Star Wars Star Destroyer Cataclysm Retribution PART ONE

8/18/2019 Star Wars Star Destroyer Cataclysm Retribution PART ONE

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Mar 25, 2016

Part One: (Chapters 1 - 5)

Part One Final Draft Release Package

Star WarsStar Destroyer Cataclysm: Retribution

Written By - David Bissig

Chief Editor & Lead Audio Engineer - De’Lante Capers

Assisting Editors: Austin McComb, Jack Parkinson, Jesse Carozza, Thomas Roof

A Kalas Project

&

Expanding Fronts Audio-Visual Production

The Kalas Project is in no way affiliated with or endorsed by Lucasfilm Limited or any of its subsidiaries, employees, or associates.

The Kalas Project offers no suggestion that the work presented in this work is "official"or produced or sanctioned by the owneror

any licensees of the aforementioned trademarks. The Kalas Project will take all steps necessary to ensure that any usage of

trademarked items in no way confuses the audience of this work as to its origin. The Kalas Project makes no claim to own Star

Wars or any of the copyrights or trademarks related to it. Images, logos, characters, items, names, locations, or stories that are

presented in this work are copyrighted to Lucasfilm Limited or another partner of Lucas Licensing, or to the creator of the item in

question.

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About the Author: David Bissig

First off, I would like to thank you for taking the time to read part one

of my book. It is the product of months of hard work, many long nights, and

lots of silly stories. I am currently a senior and History Major at Temple

University in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. For as long as I can remember, I

have loved Star Wars. It’s truest power lies in its ability to serve as a

medium and a conduit between people of all walks life and bring to fruition

stories, lessons, and legacies that would otherwise be impossible to tell.

Within every tale, there are heroes and villains alike, each confined to an

unlimited universe of potential, where our only guides are the limits to our

imaginations and the art of our craft.

It is my hope, that in reading this, maybe someone else will be inspired to take a chance on a project, a team, a vision, and bring it to life.

One day, I would love to be a story writer, or game designer, it matters not

so long as I am creating something. For now, I will finish my education and

my time serving in the United States Army Reserve as a Quartermaster

Officer, practicing and refining my skills.

As much hard work as I put into making this story, it would not have

been possible without the help and support of my team, and my

editor-in-chief, De’lante Capers. Between finding three letter words spelled wrong, or constructing and audio book from scratch, he has been the

shoe-shine to this book’s polished finish. He is a bit of a loose cannon in his

own right, but sometimes you need a guy like that around.

Lastly, I would like to thank my wonderful girlfriend and future wife for

her steadfast and unwavering support in all things that I do, and constantly

serving as a beacon of light in my life. Her contribution to this book comes

in the form of my creative abilities, which would not exist without her

unmatched talents as she is the source of my inspirations.

Email: [email protected]

Facebook: www.facebook.com/sdcataclysm

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http://www.facebook.com/sdcataclysmmailto:[email protected]


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About the Editor: De’lante Capers

In 1862 a rift opened in the space-time continuum. There, I was sent

to rectify the mistakes of mankind. After single-handedly uniting the States

and inventing the incandescent lightbulb, I decided to laze around for a

century and a half, until civilization once again needed me. They called several times, especially around the 1940’s because some Austrian sod

was irritating people in Europe. I don’t think it was all that important.

I spent a needlessly long time turning wrenches as an Army

watercraft mechanic, where I became the last soldier to ever obtain the

rank of Specialist. After single-handedly destroying the New Axis powers, a

force consisting of the robotic legions of the recently resurrected Adolf

Hitler, Joseph Stalin, Genghis Khan, and Kim Jong Il, I decided to try my

hand at acting. I hijacked a shipment of dollar-store audio equipment and set up shop, yelling into microphones for whatever looked neat at the time.

I eventually found my semi-permanent calling when a young ex-caucasian

Army cadet (David, aka D-Bizzle) asked me to teach him how to write.

Clearly, I had nothing better going on, so I figured why not. I was promised

0.3% of the royalties from whatever he produced, which I can only assume

is a good deal.

Was I supposed to talk about the book? I’m not sure how much space

I’ve got left in the int-

Email: [email protected]

Facebook: www.facebook.com/ExpandingFronts

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It is a dangerous time for the galaxy! The forces of evil conspire from

the shadows of the Unknown Regions to bring down the fledgling New

Republic. The armies of the shattered Galactic Empire have secretly

regrouped and prepare to reinstate their dominance over the newly freed

galaxy. The ruthless First Order has enacted the opening stages of their

sinister plan, Operation Rift, yearning to ignite a brutal galactic war. Armed

with terrifying new weapons, aligned with powerful new allies, and driven by

uncompromising leaders, they will stop at nothing to destroy the Republic.

One of the First Order’s best, veteran Captain Malivark Petris of the

Star Destroyer Cataclysm, has been chosen to carry out the crucial

opening act of this plan. Close friend of General Hux, unquestioned

strategist of the First Order fleet, and handpicked by Supreme Leader Snoke himself. The brilliant Captain prepares to ensnare the Republic in a

dastardly game of chance and collapse the unity of the Senate. His task -

to set a trap for the enemy and crush all resistance.

Please read and enjoy this, the preamble adventure to Star Wars

Episode VII: The Force Awakens, as the stage is set for the next act of

heroism and adventure in a galaxy far, far away!

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A long time ago in a galaxy

far, far away….

STAR WARS

Star Destroyer Cataclysm: Retribution

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Chapter One: The Art of Persuasion

The industrious hum of the hyperdrive filled the bridge of the Star

Destroyer

Cataclysm. Its captain, Malivark Petris, positioned himself

forward towards the frontal viewport as he gazed into the majestic blur of hyperspace. The crew, many of them young and fresh from the rigorous

naval academies of the First Order, buzzed about their stations. The bridge

was packed full of the latest technological innovations: holographic display

screens, mobile computer platforms, and newly integrated systems that

could assume control of the entire vessel from the bridge. Its black floor

shined with a fine polish, and computer consoles glowed with various

whites, reds, and blues in stark contrast to the dark, metallic atmosphere of

the bridge.“Sir, we are one minute from hyperspace exit.” Said the forward

helmsman.

Petris nodded, his hands clasped behind him. He stood tall in his

new, perfectly pressed charcoal grey naval officer’s uniform. Petris took

great pride in the maintenance of his uniform, a trait which he expected in

all of his subordinates as well. He was a man of precision, due-diligence

and above all else, was as cunning and vicious as the predators of the

most hostile environments. He knew nothing of tolerance. He knew nothing of mercy.

The spinning bluish-white hue of hyperspace abruptly ceased as the

Cataclysm came rifling back into real space. Before the menacing ship lay

the independent and arid world of Dibora VII, along with its orbital trade

port, Tunkana Station. Composed of a large central box with two protruding

appendages which housed hangars and docking ports, the station was

capable of supporting several hundred inhabitants. A shadow of its former

self, Tunkana was barely held together with durasteel scaffolding and spare

parts, centuries past their due replacement times. Its once shiny exterior

lay rusted and faded, yet was still host to many of the sector’s traders,

merchants, and pilots looking for work.

