's drinking from the wine bottle!"

As if on cue, she rolled right and through and past Delta Point, the Scarlet Angels following in her wake. "Scarlet Leader, be advised." The encoded line warned. "Enemy attack craft on approach."

"I see them." Hela growled. "What are they…oh."

She broke off as the Federation attack craft bombed their course, turning the rest of their flight path into a blazing inferno. "Double-power to shields." Hela ordered while adjusting her controls. "Looks like the last approach isn't going to be quick and clean, but we've all earned our wings dozens of times, so let's show them what we've got!"

"ROGER!" the rest of the Valyrian chorused as they flew into the inferno, shields flickering as they struggled to keep the Imperial attack craft unharmed.

High above, the flight of six Federation attack craft flew fast and away, confident in their success and stunned at the Imperials' seeming mindlessness, preferring to die in a fire than retreat in defeat. That is, until a concussion missile flew up and fast and shot down the rearmost Federation attack craft.

"Hello, boys!" Hela said over an open line as she piloted her V-Wing into open space. "You owe us a dance!"

"And there's nothing like dancing with angels!" one of her wingmen added.

"So, just die already!" her other wingmen concluded, the Scarlet Angels breaking formation to dogfight their Federation counterparts.

Hela then launched a concussion missile, and shot down another Federation fighter. Meanwhile, her wingmen opened with their laser cannons, weaving and turning across space to keep on their quarries' tails, and tore up two more Federation fighters. By this point, more Federation fighters were arriving, only to run into the Silver Wolves, with Jaenor quickly shooting down a Federation fighter with a concussion missile.

"Commencing bombing run!" the word went out over the encoded line.

With Federation fighters in the airspace, the Federation flak cannons were effectively silenced, giving the Y-Wings a clean run at Port Invincible. The Federation vessels at the yards were already powering up, crew and port personnel scrambling to launch the fleet before they could be destroyed, with a few beginning to clear their moors, but it was too late.

"Happy Empire Day!" a Valyrian cheerfully greeted over an open line as she dropped no less than twenty proton bombs in her wake.

She wasn't the only one, as the Y-Wings of the Black Falcons and Sable Serpents dropped bombs across Port Invincible. Explosions erupted in their wake, yards and ships exploding before leaking antimatter caused even bigger secondary explosions in a near self-sustaining chain reaction. In less than a minute, over two hundred Defiant corvettes, over a hundred Excelsior and Akira medium cruisers, a number of Nebula medium cruisers, a few Galaxy medium cruisers, and even a single Sovereign heavy cruiser, the USS Francois Hanriot, had been destroyed, and nearly two hundred thousand Starfleet personnel had been killed.

"So much for Port Invincible!" a Scarlet Angel mocked as they flew away.

"Mission accomplished." Hela simply said while adjusting her controls. "Let's go home."

Engines blazing, the Scarlet Angels and other Imperial attack craft headed back to the fleet.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

On the eighteenth day of the Siege of Kharzh'ulla, a group of men and women in unmarked grey uniforms gathered in a half-lit room on the planet below. The room itself didn't appear on any map or architectural plan, and simply didn't exist as far as the planetary authorities, Starfleet, and the Federation were concerned. The men and women in the room were similarly…unimportant, at least outwardly, assuming they were even worth publicly knowing about to begin with. Otherwise, they also didn't exist.

"General," Howard Langley began while tracing a finger along a graph on a PADD sitting on a table before a desk. "Starfleet's losses have reached the point that even if we defeat the Imperial Expedition here at Kharzh'ulla, we will not be able to restore federal authority over breakaway states. Or, for that matter, to fend off opportunistic attacks from foreign powers, such as the Romulans or the Klingons, among others. The Federation…"

"Sloan's task force should render all the Empire's gains moot," General Cameron Garza, the true power behind Section 31, interrupted. "Indeed, the Empire will never have reached this galaxy to begin with."

"…General Garza…" Langley hesitantly began after taking a moment to lick his suddenly dry lips. "…Sloan's task force…"

"Sloan's task force no longer exists." Michel Auberjonois cut in. "Temporal sensors indicated that after repeated failures, the grand master led what remained of his forces in a final jump across time, only to be temporo-spatially displaced into Sagittarius A's event horizon approximately sixty million years ago."

There was a long moment of silence, and then reaching up with a shaky hand, Garza rubbed his chin. "The following men will remain in the room…" he began after a few moments. "…Langley…Auberjonois…Bishop…and Vaughn."

Except for those named, the rest of the people in the room silently filed out and left, leading the guardians and the elders' representative alone with the general. The four men composed themselves, as though for their impending deaths. To his credit, though, the general waited until everyone else had left and the door had closed before exploding.

"HOW DARE YOU?" he roared while slamming a fist onto his desk. "SLOAN FAILED? HE HAD THE RESPONSIBILITY OF RESTORING THE FEDERATION TO PEACE AND STABILITY, AND HE FAILED? WORTHLESS INCOMPETENTS, EACH AND EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!"

Even with the closed doors, the general's roaring could be heard outside, those closest to the doors recoiling with shock and fear. Further to the back, a young man only recently inducted began to sob, prompting an older woman to place a comforting hand on his back.

Inside, the general was on his feet, but was seemingly lost for words, only glaring and seething at the guardians standing silent before his desk. "How are we to achieve the perfect society," he finally ground out while pacing away from his desk, and past Jessie Vaughn by the back wall. "When the supposedly enlightened elite at its head prove themselves useless and disloyal liars?"

Words failed the general again, and returning to his desk, he slumped down into his chair. "Out…out, all of you…" he finally said, in a soft, almost whispering voice, all the while looking drained and defeated.

"Perhaps we should decentralize operations and disperse our operatives?" Vaughn asked softly, causing eyes to turn to her. "The Federation is clearly lost, and all attempts to reestablish contact with Uraei have failed. If so, why not simply start over from a clean slate?"

"…there is precedent." Auberjonois admitted after a long moment. "The Third World War undid a century's worth of our 21st Century predecessors' work, but they recovered in the end. Indeed, even the unexpected variable that was first contact and alien influence was something that was ultimately turned to our advantage. Why not do the same to the Empire?"

"We can't…that's unthinkable…!" Chris Bishop breathed in protest.

"The Empire has clearly won the war already." Auberjonois continued with missing a beat, while the general began to brighten up at the realization of the possibilities beyond the Federation. "If so, why fight the inevitable, when there are other options worth exploring?"

"We can't just abandon the Federation!" Bishop spluttered in outrage. "If we did…over two hundred years of work…millions of sacrifices…not just in this war, but all the previous wars as well…what will they have been for?"

"Don't be so sentimental." Garza immediately reproved. "You only dishonor your rank and office by doing so, especially when the Federation has proven itself a failed experiment. No, we will accept reality, and move on to greater things. Inform all rites that we are to execution Contingency 9066 immediately, with the amendment to await further instructions as per Protocol D57."

Any further orders were lost as alarms began to sound, as the battle in the skies above heated up once more.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

At eight points across the Imperial lines, squadrons of six Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruisers had arrived from the outer system. Each squadron towed a colossal asteroid behind them, their tractor beams invisible streams of energy between the Imperial ships and the gigantic rocks they drew across space.

Imperial jamming kept Starfleet from getting any detailed scans, but jamming had no effect on long-distance scopes. Asteroids were obviously, well, asteroids, and it didn't take long to discern the colossal metal beams crisscrossing each asteroid, meant to properly distribute force across its body and provide scaffolding to attach additional mechanisms onto.

In fact, weaponizing asteroids was deceptively simple. One simply needed engines, stabilizers, and a guidance system. What took time was installing all those, to say nothing of finding asteroids suitable for use as weapons.

That, and asteroids weren't regular in build the way starships were, and that had to be accounted for by the guidance system. And since most off-the-shelf guidance systems were never meant to be used for makeshift projectiles like weaponized asteroids, the Empire's electronic specialists needed to reprogram guidance systems for such a purpose, which took time.

That said, that wasn't why it took so long to bring Operation Catapult into play. No, that was because of how long it took to travel via sub-light from the outer system to Kharzh'ulla itself. Not without slapping hyperdrives onto the asteroids, and further complicating guidance issues, to say nothing of needing to add additional systems to switch from hyperdrive to sub-light drives when the time came to launch Operation Catapult.

It wasn't as if you could use hyperdrive to weaponize an asteroid, after all. That was just basic physics, the kind that children learned in high school.

Well, it had been done in bad science fiction, but that was just it: bad science fiction.

And the Imperial Navy – or just the Imperial Military Corps of Engineers – had to attend to reality.

"Admiral," Sara began. "Enemy ships are on approach. It seems that Starfleet has divined the thrust of Operation Catapult and are moving to intercept."

"So it would seem." I concurred. "Signal all fleets: open fire. That said, no need to be too aggressive. Simply destroy each and every enemy ship in range, while also keeping the asteroids' course clear of obstructions. We wouldn't to throw off our aim, would we now?"

"No, we wouldn't, admiral." Sara said with a nod before relaying my orders.

In the meantime, I turned to the hologram of the man in charge of bringing Operation Catapult to a successful conclusion. "General Cullan," I began. "You may begin."

"Yes, admiral." The man said with a salute before turning to address the bridge of his flagship, the Dreadnought Class Heavy Cruiser Warspite while keeping the channel open. "Catapult Force, come about!"

Across the battlefield, the Dreadnoughts of the Catapult Force came about in unison. "Catapult Force, maximum power to tractor beams and inertial dampeners." Cullan continued. "Breachers One through Eight, standby to engage thrusters at full power on my mark, Catapult Force, standby for maximum power, again on my…mark!"

Fusion torches affixed to the rear of every asteroid lit up white-hot with plasma as they went to maximum power, with the Catapult Force's Dreadnoughts simultaneously setting their engines to full power. Asteroids and cruisers alike trembled as the former's forward thrust was canceled out by the latter's forward thrust only in the opposite direction. Unlike the cruisers, though, the asteroids lacked inertial dampeners, meaning while they weren't their acceleration continued to build unlike the cruisers.

"Tractor beam generators overloading…!" an officer warned Cullan on the Warspite's bridge. "Forty-five seconds to collapse."

"Hold position." Cullan firmly said, eyes on holographic gauges measuring time and estimated acceleration alike. "Maintain thrust."

"Starfleet vessels now entering firing range!" another warning went up.

"Leave them to the rest of the fleet." Cullan replied. "Hold out for ten more seconds!"

"Twenty-two seconds before the tractor beam generators collapse!" the previous officer warned, and then the Warspite shook hard, enough to throw men to their feet. "Primary inertial dampeners are down, secondaries are up, but they won't last long!"

"…five…four…three…two…one…now!" Cullan barked. "Release the Breakers!"

As one, the Catapult Force disengaged their tractor beams. Even with inertial dampeners active, the cruisers still threw themselves several thousand kilometers forward with the loss of the asteroids' counter-thrust, and in so short a time to throw men off their feet.

As for the asteroids themselves, they crossed over two hundred thousand kilometers of space in just seven seconds, and simultaneously struck the orbital ring. Along the way, a number of Federation vessels had found themselves in the asteroids' course, with a few even deliberately having positioned themselves just so in a desperate suicide run to stop the asteroids.

For all their trouble, only bits and pieces of alloy and polymer compounds were lift adrift in space from the Federation starships getting pancaked by the asteroids.

As for the orbital ring itself, the force of impact alone destroyed all the orbital infrastructure built on the ancient megastructure. Federation vessels docked at the ring or located within a certain distance were also destroyed, explosions erupting across space as released antimatter reacted violently with the surrounding debris.