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The planet below was sparsely populated. In total, less than a million

inhabitants. Its primary usefulness to the galaxy was its once abundant

supply of rare salts and rocky minerals found in the desert wastes and

caverns below. Dibora VII once served as a critical link in many ecological

and chemical needs across the sector. Few cities dotted its bare

landscape, many of the wealthy and well off were held up in the walled city of Wesigway, the planetary capital.

“Have they picked us up on their scanners yet?” Petris asked after a

brief moment's wait.

“Yes, Sir,” responded a young helmsman, looking up from the

bridge’s lower left command pit. As was the way of the old Imperial-class

Star Destroyers, the First Order’s new Resurgent-class vessels were also

constructed with a single bridge. Its main floor was divided by a walkway

above two workstation pits, manned by communication officers, pilots, and critical functions personnel. “We are on their orbital and planetary sensor

nets,” the helmsman continued, “They should be reading us loud and

clear.”

“We are being scanned, Sir,” said another. Petris waited a moment

more for the scan to be completed.

“Hmm. Nothing?” Petris grunted. He watched the bridge crew

diligently monitor their computer stations. “Very well, then.”

“Shall we hail the station, Sir?” One of the communication officers asked from his console, somewhere out of Petris’ sight. Petris offered no

direct reply. His gaze was fixated on the station before them.

“Helm,” he began, as his eyes narrowed, “Lock all weapons onto

Tunkana Station. Prepare all forward batteries and torpedo bays for

launch.” He mulled over the fate of the station in his mind. “No need to

bother raising the shields.” He added. The crew obeyed without question,

as per usual. “Lieutenant Melbourne!” Petris called over his shoulder.

“Sir!” The eager young officer leapt to Petris’ side.

“Ready my shuttle. I shall be paying our good governor a visit,

planetside.” The Lieutenant nodded, turned on his heels and quickly

marched towards the rear the bridge.

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“Sir.” A helmsman called, “Weapons are hot, and we are being hailed

by the station on all frequencies.”

“Good,” he paused again, knowing full well the panic that must have

been ensuing aboard the station whilst he waited. Petris smirked and rolled

his shoulders. “Open fire.” Before him, a marvelous eruption of light burst

from the vessel. Streaks of green plasma escaped from countless turbolaser batteries along the

Cataclysm’s multi-layered rim, and raced

towards the station. Following them, small trails of swirling blue energy

marked each of the dozens of proton torpedoes launched alongside them.

The old station’s shields went up too late. Even if they hadn’t, they’d

have stood no chance against even the aging Imperial-class Star

Destroyers, much less against the might of the

Cataclysm. Each impact

against Tunkana’s rusted hull was accompanied by a blinding flash of light.

Explosions rocked its frame, knocking it off its orbit and tearing it apart along its stress points. Many of the docked ships were caught in the

crossfire. Those that weren’t immediately obliterated were wrenched from

their moorings, and sent drifting off into space. After the initial salvo, the

Cataclysm’s batteries fell silent.

“The station has been destroyed, Sir,” a helmsman reported from the

rear of the bridge. “We are receiving numerous distress signals.” Petris

watched over the burning wreckage with contempt for the ineptitude of its

crew. “We are being hailed from the planet.” An officer in the right pit reported, as he checked over the various consoles in his area. “What are

your orders, Sir?”

“The Governor has transports,” Petris dismissively waved his hand in

the direction of the voice. “I am sure they can take care of it on their own.”

Petris turned to another officer standing on the main deck of the bridge.

“Commander Tomasul, the bridge is yours. Expect my return around 23:00

hours.” The captain walked with a prudent stride towards the rear of the

bridge. “Inform the planetary governor’s office of my arrival.”

“Understood, Sir.” Commander Tomasul responded.

“Oh, and Commander Tomasul, if any of the governor’s vessels

approach the ship, you will respond in a most unkind fashion,” He ordered

as he entered the turbolift and faced Tomasul before the doors hissed shut.

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. . . .

Petris’ white Upsilon-class shuttle, the

Rapture, exited from the

starboard hangar with an escort of black-hulled TIE Fighters. It’s massive

wings glimmered with the reflecting light of the system’s star. The

Rapture entered the atmosphere as Petris looked out of the pilot’s viewport to the

barren world below.

Much of Dibora VII’s surface was the color of brown rock and sand.

Endless plateaus and canyons stretched across much of the landscape,

only parted by the occasional river. Wildlife was sparse and vegetation

rare. The lack of humidity and precipitation given the extreme deficits of the

environment resulted in few storms and a long dry season. It’s arid nature

left much of the planet’s geological and inhabited history intact, down to meaningless dirt highways used hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago.

The

Rapture steepened its descent as the walled city of Wegisway

came into view. The buildings were a mishmash of architecture, their

original coloring hidden beneath permanent tan stains from decades worth

of dust storms. It held little in the ways of defenses, its walls were poorly

maintained and lacked any sort of automated systems. It’s mostly human

population, no more than several hundred thousand, lived in tightly-packed

apartment-style housing. Its city center was comprised of second-class skyscrapers and semi modernized buildings. Around the edge of the city

lay several defunct housing blocks intercut by sprawling market districts

and industrial zones.

. . . .

Governor Jeryn, the heavyset, past-his-prime leader of Dibora VII, sat

in his office. The small room was dusty and poorly maintained. Files and

datapad stacks littered his desk and old rusted computer panels lined the

walls accompanied by empty boxes and miscellaneous junk items. Most of

the lighting was provided by a large dust-stained window behind his desk,

which filtered the outdoor light to a pale orange and drowned out the few

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barely energized light panels in the ceiling. His wooden desk was ridden

with cracks, and the stain-resistant coating was faded and chipped in

numerous places.

Jeryn wiped his balding head with a small towel as several drops of

nervous sweat dripped down the sides of his face. Before him sat his most

trusted advisor, the ancient law minister Alkowitz. Full of wrinkles, unhappy looks, and boring stories, Alkowitz served as the highest-ranking law man

of the planet. He was dressed in his loose-fitting orange robes, outlined

with vibrant purple inseam cuts, signifying that he was a man of the courts.

“What do you think they want?” Jeryn asked, his voice trembling.

“Evil rarely has a purpose, J.” Alkowitz responded with an aged and

tired voice.

“There were hundreds of people on that station!” Jeryn wailed, his

eyes widened and he leaned forward into his desk. “We’ve got to do something!” He continued.

“What would you have us do?” Alkowitz calmly replied. “Think, J. We

don’t got an army, we don’t got a fleet. I’m sure once they got what they

came for they’ll be move’n on. I stopped tryin’ to figure these types out a

long time ago.” Alkowitz shook his head as he looked to the foot of the

desk.

“You called up the extra guards?” Jeryn asked in a panic.

“Yup, I got what extra we had, but it ain’t much.” He reminded Jeryn.“Look.” Jeryn started as he closed his eyes and rubbed his temples

with his fingers. “If they’re all stupid enough to just come down here…” he

paused, lost for words. “...If we rough ‘em up, maybe we can force ‘em to

leave. That would give us enough time to-“

“To what, Jeryn?” Alkowitz raised his hands in refutation. “Get blasted

into powder from orbit? You know what they can do. We’ve seen ‘em here

before, they come and go, never seem to pay us much mind.” Alkowitz

started before his thoughts of recent events brought him away from his

point. “But the station... I dunno know how we’re going to survive without

that station.” He looked towards the floor and shook his head in resignation.

“I don’t know, J. This is why I turned down the job. It’s your call, not mine.”

“Governor.” The intercom on Jeryn’s desk beeped.

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“What!” The distressed governor balked into the intercom.

“We have a ship coming towards the city from orbit, it has a First

Order transponder frequency.”

Alkowitz covered the lower section of his face with his hand, and

exchanged a nervous glance with Jeryn, who simply slammed the intercom

off without bothering to respond.

. . . .

On the landing pad, Jeryn’s security detail quietly watched the

shuttle break through the thin clouds in the distance. The Governor’s entire

security force consisted of only a few dozen members, and although

Alkowitz had called for everyone, only eleven of them stood gathered on

the narrow walkway connecting the building to its poorly-maintained landing platform. The tall double doors to the office slowly creaked opened, and

Governor Jeryn stepped out onto the walkway, nervously fidgeting with the

uppermost fasteners of his jacket. His eyes quickly locked onto the rapidly

approaching shuttle. Its two large wings folded upwards as it decelerated

and slowly lowered itself onto the pad. The ancient metal supports creaked

as it touched down. Jeryn winced. The unsightly wings stood perpendicular

to the ground, creating a towering figure over his office. The sunset

projected Its shadow to the doorway and beyond, casting him and his men in darkness.

Jeryn took a step back and motioned towards his guards. Two of

them cautiously approached the

Rapture. It sat on the pad, motionless. Its

engines powered off, leaving nothing but the gentle hissing of hydrolysis

resetting and various mechanical whirs as components of the shuttle

winded down.

The underside hatch of the craft shuttered open and paused for a

brief moment, before slowly lowering itself to meet the deck of the landing

pad. It touched down on the rugged permacrete surface with a low thud.

Jeryn’s guards waited, their aged wooden-stocked blasters lazily pointed in

the general direction of the ship.

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The frontmost guard, bearing a worn Sergeant rank on his uniform,

slowly approached the lowered ramp, clumsily motioning with his off hand

for his squad to follow. He craned his neck at an uncomfortable angle,

attempting to peer up the sloped ramp and into the shuttle’s hull. A sharp

noise halted the guards. From the top of the ramp, a tiny metallic canister

bounced down towards the landing pad. The Sergeant wheeled back towards his squad in panic and began to shout, but he was drowned out by

the deafening blast from the stun grenade. A flash of light accompanied the

explosion, blinding the unprepared guards. Stumbling about from the

shock, several dropped their blasters to clutch at their ears and eyes.

Before they could recover from what happened, the frontmost guards

were cut down by a wave of blaster fire from the squad of stormtroopers

that came barreling out of the craft. A dozen poured from the shuttle, one

fireteam broke to the right, another went left, encircling the landing pad. The squad leader tossed another stun grenade into the air as he ran off the

ramp. The secondary blast only further cemented the helplessness of the

outnumbered guards. The stormtroopers, seemingly unaffected by the

grenades, continued to pick off the remaining stunned defenders. Several

of them fell from the high-perched landing pad in confused panic while

others were blasted into submission. The blaster fire ceased. With no

further resistance, the stormtrooper squad fanned out around the landing

pad and assumed a security posture. The entire operation was conducted swiftly and with breakneck efficiency. The squad leader approached Jeryn,

who was cowering half-blinded on the walkway, and heaved him to his feet.

Shoving his blaster into Jeryn’s side, he walked him towards the shuttle.

Jeryn could just barely make out a new figure descending from the shuttle’s

ramp.

“Forgive me for the mess!” Captain bolstered across the landing pad

with a slight chuckle, stepping over the body of one of the guards. “My men

had a lot of new gear they were anxious to try out. You must be Governor

Jeryn.” Petris said removing his gloves and offering his hand out to the

governor. Jeryn angrily glared through the grenade’s afterimage at blurred

shape in front of him. Petris retracted his hand.

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“Governor Jeryn, I find myself to be a reasonable man, but I warn

you not to test my patience.” He said as he stepped closer to the governor.

With a quick thrust, Petris landed a solid punch into the portly governor’s

side, directly below the ribs. The governor collapsed and gasped for air.

“You see, I value manners and respect. It is something we are going

to have a little talk about in your office.” Petris said as the governor struggled to his feet. “Come, let us walk,” he gestured towards the doorway

and grinned. “We have much to accomplish and so little time to do so.”

The squad of stormtroopers in their sleek armor accompanied them

down the walkway, monitoring the surroundings of the city and office with

the heads up displays in their helmets. Petris left two of them posted

outside as the door closed on the setting sun behind them.

Inside the office, Petris assumed the governor’s desk and sat in his

chair. He swiped his finger across its tabletop, accumulating a thin film of dust. The entire office was dusty from corner to corner, poorly lit, and

clearly not kept to any sort of decent standard. Jeryn stood facing Petris,

still in shock at what had just transpired, nervously making eye contact with

the stormtroopers in the room as he sweated profusely.

“So, tell me governor.” Petris said has he reclined in the chair. “Why

is it that when a vessel of the First Order enters your system, you don’t

even bother to hail us?” Petris asked with an irritated tone.

“This here’s an independent system, y’all have no jurisdiction here. Attacking our station that's an act of wa-”

“Here!” Petris slammed his fist on the table, startling Jeryn, “...is why I

think it happened,” he continued. He stared directly into the governor's

eyes. “You have a lack of respect, manners, and intelligence. Luckily for

you, these are all fixable.” He moved his gaze towards the unkept desk.

“You can tell a lot about a man simply by how he keeps his desk.” He said

rubbing his fingertips together to remove the dust. “So, respect. When one

of our vessels enters your system, you hail them. Is that clear?”

The governor only looked on angrily at Petris.

“You can take your ship and your slouch-bag crew and go to hell!” He

spat back.

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“My good governor, I suggest you change your tone before you lose

more than your decrepit space station. Which brings me to my next point,

manners. Only when you are spoken to, do you speak, and when one

speaks, it ought to be polite and professional.” Petris said as he gestured to

one of the stormtroopers, who swiftly pounded the butt of their rifle into the

governor’s back, knocking him to the ground.“So, let’s try this again.” Petris said as he leaned forward to the see

the governor on the floor before the desk. “When another First Order vessel

enters the system, what are you going to do?”