Had the Empire struck at the ring with one or two or even three asteroids, the ancient megastructure might have survived in relatively undamaged condition. Broken into large pieces certainly, and all the orbital infrastructure would still have been destroyed, but relatively intact for all that.

But the Empire had struck it with eight asteroids, all moving at relativistic speeds.

As such, the orbital ring simply shattered.

Then explosions began erupting across Kharzh'ulla's orbital space, as the ring's fragments reacted with all the antimatter from destroyed Federation vessels and storage facilities. Others were dragged in by the planet's gravity, burning up in the atmosphere in a deceptively-beautiful meteor shower that lit up the world's skies with thousands upon thousands of burning trails. In fact, the meteor shower would continue for decades after the war, as debris left over from the battle kept getting dragged into the atmosphere.

But that was still far in the future.

In the present, the final stages of the Siege of Kharzh'ulla were playing out.

"Mayday! Mayday! The captain's dead! Antimatter containment failing! Mayday!"

"This is Captain Elliot Holmes of the USS Philadelphia! We surrender, I repeat we surrender!"

"Cowards! Fight! Fight for your lives! For your families! For your homes! FIGHT!"

Countless other similar transmissions were being broadcast over open and encoded transmissions, Sara looking at me quizzically. "Your orders, admiral?" she asked.

"As planned," I began. "We will accept the surrender of any enemy vessels that do so. Those that refuse to surrender will be destroyed."

"Yes, admiral."

I nodded before frowning. "Signal Colonel Brecha." I said. "Once we have complete control of Kharzh'ulla's orbit, we will begin landing operations immediately. Prioritize the capture of the Federation President, Min Zife. We'll need him to unconditionally surrender."

"Driving home the unquestionable fact of the Federation's loss of this war." Torrhen rumbled, and I nodded again.

"Precisely." I said, before focusing on the tactical display, and Starfleet's last stand.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Sir," a man hurriedly said as he caught up to Bishop. "Starfleet has completely collapsed, and the Empire is beginning to land troops. They've already achieved air supremacy, and sensors have detected three Acclamator Class Transports in the first wave of Imperial landings. Furthermore, despite Imperial jamming, we suspect between six to nine more Acclamators being held back in the second wave."

"…I…see." Bishop said softly while continuing down the corridor.

"What now, sir?" his subordinate asked.

Bishop took a deep breath. "The general is of the opinion that not just the war, but the Federation itself is lost." He finally said. "A failed experiment, he called it…and the other guardians agree, as does Elder Vaughn."

"Then…"

Bishop took his time to answer. The general might have made his decision, and the other guardians had decided to follow his lead, but Bishop in good conscience couldn't. The Federation…

…they were so close. After thousands of years, the dream of a perfect, peaceful, and orderly society led by an enlightened intellectual elite was about to become reality. Class divisions had all but disappeared, the economy had been completely automated, even people's darker impulses were well on their way of being bred out of not just Humanity, but the various other species that made up the Federation…

…utopia had never been so close.

"Damn the Empire…they've ruined everything!" Bishop cursed. "And now the general and others want to give up on it all, and start over from scratch? Madness! How many times in the past millennia has the dream come so close to being lost forever? How many times have we found ourselves pushed to the brink of extinction? We're so close…even with the Empire's interference…we can still salvage something out of this…even if we're set back by our losses, at the very least, it won't be as much as if we have to start from a blank slate. But to go against the general…it's treason…mutiny most foul…but it's the right thing to do. And done right…he might be convinced of that fact, especially if the Inner Sanctum and the Council of Elders can be convinced as well…but it has to be framed right…done right…as with all things…"

"…the Federation is lost," Bishop said aloud, the words tasting like ashes in his mouth. "But that doesn't mean all our efforts for the past centuries have been for nought. In particular, we need to reinforce Grand Master Soriano, and provide him with additional resources. I don't know how the Empire did it, much less how they found out about Uraei in the first place, but we need to reestablish contact with Uraei."

"I'll have it done immediately, sir." Bishop's subordinate said with a nod.

"We also need to secure Section 31's assets, as well as those of other Majestic 12 branches, beyond those overlapping with the Order." Bishop continued. "Assign Commanders May and Butler to the task, and give them everything we need."

"Yes, sir."

"We'll also need to organize a proper resistance," Bishop added. "And not give the Empire an opportunity to consolidate their conquests, much less assimilate our citizens. If possible, we should also look into establishing a presence in their home galaxy, but it's probably best to leave that as a long-term goal."

"As you say, sir."

Bishop sighed. "First things first, though." He said. "All this would be meaningless if the Empire captures us all. We need to evacuate this planet, and without tipping off the Empire."

"Arrangements have already been made with regard to that issue, sir." Bishop's subordinate said.

"Very good."

The two men emerged from the corridor into a raised catwalk overlooking a hidden hangar, a large shuttle sitting in the middle facing a sealed pair of blast doors. Men and women in grey fatigues under dark body armor milled around below, Bishop sparing them only a quick glance before heading down through a flight of stairs.

They'd barely stepped foot on the hangar when the shuttle exploded, and Bishop's world turned into crimson pain.

"…it hurts…by God, it hurts…it hurts so much…" he thought to himself, his eyes wet and blurry, hearing only a high-pitched ringing as he struggled to move, only he could barely feel his arms and hands through the pain, and his legs not at all. "…who…who could have done this? It couldn't have been the Empire…it just couldn't…no…it can't be…that's not possible…"

Through the crimson haze of blood, sweat, tears, and pain, Bishop saw hooded figures prowling through the smoke and flames, looking for survivors and dispatching them with single shots from small, concealable pistols. His eyes, though, focused on the subtly-hidden symbolism of their buttons, brooches, and other such things that would easily slip the attention of the less attentive.