“Do you really think y’all are going to get away with this? Once the

Republic Senate hears of this, you’re through. You’re violating the treaty

of-”

“That meaningless treaty,” The governor was again cut off, “no longer

applies here Governor. You are now under my jurisdiction. This is the reality you now live in, and I suggest you come to terms with it. Now, I see

we are still struggling with the manners lesson, yes? Not to worry, I’m here

to teach after all.” Petris’ lips curled into demented smile as he pointed his

index finger skywards.

Petris leaned back again in the governor’s chair and withdrew a small

comlink from his jacket pocket.

“Commander Tomasul come in.” He requested.

“Sir, Cataclysm standing by.” Tomasul responded.“How are things going up there my friend?” Petris asked with a

cheeky tone.

“Uneventful Sir, the governor’s ships haven’t responded to the

damaged vessels, nor have any approached the

Cataclysm thus far.” He

answered.

“Good, very good.” Petris looked into the governor’s fearful eyes,

“Commander I need to ask a favor of you.” he asked.

“Of course, Sir.”

“I need you to fire two of our BLS-8 torpedoes into target grid

Echo-Five-Delta-Three if you please,” Petris asked as the governor’s eyes

opened widely whilst he slouched in a cold sweat.

“Weapons hot, Sir.” The commander responded.

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Petris lowered his comlink and spun the chair around to face the

window behind him. He invited the governor to his side, and motioned his

hand towards the outlook on the city. Two small lights darted down from the

sky with a crackle and struck a target less than a mile away with great

force. The loud explosions rattled the office, sending flames and smoke

shooting high into the sky and reduced nearly a dozen buildings to burning rubble.

Petris turned the chair to face the governor.

“I am going to try this one last time, Governor, and I dearly hope to

hear an answer that I like, or else I am going to level the rest of your

pathetic city. When one of our vessels enters orbit, what are you going to

do?” Asked a testy and perturbed Petris.

“Hail them! We’ll hail them! Please stop this, we did nothing to you! If

it’s salts ya’ll want just take ‘em!” The governor pleaded with great panic.“Good!” Petris’s smile immediately returned and he gave a single

cheerful clap with his hands. “Progress. I have no interest in your worthless

sand, Governor. Now, discipline. When I give you orders, I expect you to

follow them. Your refusal would be most, unwise.” he said examining the

troubled governor. Petris paused for a moment, a disappointed frown

crossed his face. He leaned uncomfortably close to Jeryn and stared in

silence. Jeryn’s eyes worriedly darted around Petris, trying to read his

expression.“I’m sorry,” Petris finally said, “but I also must point out that, that thing on your face, that mustache. It’s obnoxious and unbecoming of you.

Anyway, I digress. I trust that I have made my point clear on discipline, Mr.

Jeryn?”

The governor shook his head slowly as he grasped his desk from the

floor, looking out to the burning section of his city.

“Times, Governor. They are changing and rapidly. So I suggest you

adapt, or you will be overtaken by them.” Petris said as he took to his feet,

and withdrew a small device from his jacket. “On this datapad is a list of

instructions for you. The planetary and city access codes I need, economic

and communications information, and some other small tasks that need to

be completed.” Petris slid the datapad across the desk. “I understand that

you're a busy man, Governor, so I will give you until the end of tomorrow to

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accomplish all of this. I think you understand what will happen if you are

late, correct?” Petris asked with narrowed eyes, and as his fingers slowly

tapped the desk.

The governor nodded as he slowly brought his eyes to bear on the

datapad.

“Good, so you have regained some of your intelligence too. I believe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship after all. We are going to get

along just fine, Governor.” Petris said as he patted the governor’s back.

“When.. how long are.. were ya’ll going to stay?” The governor asked

as he stumbled over his words looking out the window towards the burning

buildings.

“As long as it is necessary, “Petris said as he readied himself for

departure. “The Order has fantastic plans for your world, Governor. It’s the

dawn of a new era, and it starts here in this very office! I shall await your transmission, once I have that information, we can go from there.” Petris

strolled towards the office door and motioned at his stormtroopers, who

began to file out. “Until next time, then. Good evening, Governor.” The

empowered officer tipped his cap and marched out of the room. The last

two stormtroopers at the door followed him out, leaving Jeryn alone on the

office floor.

. . . .

Petris’ shuttle gracefully entered the port side hangar of the

Cataclysm, the stormtroopers disembarked first, gathering their gear and

clearing their weapons. Petris watched over them as they departed, and

made his way down the ramp to find Commander Tomasul at its foot.

“I trust the evening went as planned, Sir?” The commander asked.

“I believe the planet is ready to serve the First Order’s needs and the

governor properly readied to play his part in all of this.” Petris handed over

an encrypted datapad to Tomasul. “Here is my report, please forward this

to General Hux at once, and inform him that the table is set .”

“Right away, Sir.” Tomasul offered a nod and made his way to the

turbolift.

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Petris remained in the hangar a moment longer, and observed the

many craft that now filled it. He watched the busy workers tend to their

duties, the shined deck plating of the hangar floor, the newly stocked

landing craft and the new TIE fighters which filled the racks.

We are ready ,

Petris thought to himself. He turned and marched off to his turbolift.

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Chapter Two: Deception and Truth

Hot steam filled the room as Petris exited his refresher, covered in his

black bath robes, he headed towards his personal lounge. On the center

table many datapads were stacked on top of each other. Most were historical texts, some fact, some fiction. He picked up the uppermost pad in

the stack and reclined back into one of his large sleek couches. He was in

the process of reading

Shadows of the Morning Mist . The piece was nearly

a century old, dated back to the times of the Old Republic, centered around

a conflict known as the Stark Hyperspace War.

The story centered on the crew of the

Tabalius, a vessel in the

Republic’s Outland Regions Security Force, O.R.S.F. for short, and its

actions during the brief but crucial conflict. The

Tabalius was a Wayland-class Cruiser, one of the many small maroon red vessels under

the command of the late venerable Ranulph Tarkin. The

Tabalius took part

in the Qotile Campaign, it was ultimately destroyed in the final battle of the

war, and crash landed on the surface of Qotile itself. The ship’s crew had to

survive for three days until they were rescued by the Jedi and O.R.S.F.

forces following the defeat of the Stark Combine, a large outer-rim

mercenary army funded and lead by Laco Stark.

Petris’ favorite character was Commander Creel, the first officer of the

Tabalius. Its Captain was killed in the crash and Creel was forced to

take command of the remaining forty-three survivors. For three days and

two nights, Combine infantry forces attempted to overrun the crash site.

Petris had always believed it was thanks to Creel’s use of strategy,

courage, and discipline that the crew survived. Creel was a titan among

men. In the battle he was wounded twice but his unwavering attention to

detail

allowed his force to prevail. He was easily a personal favorite of

Petris’. His exceptional service earned him some of the Old Republic’s

highest military commendations, and he has long since served as an

inspiration to officers in many militaries since.

Above all else, the Stark Hyperspace War was one that had always

caught Petris’ eye. Primarily this was because it was a very different war

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from those that had come before it, and a very ironic conflict in the eyes of

the historian. The forces of the “core worlds” and the “Republic”, allied with

the Jedi and other commercial entities, embarked upon a crusade to

destroy The Combine, an organization founded on the premise that the

Republic was extorting the people of the outer-rim worlds. Ironically, many

of these same commercial entities would be at war with the Republic several decades later in the Clone Wars, for much the same reason that

the Stark Combine was. To bring it full circle, again those same entities and

groups would be in league with the Rebellion once the Republic became

the Empire, and fought to reinstate the same Republic they tried to destroy

in the previous war.

Everything from the tactics used to the political circumstances and

parties involved was unorthodox and difficult to understand. It was a very

small conflict in the outer regions of the galaxy, but its implications were massive and in many ways sparked the fire that allowed the Clone Wars,

and everything that followed, to transpire. Everything centered around

conflict and instability between the core worlds of the Republic and the

outer sectors of the galaxy.

The door to Petris’ quarters chimed.

“Come in.” Petris shouted towards the computer panel on his wall.

Knowing it was one of three people allowed to visit is personal quarters, he

needed not ask who it was.“Sorry to bother you, Sir, but I have word from General Hux.” Said

Commander Tomasul as he stood in the doorway.

“Come in, Tomasul, please come in.” Petris offered as he extended

his hands to one of the chairs in the lounge area. “Would you care for a

drink?” He asked.

“No thank you, Sir. I was going to retire to my quarters shortly, but I

have a message for you.” Tomasul replied as he took a seat in the lounge.

“Well, I am sure you don’t mind then.” Petris said taking to his feet as

his eyes locked on to the bar.

To the side of the room was his small personal bar, a well kept and

well used facility of his. Petris mixed together a quick concoction of mind

altering chemicals and returned to a clearly anxious Tomasul. “Alright

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Commander, you look nervous to tell me, so let’s hear it out, my friend.” He

said, fully aware of what the contents of the message would likely be.

“Sir, General Hux reports that the roast is simmering?” Tomasul said

with a confused tone.

Petris burst out in laughter, nearly choking on his drink, both at the

official wording of the message and the look on Tomasul’s face.“You have no idea what’s going on do you my friend?” Petris asked

with a chuckle.

“Frankly, Sir, no, not behind the scenes. I know it's not my prerogative

to ask, but is this some kind of new code speak to keep the Republic from

understanding what is going on even if they are monitoring our

transmissions?” He asked.

“Of sorts.” Petris said with a smile as he recomposed himself and

drank from his cup.“Sir, I mean no offense but I feel I must remind you that the planetary

communication networks are still active. Even if the Republic can’t

understand the meaning of our communications, someone on the planet or

one of the ships in orbit could relay a message to them that we are here.”

Tomasul said with a small degree of stress.

“Yes, yes. This is all very true. You need not be concerned about it,

my very astute Commander.” Petris said as he took another sip of the

drink.“But Sir, I must object. Our position could be far too easily

compromised. At least allow me to establish several patrol lanes around

the planet to police and monitor incoming and outgoing vessels, perhaps

we should deploy some regional transmission jammers?” Tomasul asked

as he sat forward on his chair.

“I am afraid not, Commander, but I deeply appreciate your dedication

to our security.” Petris said dismissively.

“But Sir, this is against standard protocol, I mus-” Tomasul was cut

off.

“You are a very intelligent and a very capable officer Tomasul, you

will make a fine fleet captain one day.” He paused and drank from the glass

again. “But, today I can see there is no fooling you, perhaps I should bring

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you up to speed on the situation, if for nothing else, to keep your strategic

head from imploding.” Petris said laughingly as he motioned his free hand’s

fingers outward mimicking an explosion of one’s head.

Tomasul relaxed, loosened his collar, and sat back in his chair as the

stress caused by the unorthodox practices of their mission began to wane

from his body ever so slightly.“We are engaged in a tricky dance of deception with our Republic

brethren here, the truth is, everyone is lying-” he paused to let his words

sink in “-to themselves or to someone else. The question is, who will blink

first?” Petris gave an inquisitive look to Tomasul as he took another sip.

“To those with gifted foresight, and perhaps an ounce of intelligence,

another conflict is inevitable, as is the fact that some of these so called new

Republic senators would quickly jump ship if another, more powerful,

governance alternative was presented. The First Order is that alternative, Commander.” Petris placed his drink down on his table.

“A new war is dawning whether the galaxy wants it or not, right now

we are simply trying to create an advantage for ourselves by exposing the

Republic for violating its own principles, it’s own code of law and moral

understanding. To put it in simpler terms, to give some fire to the flame of

the dissenters within the Senate, those fed up with the bureaucratic

nonsense that cripples their every move.” Petris explained.

“So, by attacking these non-aligned and neutral worlds, even the likes of which no one really cares about politically, we hope to garner the

Republic’s attention, or some other parties attention? Wouldn’t that make

us in violation of the treaty first?” Tomasul asked.

“Not quite, Commander, our agents believe that the Senate,

knowingly or otherwise, is propping up a new secret military force of some

kind. They are resourceful and not to be underestimated, perhaps they’d

like to mount a pre-emptive strike against us if the opportunity presented

itself. Infact, we plan to give them such an opportunity.” Petris sat back with

a wide smile, he found Tomasul’s perturbed face amusing.

“They are but the bleeding hearts of the galaxy, they will not sit by

and simply allow this chaos to happen here, this infringement of so called

rights.They fully intend to ignite a war, but in doing so jolt the political

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advantage to their cause, and finish off the last of the so called imperial

remnant.” Petris said as he downed the last of his drink.

“A new theatre of war is developing, a theatre of smoke and mirrors.

This war will be one fought in the abstract by the unreal. The galaxy will

ease back under our control once they see the washed up former rebellion

is unable to protect them. Ironically enough, most of the Senate has no loyalty to the extremists that formed their pathetic Republic. Eventually

order will need to be established over the chaos and the stupidity they are

allowing to perpetuate at a staggering rate. An orderly society will be

needed, one not plagued by the corruption or the strategic impotence of the

past.”

“I see, Sir. So our part to play in this is? I mean in this, this ruse? I’m

assuming you mean to tell me that we are supposed to be the bait?”

Tomasul asked.“We are but the first act, my friend. With what better way than to

garner the attention of a hero then with blatant acts of violence? A

destroyed station, an invaded planet, a rogue captain with enough

firepower to destroy countless worlds? We open with such attacks, subtle

but important enough to get the attention of certain eyes that we seek to be

seen by.” Petris explained.