"…it just can't be them…" he silently revolted against what he was seeing. "…they're all dead…we killed them all…bred out the last of their kind during the Eugenics Wars…it's just not possible…"

That was the last thing Bishop thought, before a disruptor blast vaporized his head.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The (provisional) Presidential Palace on Kharzh'ulla had fallen quickly. In fact, there had barely been any resistance at all, with the place already half-looted by the time the Imperial Stormtroopers had arrived. With Starfleet annihilated in the skies above, most would-be hostiles on the ground had either mutinied or deserted, with those that didn't surrendering either in sullenness or barely-restrained despair as the Empire landed its troops.

"Secure any cultural and scientific vaults the Federation secreted away!" a senior ISB agent ordered. "We must tie up as many loose ends as we can before they can even become problems to begin with."

"Sir!" the other ISB agents responded with salutes, before spreading out accompanied by Stormtrooper support.

The next couple of hours were spent securing what hadn't been carried away by the looters, with the palace's archives and databases thankfully untouched. Unfortunately, a great many artworks were simply lost in the near-anarchy, and uncontrolled fires had destroyed much of what hadn't been carried away.

Meanwhile, the First Battlegroup had descended to fly low over the planetary capital, accompanied by the flagships of several other battlegroups, Vice Admiral Torrhen leading several other flag officers to inspect the palace and what had been recovered thus far. Meanwhile, Admiral Targaryen and her adjutant, Lieutenant Sara, personally received the surrender of President Zife.

"Speaking freely, admiral," Sara began while walking beside Targaryen away from where the cuffed former president was being escorted off-world. "They might be our enemies, but I can't help but pity the Federation. Here and now, at their nadir…even after everything they've cost us to get to this point…they're just so pitiful…"

"It can't be helped, I suppose." Targaryen replied. "Their world might as well have ended, fallen to pieces around them, like ashes running through their hands."

Sara chuckled. "Very poetic, admiral." She said, before their conversation fell into a lull as they passed by several senior Federation officials, cuffed and being escorted away by Imperial Stormtroopers. None of them looked up at the Imperial admirals, and indeed, seemed to be consciously keeping from meeting their eyes.

Sara shook her head at the sight. "Pitiful…enemies or not, what a sad end for an interstellar state!" she concluded.

"Yes…" Targaryen said with a nod before giving a smile. "…their world…their time is over. And now, it's our turn."

Sara nodded her agreement, keeping pace with her superior as they continued on their way.

So ended the Siege of Kharzh'ulla, on AD 2376, Imperial Calendar 20.

Here, Starfleet was destroyed.

Here, the United Federation of Planets met its end.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

Dark storm clouds loomed over Paris as the Imperial Command Fleet returned to Earth in the wave of the Fall of Kharzh'ulla. As a select few Star Destroyers and their escort screens descended through the atmosphere to fly low over the city, it began to rain, lightly at first, then in powerful showers punctuated by the roaring of thunder as lightning crackled between the clouds, and then against the Imperial warships' navigational deflectors.

Despite such poor weather, though, people began to gather, whether in raincoats or under umbrellas, or even both, towards and around the Champs-Elysees. By the time shuttles launched from the Courageous, hundreds of thousands of Parisians had come together, waiting in silent anticipation. As the shuttles alighted, a low rumbling started, which erupted into a thunderous roar of triumph as I stepped out into the open.

"I could get used to this." I silently remarked, the roaring and cheering grew even louder as I smiled and waved at the crowd. Then I was walking away, towards and into a waiting Chariot command speeder. "Situation?"

"Earth is relatively-stable." General Corlis Cocburn of the Imperial Army, Inspector-General of the Terran Occupation Command. "The UNAS and the provisional European Federation are keeping their claimed territories orderly and have been cooperating with us."

"But…?" I prompted.

"Eastern Eurasia is…problematic." Corlis replied. "China is splitting along northern-southern lines, with the Northern Coalition clashing with the warlords in Yunnan and Guangxi. Tensions are rising between Japan and Korea, while in India we've had to step-in several times to prevent open fighting between the provisional government and radicals demanding the restoration of the Great Khanate."

"…as I recall, Khan Noonien Singh's daughter was among those we liberated from Tartarus, was she not?" I asked.

"She was, admiral." Sara confirmed. "Unfortunately, she's only…ten-years-old, or so, and would not really be in any position to govern."

"But at this point she has more legitimacy than the provisional government," Corlis pointed out. "As most Indians have noticed it's formed by mid-ranked United Earth functionaries and administrators. In short, they're seen as agents of United Earth, complicit in the long-term subjugation of India from the Eugenics Wars onward, and ultimately irrelevant. Worse, they're backed by the UNAS and the European Federation…"

"…the predecessors of which," I concluded. "The USA and the European Union, formed the backbone of the UN Coalition during the Eugenics Wars."

"Yes." Corlis continued.

"…I'm not comfortable with potentially provoking a popular revolt." I finally said. "At the end of the day, any society has three fundamental pillars holding it up: the military, the people, and the elites. Any aspiring government must have the support of at least two to achieve success."

"With Starfleet destroyed," Corlis noted. "We are the military now."

"Indeed," I said with a nod before narrowing my eyes. "But if you have to choose between the elites and the people, it's always better to choose the latter over the former. Ironic, I know, speaking as a member of the nobility…but it's also because I am noble-born that I'd sooner alienate the elites than the people. I know my kind. So long as we have military and popular support, any grumblings by the elites can be ignored."

"And if they should…ah, act against us?" The general delicately asked.

"Treason will be punished accordingly." I replied coldly, and the general smiled.

"Understood, admiral." He said.

"Besides," I continued. "Enough of the elites can be co-opted even in this situation, in return for a stake in the new regime. As Lieutenant Sara reminded us, the next…Khatun, as I believe the feminine form of the title is, is currently a child. A regency council will need to be formed…staff it with civilian officials, but include one ISB and Imperial military liaison each. Instruct said liaisons to be discreet, starting by letting one of the civilians preside over the regency council."

"…the power behind the throne, admiral?" Corlis asked.

"If nothing else," I coolly said. "If the civilians mess things up, we can pin the blame on them."