“So we are to get their attention then, Sir? The attention of the

senators who would push for the creation of something like a secret fleet or a preemptive strike beyond their borders, with or without the approval of the

Senate?” Tomasul jumped in.

“Exactly! And before they arrive, we will deliberately leave certain

holes, holes that will allow for a disgruntled and terrified governor to call for

help.” Petris explained.

“Which will then bring the new military forces of the Republic to

liberate them, acting officially or un-officially in the name of the Republic,

and plan to use it as a rallying cry for their cause.” Tomasul caught on.

“Which then exposes them, to us and to the rest of the galaxy.

Without the Jedi to protect them, they won’t stand a chance against our

new fleets, our new fleets that they know nothing about. Imagine that, an

open and deliberate violation committed by the Republic. The treaty is

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already all but void, this will ensure it’s last lines are erased and our Order’s

war machine will press forward unabridged by galactic politics. We will win

over countless sectors before the first shots between us are even fired,

dividing this so called Republic at its core and rendering their government

useless.” Petris explained.

“And this new secret military responding to the cries for help, I assume, we are to ambush them with whatever General Hux is

simmering ?” Tomasul guessed.

Petris nodded with a wide, disturbing smile.

“Whoever they are, when they arrive, they will find an oppressed

world ripe for liberating. We plan to showcase the Order on the galactic

stage as saviours of the civilized galaxy once they have arrived to

free the

planet.” Petris paused. “When they arrive, this is what they will see, this is

how they will think, and that is what they will do. I assure you, the plan will work, and the Republic will be in chaos before the battle is over.”

“So, what is the roast then, Sir?”

“That my friend, you will have to wait and see, some secrets are

better kept until the end.” Petris replied, taking a moment to look over

Tomasul to assure him that they were on the same page.

“Very well then Sir, I will retire to my quarters now.” The commander

said with heavy sigh and took to his feet. Petris stopped him before he

reached the door.“Commander.” He fetched.

“Sir?” Tomasul turned around.

“Would you please send back my reply, either tonight or tomorrow,

there’s no rush. But ask him please, which meal he intends to serve?

Breakfast, midday, or supper? I am hungry here, after all.” He asked.

Tomasul nodded with a hint of ambivalence towards the tacky

demeanor and cheeky humor employed by his superior, but nevertheless

he intended to carry it out word per word as instructed.

Petris turned back to his datapads as Tomasul exited the room. He

read down to the bottom of the last page of the book, he paused as he

re-read the final lines at the base of the story’s completion

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“Each day, out of the bleak morning mist, they poured in, out of the

fog they raged, the savage and murderous hordes. Bravery and hope alone

could not save us. Brutality, training, discipline, and above all else, order

were the factors of our salvation and my truest of my faiths then, and

now...”

Petris was deeply satisfied with the conclusion, for it represented the

core of his elementary functions and beliefs as an officer, and nothing was

more applicable in instruction than the writings of those who thought like

him.

. . . .

Petris awoke to an early morning, as he always did. Drinking his hot caf he walked off the turbolift and onto the bridge. He collected his daily

tabloid of overnight reports and updates from his staff officers as he made

his way to the viewports of the bridge.

Over the years, Petris had developed a keen sense of command,

tactical awareness, and near extrasensory perception of the battlespace, all

of which grew stronger and stronger as he progressed in his career. He

built upon his experiences and used them to not just better judge the

conditions of his mission, but the environment around him. Petris sat his hot caf down on the frame of the frontal viewport, he looked out into the

blackness of space.

He turned around to the lower right pit.

“Helm. Is there anything, odd, on our sensors?” He asked, tuning his

head to the side but not away from the viewport.

“Negative Sir, scope’s clean.” A helmsman responded.

Petris’ gaze turned to the front viewport, he placed his arms down on

its frame. The emptiness of space before him, something troubled him

deeply about it. Something was wrong. He felt as if the stars were staring

back at him, something from a great distance was stalking him intently. It

wasn’t looking for anything else on the moon, the planet, or the ship, it was

him, and him alone. He contemplated the feeling that was flooding his

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system and invading his soul. A cold wave slowly moved from his chest out

towards his limbs. He couldn’t find words to explain it, but nevertheless it

was there. Petris closed his eyes as his mind traveled outwards, beyond

the system. He could feel a low rumble, an icy shudder in the space around

him. Something was taking hold of his body from the inside out. Suddenly

and profoundly, there, in the darkness before him, in a flash of clarity he could see it, he could feel it.

“Sir!” A helmsman cried out.

Petris’ eyes shot open and snapped back to the lower right pit.

“We have contact coming in point three-five, it’s coming in right on top

of us, four seconds!” The helmsman spat out as he hurriedly punched in

commands to his console transmitting them to the weapon and crew

stations across the ship. The crew darted to their stations as a rapid flurry

of communications flew across the bridge.“Hold your fire!” Petris ordered with just enough time to spare.

A small vessel came barreling out of hyperspace, it was painted in

dark colors and was triangular in shape. It was far too small to be a

destroyer or cruiser, but it was definitely reminiscent of imperial design.

“Sir, the vessel is transmitting a verification code!” One crewman

exclaimed.

“Weapons hot! Shields are up! Dorsal teams locked” Another one of

the crewman said.Petris looked over the vessel a mere moment, and he made his way

to one of the communication stations at the rear of the bridge. He observed

the communication key code sent by the vessel hovering above.

No, he

thought to himself as he recognized the code and his worst fears were

realized. It brought him a wave of anxiety, it was the introduction of an

extremely unstable and unpredictable element into his battle space. The

timing of this arrival could not have been worse for him, and nothing about

it seemed right, especially after his experience at the front viewport just

prior.

. . . .

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Petris and a small entourage assembled in the port hangar of the

Cataclysm, the delta shaped vessel moved into the hangar. Its side wings

folded up and into the main body of the craft as its landing gear deployed. It

was very sleek in design, its weapon ports concealed within the vessel,

deployed externally by hardpoints. A boarding ramp extended out one of

the upward angled sides. The doors slid open as steam hissed out of the exhaust ports.

Petris made his way to the ramp, and tugged his officer’s uniform to

ensure a tight fit. He looked up to the ramp, and stood firm.

The figure, dressed in sleek armor partially concealed by a black

tunic, stepped down the ramp with a series of heavy thuds.

“Welcome to the Cataclysm.” Petris said, decidedly unhappy.

“Captain Petris, the true cataclysm has yet to begin.” She said in a

cold and metallically covered voice as she descended to the deck. Covered from head to toe, she concealed her face behind a sharp and angular black

mask, its faceplate bisected by a dull metal cover and layered in thin sheets

of black durasteel. A neck guard fanned out across back side of the helmet

and several silver vertical lines graced its brow. One hand rested on her

utility belt as the other brushed aside a flap of her excess robes. Her most

striking feature, however, was the barely visible hilt of a lightsaber attached

to her belt.

“Onda Ren, what brings you to Dibora VII?” Petris asked as he turned.

“The same reason you are here, Captain.” She said as she entered a

quick stride immediately upon making contact with the hangar deck. Her

walk was elegant but powerful, her robes gusted in the air behind her. “I

have a task I must see to on the planet before you are done with it, it’s

critical it be completed.” She stated without turning to look at Petris, almost

as if giving an implied task or an order behind her words.

Petris remained silent as he walked beside her.

“I will require a detachment of your best soldiers. You will have them

back before it’s time.” She explained.

“Very well, I shall make the preparations for you.” Petris begrudgingly

obliged.

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“Good.” She said as they walked. “No one will be able to stop us this

time.”

“What of the rumored resistance forces? Those same forces that

could be on their way here, even now?” Petris inquired.

“The disorganized and pathetic forces of the Republic do not concern

me, Captain, they are not the real threat here.” She continued her powerful stride into the turbolift.

“Forgive me, but what is then?” Petris retorted, taken aback by the

suggestion and momentarily filled with concern.

Sensing that Petris’ mind was more attuned to such things then she

remembered, Onda paused a moment before she responded. In that brief

moment, Petris’ mind swelled with thoughts of betrayal, deception,

discontent, and above all else, a strange eire of pain, but not from himself.

“There is no time to explain Captain. I must prepare for my mission. We leave in two hours, update me as the situation planetside unfolds.”

“As you wish.” Petris offered a slight bow of respect as the lift doors

closed.

Petris grinded his teeth, both out of frustration and out of concern, as

he turned to one of the senior officers of his entourage.

“Prepare first platoon for deployment, and make sure Sergeant Falix

stops by my quarters before they leave.” Petris ordered as he looked back

upon the hangar bay.“Yes, Sir.” The officer acknowledged, but stayed as if he had more to

say.

“Is there something else, Lt. Commander Mortis?” Petris asked.

“Sir, are we going to simply let them just come onboard and run the

ship like this?” The Lt. Commander asked with a disturbed face.

“The Ren, they are nothing but a minor inconvenience, and an ever

increasingly temporary one at that, I promise you.” Petris responded with

disgust.

The commander proceeded on with his tasks, Petris found himself

deeply caught up in his thoughts.

What could be so important as to garner

the attention of the Knights of Ren? Why here? Why now? What real

threat?

No answer he could find suited him, he was a man of total control.

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His new passenger represented a challenge to that, and moreover posed a

threat to the completion of his mission. Petris lived by a series of simple

rules. One such was that he never trusted anyone or any group with more

secrets than it had members.

The calculations and the possibilities flooded his mind, the answers

he needed remained comfortably out of his grasp as he began his intentionally long walk back to the bridge.

. . . .

Sergeant Falix, the ranking NCO of first platoon made his way down

the corridor. He passed many troopers conducting their daily fitness

training regiments across the ship. They ran down the hallways in loops,

dressed in their tight white and black jumpsuits. Normally he would be with them, but today his duties carried him elsewhere, adorned in his new armor

and brandishing a bright orange shoulder pad.

As he rode the turbolift to his destination, he mulled over the mission

he was given, and how much it bothered him. The ride was too short as he

arrived outside the Captain's quarters and positioned himself between the

two door guards. He slid his hand to the side panel, and rang the door

chime.

“Enter!” Was shouted from inside, and the door slid open.“Sir, you wanted to see me?” His voice growled as he entered the

room, standing tall and stiff.

“Ah, Sergeant Falix. Yes, I wanted to talk to you about your mission

before you head off.” Petris said as he made his way to the door.

“Good. I don’t like going into things blind, Sir.” Falix said with a tight

jaw and stern look of agitation.

Petris took a moment to look over Falix. Past his aged face and

assortment of scars, he could see the Sergeant was visibly more angry

than him about the situation.

“You seem troubled, Sergeant Falix. Our new guest has you

unnerved, has she?” Petris inquired.

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“Sir, I was at Endor, I was at Jakku. Don’t fool yourself. Their kind

isn’t to be trusted.” Falix said, his gazed fixed on the bulkhead on the

opposite side of the room. “They’ll have us all killed in an instant if it suited

them.”

“You think she’s sending you into a suicide mission, then?” Petris

asked.“Unknown.” Falix said sharply. “I think it would have been better if you

just destroyed her vessel when it exited hyperspace and called it an

accident, Sir.” Falix said angrily.

“You hate them that much, do you?” Petris asked, as he leaned his

body against the nearest wall.

“Sir, with all due respect, you couldn’t understand why, you don’t

know what I’ve seen. They are obsessed with a dead, pathetic, arrogant

entity. None of them knew him like I did, none of them knew how his kind operated. They want to be just like him.” Falix’s words seethed with anger.

“If they succeed in doing so, they will bring us to our knees just like

before. The Sith destroyed the Empire. One way or another we are going to

have to kill them all. It’s either going to be us or them. The Jedi, Sith, Ren,

all of them are the same damn thing.” Falix said as he looked directly to

Petris’ face. “And the way I see it, the sooner the better. Just give me the

order.”

“I share no love for the Ren either, Sergeant. However, they have proven most useful in dealing with the Jedi problem, without them we could

not have wiped out their order. Unfortunately, Supreme Overlord Snoke still

sees some sort of value in this

partnership, sadly it is a fact that we must

accept. Even if it is only for the time being. However, I do fully agree. With

the Jedi gone, there is little use for them.” Petris explained.

Sergeant Falix simply grunted in response, with a slight twitch in his

eye.

“I’m sending you because you are our best, and whatever the reason

that brought them here, it has to be important. More so, I need someone I

can trust to keep an eye on our guest, fill me in on what is happening.”

Falix nodded and understood his implied task.

“Is that all, Sir?” Falix asked with bitter disdain.

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“Yes, I’m sorry that this ordeal is a struggle for you, Sergeant.” Petris

offered as Falix turned to leave.

“We’ll have justice for what they’ve done one day, Sir. I know we will.”

“Retribution, Sergeant.” A slow and wicked smile crawled across

Petris’ face. “It is coming...” He in an unnervingly cheerful tone.

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Chapter 3: Darkness At Sunrise

Petris watched from the bridge as two assault landers departed the

Cataclysm with an escort of black TIE fighters and headed towards the

planet. His arms clasped firmly behind him, as per usual.“Tomasul!” Petris fetched.

“Sir?” The Commander asked as he came up from the rear.

“This unfortunate surprise has tampered with the good flow of things

considerably. We are going to have to move ahead with our plans.” Petris

said as he pondered the next step and the effects it would have on the

mission. “Please inform General Hux that an urgent complication has

arisen, and we are advancing to phase three immediately.”

Tomasul nodded, and made his way to the private communication room at the rear of the bridge.

“Ensign, patch me through to Governor Jeryn’s office on direct

comms, please.” Petris asked.

“Right away, Sir.” One of the lower pit helmsman responded.