The general smiled again. "As you say, admiral." He said. "However, the Americans and the Europeans might have something to say about all that."

I waved a hand dismissively. "They can be managed." I said. "Based on past reports, the UNAS is concerned about all the…caudillos or whatnot, that have been popping across Central and South America since United Earth collapsed. Give them a free hand in Central America, and a limited one in the south. Also, have Imperial Intelligence discreetly support the caudillos. Divide and conquer."

"Yes, admiral." The general said with a nod.

"As for the Europeans," I continued. "Focus on the seam between Europe and Russia. As I recall from the ISB and Imperial Intelligence's reports on European history, there are deeply-buried resentments in Russia over their nation's subordination to Paris since well before the Third World War, and again to Brussels today, with the new European Federation. That will be the key to neutralizing Europe's threat to Imperial power."

"A united world would be harder to manage than several mutually-jealous and competing states." Corlis said.

"Precisely."

"And…Eastern Eurasia?"

"…let things progress for now." I said after a few moments' thought. "Intervene only to prevent an escalation to open fighting, while pushing for a compromise. Either this results in Eastern Eurasia being too divided to pose a threat, or only postpones the bloodshed."

"And in the case of the latter," Corlis said with a slow nod, catching onto the line of thought. "We only intervene once all sides are exhausted, and appear as heroes restoring peace and order."

"Yes." I said simply while rubbing my chin. "What of the rest of the planet?"

"The provisional governments in Africa, West, Central, and Southeast Asia, as well as Oceania are fully-cooperative." Corlies replied. "Indeed, in the case of Africa as well as West Asia, they've indicated a willingness to accept full integration into the Empire in exchange for protection against the European Federation drawing them into their sphere of influence. Central and Southeast Asia are more concerned about China, but they too wish to preempt that with full integration into the Empire."

"Excellent news." I said with another nod before narrowing my eyes. "We'll have to discuss the details further, but later. We're approaching the Elysees Palace. Now, we attend to the Federation's official surrender."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

On Deep Space Nine, sparks flew along the seam of a door leading into a hangar unmarked on any map of the station. A couple of minutes later, and the sparks stopped before the doors were forced open with the shriek of protesting metal. Spider droids then marched into the hangar, empty but for a large spacecraft of some kind sitting inside.

The spider droids did a sweep, and then signaled the all-clear, with Imperial Stormtroopers and ISB agents entering the room. "Secure the area!" the ranking ISB agent barked before pointing at the spacecraft. "Prepare to board."

"Careful, Agent Barcam." Lieutenant Julian Bashir warned. "If that is a Section 31 vessel, they'll have countermeasures in place."

"I am aware, lieutenant." ISB Agent Briar Barcam replied. "But, thank you for the warning."

"Just in case," Bashir said while hefting his medical kit. "I'll be on standby if that's alright."

"Your cooperation is noted and appreciated." Barcam said with a nod.

Then with a thunderous blast, the Stormtroopers blew their way into the Section 31 spacecraft with demolition charges. The white-armored soldiers stormed into the spacecraft, then the officers outside were stepping behind cover as the sound of blaster fire could be heard.

"…clankers…we got clankers!" the warning came over the encoded line.

Then there was a flash of blue through the entry point, indicative of an ion grenade. "Interior secure!" the word went out. "Sir, you're going to want to see this."

Bashir and the ISB agents shared looks, and then escorted by another squad of Stormtroopers, approached and entered the spacecraft. It didn't take them long to find the other Stormtroopers inside, surrounded by the smoking wrecks of several androids. A few of the Stormtroopers were down too, and Bashir quickly made a beeline for them.

And then he came to a halt with a gasp of shocked betrayal. "Kira…" he said, recognizing one of the figures wearing dark-grey Section 31 fatigues inside a stasis pod, just one of twenty inside the spacecraft's hold. "…this is where you disappeared to…you…Section 31…why?"

"For the record," an ISB agent began. "That is Deep Space Nine's commander, Kira Nerys?"

"Yes." Bashir replied, looking and sounding dazed even as the ISB agent gently restrained him from staggering in Kira's direction.

"And you had no idea this is where she'd disappeared to," the ISB agent continued. "Or that she'd joined Section 31 beforehand."

"No…I didn't know…I don't know…" Bashir babbled out in disbelief. "…I don't understand. This isn't…this isn't like her…why would she join Section 31?"

The ISB Agents looked at each other uncertainly, and then Agent Barcam spoke up. "Lieutenant Bashir has fully-cooperated with us ever since we arrived at the station." He said. "We'll have to check, of course, but I'm inclined to take his word over this matter."

Bashir dryly swallowed, and stepping away, looked uncertainly around him, before approaching one of the downed Stormtroopers and began providing medical assistance on rote. Meanwhile, Agent Barcam approached a squad technical specialist who was working on a nearby control panel.

"Can we get them out?" he asked.

"We can get them out right now on your order, sir." The Stormtrooper replied.

"I'd prefer we get them out somewhere secure," Barcam responded. "Where they'd have minimal chances of escaping, or even trying to, and potentially risk losing subjects to interrogate."

"We'll need specialized equipment to get the pods out," the Stormtrooper responded. "But it can be done. They have integrated backups just in case their connection to the ship is disrupted, to keep the people inside alive. We can use that."

"Good." Barcam said before turning to the other Stormtroopers. "Get a tech team in here, on the double!"

"Yes, sir!" the squad leader responded. "Right away!"

Barcam nodded before glancing at Bashir again. "Also, get our injured out of here." He said. "There's no point in letting them lie around when there's more work to be done here."

"Sir!"
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

In the Elysees Palace on Earth, the last President of the United Federation of Planets, Min Zife, signed the Instrument of Unconditional Surrender. Three documents, each in their own separate folder, written in High Galactic and Aurebesh, providing legal justification for the dissolution of the Federation, and the incorporation of its former territories into the Galactic Empire.

After signing, Zife got up, and shaking hands with me, turned and was escorted away. In return for his surrender, he would be allowed to live the rest of his life in house arrest on his homeworld of Bolarus IX. He'd be under constant surveillance, and would only be allowed to leave his home under strict supervision, but he would be allowed to receive visitors and even pen and publish his memoirs.

A very generous deal, all things considered.

It wasn't as though the fate of the leaders of the old Confederacy of Independent Systems was a secret, after all.

Zife and the Federation were lucky they ended up facing me, instead of Darth Vader or Grand Moff Tarkin, or some COMPNOR-vetted psychopath.

Vice Admiral Danetta Pitta came to mind…

…I'd have to keep an eye out for an opportunity to assassinate that man in the future.

Back to the present, though, with the former president gone, I proceeded along with my fellow Imperial officers to the reception. There was plenty of wine and finger food available, and raising a hand for silence, raised my wineglass in toast while standing at the head of the room.

"To His Excellency the Emperor," I began. "Long may he reign!"

"To the Emperor!" the Imperial officers chorused, also raising their wineglasses, but I didn't drink just yet. I had more toasts to make, but toasting the Emperor first and foremost was only expected.

"To the fallen," I continued. "May their sacrifices never be forgotten or be for naught."

"To the fallen, hail!" the Imperial officers chorused again, and I toasted one last time.

"Finally, to victory!" I said with a smile.

"To victory!" the Imperial officers chorused, and then drank after my lead. Then the music began to play, conversation filled the room, and wine continued to pour.

For my part, I flitted about the room, listening here and other, dropping in a word or two among this and that conversation, until at last I stood before the windows looking out into the palace exterior. "Is something wrong, admiral?" Sara asked as she approached in concern.

"Not at all, lieutenant." I said. "Just…being reflective, I suppose."

"Ah…my apologies, admiral, for interrupting your reverie."

"No, it's fine. Although, you have excellent timing. We'll be leaving early, I must return to Imperial Center and report to His Excellency in person. That said, no need to interrupt our fellow officers' celebrations, simply have the Courageous on standby, along with an appropriate escort."

"Yes, admiral." Sara said with a nod. "Shall I assume Admiral Torrhen will remain behind to command the expeditionary force in your absence?"

"You assume correctly."

"Very good, admiral."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"I don't understand!" Bashir ranted as he paced across his domain, i.e. Deep Space Nine's medical bay. "Why would Kira do this? Desert her post here at Deep Space Nine? Desert her own people and planet? Join Section 31? It doesn't make any sense!"

"Actually," Lieutenant-commander Ezri Dax spoke up. "It does."

"…what?" Bashir asked in a small voice.

Ezri sighed. "Look, I know Section 31's done a lot of shady things." She said before holding up her hands to forestall an outburst from Bashir. "And a lot of more than just 'shady' things, now that that Empire's opened all the closets and let the skeletons fall out. But…! For all that, the Federation…it wasn't so bad, at least to people who toed the line."

"That's an understatement." Bashir said, still looking very agitated.

"And I agree." Ezri said with a nod. "Don't get me wrong, I don't disagree with you that no matter how…idyllic, life could be in the Federation it doesn't excuse much less justify everything Section 31 has done. I also think that we can do more and better by starting over, even under Imperial rule, than trying to keep fighting a war that's already lost."

"…but in Kira's case, that's just not good enough, huh?" Bashir asked.

"Yes, I think so." Ezri said with a sigh. "I don't blame her, though. Considering her experiences with the Cardassians, I guess she just saw too many parallels with the Galactic Empire."

"So do I." Bashir admitted in a whisper. "But…to join Section 31…"

The Augment trailed off, while Ezri looked at him knowingly. "Is it solidarity for your people?" she asked. "The Imperial commander…her people…the Valyrions, or something…they're Augments too, aren't they?"

"Valyrians." Bashir corrected. "But yes, they're apparently Augmented, though I'm not sure to what degree. I'm not helping them out of solidarity, though. I'm doing it because it's the right things. It's also why…well, I'm leaving Deep Space Nine. I'm not joining the Empire, though."

Ezri just looked at him in silence for a long time. "Where will you go?" she eventually asked.

"Andor." Bashir replied. "You know what the Andorians face, and they'll need all the help they can get. The Empire knows it, and the Andorians know it. They also know my track record when it comes to…genetic diseases, and I've been offered a position as a civilian expert, to help with curing it."

"Being able to help is worth a bow to the Coruscanti Emperor, huh?" Ezri asked with a small smile. "Sounds like you."

"Maybe it does." Bashir said with another sigh. "And I doubt the Emperor really cares what happens on this…frontier, as he no doubt sees it, so long as his troops bring him a victory or two to broadcast about. But that could work out for us…maybe even let us live more freely than we might otherwise could…"

"And at the end of the day," Ezri knowingly said. "At least the Empire isn't going to let the Andorians die out of principle like the Federation would."

"Yes."

Ezri laughed and shook her head. "Where did it go wrong?" she sighed. "Where did we go wrong?"

Bashir had no answer.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

The Courageous and her escorts emerged from the Belsavis Gateway, and immediately reconnected with the Holonet. "I feel less homesick already." I quipped.

"We've reestablished contact with Imperial Center, admiral." Sara said. "We have confirmation of your audience with His Excellency the Emperor."

"Very good." I said with a nod. "Captain, set course for Imperial Center, and make the jump to hyperspace once we're ready."

"Yes, admiral." The captain said before going to carry out his duty.

"It shouldn't take too long to get to Imperial Center, should it?" I mused aloud.

"Approximately two hours and forty minutes from our current position." Sara replied.

I nodded before throwing her a smile. "A wonderful thing, hyperdrive." I remarked. "Compare to our defeated enemies' warp drive, with which traversing the galaxy would take decades. And while a more…refined, version called trans-warp apparently existed, it would still take months to traverse the galaxy, when we could do so in hours or even minutes."

"If I may so, admiral," Sara began. "I'm rather curious how the Terran galaxy would develop in the following decades, as hyperdrive technology replaces warp and other, equally-primitive forms of FTL."

"Not just warp," I said. "But other technologies such as droids, bacta, and even weapons tech, among others. Not to mention the potential lifting of onerous if not outright irrational bans on certain technologies like cloning or genetic engineering."

"It would be interesting to see, admiral." Sara said with a smile, and I laughed.

"Depending on how things turn out on Imperial Center," I said. "And you might just get the chance to see it, lieutenant."

"Then I hope and pray that we get that chance, admiral. It was, and is, an honor to serve."

"Likewise, lieutenant."

The both of then turned to look out the bridge windows then, watching as the galactic starscape gently wheeled across our field of view as the Courageous reoriented itself for a hyperspace jump. Not far away, our escorting corvettes and light cruisers did likewise, and a chime sounded across the bridge, and, no doubt, across the rest of the ship as well.

Moments later, and then the stars were streaking into infinity, before we jumped to hyperspace.

"It's almost over now." I thought to myself, staring into the swirling light of hyperspace. "I have all the cards I need and could get, and all that's left is to lay them out and make my play. And then…well, we'll see. We'll see."

Nodding to myself, I crossed my arms over my chest, and just stared into hyperspace as we headed towards Imperial Center.

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

"Well, this is certainly unexpected." I remarked as I joined my fellow, newly-promoted Grand Admirals outside the doors that led to the Imperial Palace Audience Chamber.

"And what might be so unexpected by this, lady viscountess?" Grand Admiral Rufaan Tigellinus asked.

"Why, His Excellency creating an entirely new rank," I replied. "And one above the established hierarchy of not just the Imperial Army and Imperial Navy, but even the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps as well. That, and my inclusion among what the Court is already calling the Five."

"Hmm…I concede your point with regard to our new ranks." Tigellinus said. "As for the latter…come now, my lady. Considering your recent campaign on the far side of the universe, it should not be a surprise that His Excellency has chosen to reward you accordingly."

"I agree." Grand Admiral Osvald Teshik said with a nod. "Your strategic planning was elegant in its simplicity, aiming at destroying the enemy's logistics and destroying the enemy fleet in detail. And yet such simplicity is the whole point: it had very little chance to go wrong."

"Simple is best." I modestly replied.

"I was honestly more impressed with the Targaryen Gambit in all honesty," Grand Admiral Josef Grunger chimed in. "As well as your widespread use of interdictor cruisers to control the battlefield beyond simply a means of ambushing enemy ships in transit. If you don't mind, I will borrow such novel tactical doctrines for my own campaigns."

"As would I." Teshik said with another nod before narrowing his eyes. "That said, we're going to need to expand our pool of available interdictor cruisers. In hindsight, the Imperial Navy has greatly undervalued those ships."

"An understatement, if anything." I said with a snort. "You have absolutely no idea how hard it was to scrape together as many interdictors for my campaign, and not because other fleet commanders didn't want to let go of their interdictors. It's because there's just so few of them."

"Unfortunately," Tigellinus sourly said. "Getting the money for more interdictors from the Imperial Senate is going to be like pulling teeth."

"Then perhaps we should bring it up with the grand vizier?" Teshik asked before he similarly soured. "On second thought, we should find another way."

"Speaking freely, grand admiral," I began with a respectful gesture to my senior as an officer. "I don't blame you. The grand vizier is…not a pleasant man. And the same could be said for the rest of the Imperial Ruling Council."

"Again, unfortunately," Tigellinus pointed out. "Anyone wanting to be regularly received at Court will find dealing with those snakes to be…unavoidable."

"Don't I know it." I sourly said, and Tigellinus gave me a courtly bow of sympathy.

"If we don't want to deal with the council," Grand Admiral Miltin Takel spoke up. "Then perhaps we should bring it up before the Emperor himself, after our promotions are officially confirmed at today's Court assembly?"

"The grand vizier would not appreciate being bypassed in such a way." I said before giving a grin. "That's such a terrible, we absolutely have to do it."

Teshik and Tigellinus laughed at that, while Takel and Grunger alike gave amused smiled. Then the conversation stilled, as the doors chimed, signaling that the Court was ready for us. Teshik, as the eldest among us, straightened and smoothed out his uniform. "Well, then," he began with nods at us all. "My lady, gentlemen, I shall you after today's Court assembly is done. I take my leave."

We nodded back at him, Teshik being the first of the five new grand admirals to pass through the now-open doors. He paused then, as protocol dictated, a herald announcing him even as the doors closed behind him. Grunger would be next, followed by Takel, and then myself, with Tigellinus, as the youngest of what the Court was already calling 'the Five' to be the last to enter and be received by the Emperor.

With nothing else to do, I put my hands behind my waist, and thought back to that fateful audience several weeks ago.
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Admiral Targaryen," Emperor Palpatine, also known as Darth Sidious, Dark Lord of the Sith, greeted me by name as I knelt before his throne, speaking in a grandfatherly tone that held no hint of the true power and menace he possessed. "You return, and victorious at that. Well done."

"I am honored by your praise, Your Excellency." I modestly replied, keeping my head bowed. "I only regret that I was unable to return sooner."

The Emperor waved a hand dismissively. "Such is the nature of war." He graciously said. "It would do neither of us any good to dwell on it. Let us move on, and proceed to why you have sought this audience so urgently that it could not wait until after the official recognition of your success."

"Then, if may speak freely, Your Excellency?"

"Very well."

"During the conquest of the New Territories," I began. "I ran into references into a form of technology developed by the so-called Federation, supposedly able to remake worlds if not life itself into forms reflecting what its users wished. Despite the apparent…impossibility, of such technology, given how primitive the Federation was, I made it my personal responsibility to confirm or debunk said technology's existence, considering its implications either way.

"And…?"

I raised my head, looking up at the Emperor looking down with mild interest from his throne. "If I may, Your Excellency?" I asked.

The Emperor nodded, and I moved slowly and deliberately, mindful of the Sovereign Protectors and Imperial Guards nearby. Reaching down to my belt, I pulled out the DSD my family's troops had stored what we'd recovered from Memory Alpha. The Emperor gestured then, and an Imperial Advisor emerged from the shadows, an oily-looking man in dark red robes with an unflattering hat of the same color.

He took the DSD from my hand, and plugged it into a nearby terminal. It took only a few moments before the data was compiled and began to play on a nearby terminal, a hologram of the Federation logo appearing in the air.

"Security protocols overridden." A feminine voice spoke up, before the Federation logo disappeared, and an aging Human woman's face appeared, before speaking as though to a camera. "Project Genesis: a proposal to the Federation. What exactly is Genesis? Well, put simply, Genesis is life from lifelessness. It is a process whereby molecular structure is reorganized at the subatomic level into life-generating matter of equal mass."

The Emperor sat up on his throne, his smile and his expression intent and focused at geometric diagrams of the theory behind Genesis, all the while the Federation scientist summarized their initial experiments under the project. "Stage Three will involve the process on a planetary scale." The scientist continued, even as the screen showed the diagrams for a planned 'Genesis Device', before switching to a simulation of Genesis' final deployment. "It is our intention to introduce the Genesis Device into a pre-selected area of a lifeless space body, a moon or other dead form. The device is delivered, instantaneously calling what we call the 'Genesis Effect'. Matter is reorganized with life-generating results. Instead of a dead moon, a living breathing planet capable of sustaining whatever life forms we see fit to deposit on it."

The record wasn't finished playing yet, but the most important part was done. Now, the Emperor sat back on his throne, fingers held in thought against his lips as the record ended, and technical data began scrolling by on the hologram, more than enough to restart the project from when and where the Federation abandoned it.

"What a wonderful gift, Admiral Targaryen." The Emperor finally said, his irises visibly flaring gold as his true identity bled through. "Let us get to the point: what do you want?"

I made sure to meet the Emperor's eyes before making my final throw of the dice, one way or another. "Earth." I said.

There was a moment of profound silence, the Imperial Advisor nearby looking shocked and even appalled at my naked grab for power. Even if I had been the one to conquer said planet to begin with, this was too much. And I knew it too, and fully expected the lash of the Emperor's lightning.

But the Emperor did not do anything of the sort.

Instead, he threw his head back and laughed. "Is that all?" he asked with mocking amusement. "Why, Admiral Targaryen, you are an exceptionally modest individual. You give me the power to reshape worlds, life itself, in my image, and you ask only for a march on the frontier to govern as you see fit."

I bowed my head in silence, even as the Emperor waved graciously. "No matter." He said. "Let it not be said that I am not magnanimous. You shall have what you desire, admiral, and so much more."
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

"Grand Admiral Jaenera of House Targaryen," the Court Herald proclaimed as I stepped into the Imperial Palace Audience Chamber, already in the matching white shirt and trousers of an Imperial Grand Admiral's uniform, complete with gold epaulettes and a unique rank plaque. "Viscountess of Summerhall."

I paused as the doors closed behind me, and then a heartbeat later, walked at a steady pace towards the central pillar, atop which stood the Emperor's throne. Arriving at the end of the walkway, I sank down to one knee, head bowed. "Grand Admiral Targaryen," the Emperor began. "Your military achievements are truly remarkable."

"I am honored by your praise, Your Excellency," I formally replied. "But such has only been possible as a result of your patronage."

The Emperor gestured, and an aide offered him a scroll. "In recognition of your success in crushing the enemy forces and imposing Imperial authority over the New Territories," the Emperor proclaimed. "I hereby promote you, Jaenera Targaryen, Viscountess of Summerhall, to the rank of Imperial Grand Admiral. I also appoint you as Viceroy of the New Territories, with full authority over military and civilian affairs therein. So let it be known going forward from this twenty-second day of the tenth month of the twentieth year of the Imperial Calendar."

On the ground floor, an Imperial Advisor approached, flanked by a pair of Royal Guards. The man brought with him a tray, on which was a rolled-up scroll, my own copy of the Emperor's proclamation. I took the scroll with a bow, and then one of the Royal Guard's offered a baton, which I took with another bow, and bowing before the Emperor, stepped back and away.

All the while I could hear the murmuring of the Court, although I could barely make out any of what they were saying.

I could guess, though.

The Republican partisans, like that two-faced political animal Mon Mothma from Chandrila, or the Corellian firebrand Garm bel Iblis, as well as the genuinely-idealistic Bail Organa of Alderaan, were grumbling about yet another Imperial appointee being giving sweeping powers over a vast stretch of space with no senatorial oversight.

Then there were the COMPNOR functionaries, the ones with no real ability to think for themselves similarly grumbling over a woman being given such rank and recognition against all the traditional expectations and roles of women in Human High Culture. Then there were the ones who could actually think for themselves, usually my distant cousins, aunts, and uncles, with varying degrees of remoteness (all Human nobles being related in one way or another with each other), who were already rationalizing my apparent contradiction to Human High Culture as an exception to the rule born out of my blooded status as one of the Great Houses.

Typical really…

…then there were those who were neither Republican partisans or COMPNOR functionaries and patrons, but were simply in the business of power. All of them, each and every last one of them, posed potential dangers to my vision of the future, or could even be allies in reshaping Terran Humanity back into what they should be.

Not perfect caricatures who could do no wrong and were always right, but just people living their lives freely for good or ill.

And from there, they can go further, climb higher, go further…

…and this time, the chains of nature would not hold them back.

"Now then," I thought to myself as I joined my fellow grand admirals and looked on as Grand Admiral Tigellinus was officially recognized before the assembled Court. "Let us begin anew."

 

[Jaenera Targaryen]

And the sequel's prologue/pilot is up, Post-Conquest: Insurgence.