Petris walked to one side of the control panels where he keyed in his

access code. The holo-communication terminal activated and began to dial

in on the governor’s office. An image of the portly governor appeared on

the screen. The ancient transmitter from his end meshed poorly with the Cataclysm’s advanced communications equipment, and his unkempt image

was covered in artifacts and distortions.

“Captain?” He murmured, his voice barely audible through his

dilapidated transmitter.

“Prepare for my arrival, Governor, I will be down shortly.” Petris

responded.

“I’ll have the landing pad readied fo-”

“No need, my good governor,” Petris interrupted, “it would take far, far

too long this time.” He cut off the communications abruptly.

“Helm! Bring us around to three point two four, low orbital entry slide,

full thrusters ahead! Begin port side rotation at point seven-three, impact

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level seven.” Petris ordered as the ship began to shift position and the crew

bustled around their stations.

“Lock all hatches, intensify inertial dampeners and ready sub-orbital

flaps.” He turned to face the bridge viewport as he unclipped his internal

communication comlink. The slow warning alarm sounded as the

Cataclysm thundered through space, it’s wedge shaped bow pointed directly at the defenseless planet below. “All hands, this is the Captain

speaking, prepare for atmospheric entry.”

. . . .

Governor Jeryn nervously paced around his office. Law Minister

Alkowitz sat in the chair before his desk.

“What do they want now?!” Jeryn barked.“It just ain’t right Jeryn, but it also don’t make no sense.” Alkowitz

paused a moment, “the loss of life aboard the station was pretty heavy,

over a-thousand at least. We ain't done nothing to warrant this. We gotta do

something, but what can we do?” Alkowitz said hesitantly.

“And over a-hundred more in that residential zone that burned down,

“Jeryn said submissively.

“What choice do we got though, they ain’t gonna listen to anything we

got to say, that’s for sure.” Alkowitz added. “Obviously we can’t let them get away with this. Back in my day it was simpler, you could always count on

the Alliance to help ya, but them days are long gone.” He commemorated.

Jeryn looked up at the old man as he pondered the best way to

survive the meeting that was to come.

“These guys though, they might be worse than the Empire, they come

in and do whatever they please, it’s reckless, it don’t seem to have a

purpose, at least not one that I reckon. If only I was younger… if only the

Alliance was still around, we could’a asked them for support.” The old man

said as he looked to the ground and shifted his feet around on the dusty

floor.

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“What options do we have, Alkowitz? How many men can we

muster? What kind’a stockpiles your boys have laying around?” Jeryn

asked as he continued to pace around in a panicked state.

Alkowitz frowned and shook his head, all at once implying that any

kind of armed resistance was futile.

“I used to know an officer in the Alliance when I was younger, helped him out a time or two, Lieutenant Osborne, we grew up together on Nomax

Prime.” He said attentively.

“Is it possible for you to reach him?” Jeryn asked as he attempted to

settle himself by sitting down.

“I haven’t heard from the bastard in a very long time. I doubt he’s still

alive. Even if he were, what difference would it make? This new Republic

don’t have the military power the Alliance did,” the old man explained as he

waved his hand away in dismissal. “Just galactic police now, half-assed ones at that.” The two looked at each other for a brief moment before Jeryn

turned his gaze to the windows behind them.

“Well, we gotta tell them what’s happening here, it’s the only shot we

have.” Jeryn said before he opened a small drawer in his desk and

withdrew a data chip. “On this here is a recording of the station’s

destruction, the bombardment, the ship in orbit, and the files they

requested. Do ya know someone we can trust to get this delivered and

quickly?” Jeryn placed the datachip in Alkowitz’s hand. A subtle boom echoed across the sky. Jeryn shot to his feet, fearing

another bombardment. After exchanging a terrified final glance with

Alkowitz, he bolted out of his office towards the landing pad. The ageing

law minister struggled to keep pace behind him. Jeryn pushed himself

through the automatic doors to the pad almost faster than they could open,

and scanned the horizon, but saw no damage to the surrounding city

scape. Before he could breathe a sigh of relief, a low rumble began to

build, but from where he couldn’t tell. The rumble turned into a slow, dull

metallic moan, as it grew louder and louder. Looking from side to side, he

could not make sense of the situation. Alkowitz finally stumbled outside

behind him, also perplexed by the noise drowning out the bustle in the

streets.

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Jeryn saw the ground beneath him darken. A shadow edged around

his office building, and had fully consumed him. A massive, triangular

shadow.

“Holy hell.” Jeryn gawked when he finally looked up. A large portion

of the city was now encompassed in the shadow of the

Cataclysm as the

bow of the behemoth moved over the city from the direction of the rising sun. The ground shook as the vessel slowed, the roar of the ship’s

magnetic anchors filled the air. Still nearly a thousand meters above the

city, the

Cataclysm eclipsed the sun completely. Jeryn peeked over the

edge of the platform to witness a massive crowd gathering in the streets.

The nearby rooftops slowly began to fill with more confused citizens who

gathered to watch the spectacle unfold.

“I have no idea ho-” Alkowitz was cut off by the distinctive engine

screech let off by a pair of black TIE fighters. They swept alarmingly close over the governor’s office before veering off to buzz another set of rooftops

in a low pass. Alkowitz covered his ears. “I have no idea how we can reach

any Alliance folk, but I think I know someone who can at least get the word

out!” Alkowitz said as he attempted to shout over the raucous above.

“Who?” Jeryn asked loudly as the ship’s engines and subsequent

landing craft continued to roar over the city.

“A smuggler we have frequent problems with. If anyone can get away

from these bastards now, it’s him!”“Go! Find him and go!” Jeryn said as swarms of TIE fighter squadrons

and landing shuttles began to fill the skies above them. “Now!”

Alkowitz gave a quick nod, and hurried inside to the turbolift. Jeryn

silently watched him leave, before turning his eyes skyward again. His

frown grew even deeper as he saw Petris’ white shuttle pass overhead and

fold its wings. He briefly contemplated running for his blaster, but he knew

that would only delay the inevitable. He hedged his bets and readied

himself for what may be his final hour as Governor.

. . . .

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Alkowitz made his way to the local jail as fast as his old legs would

allow. The jail was only a few blocks away from the governor’s office, yet

the age of his body made it feel like an eternity. The excruciating pain from

his jog quickly made him wish he had a speeder to transport himself on.

The streets were busier than Alkowitz had ever seen. Waves of

directionless citizens frantically swept past him, desperately seeking some kind, any kind, of escape or shelter from the monstrosities towering

overhead. Options that Alkowitz knew did not exist. Wesigway’s limited

assemblage of deputies attempted to maintain order, but were soon

overrun by the calamitous hordes of panicked crowds.

Alkowitz knew that if the First Order was even half as brutal as the

previous Empire, many of these citizens would not survive this ordeal.

After what seemed to be miles of wrestling through the stampede in

the streets, Alkowitz finally reached his destination. He opened the door to the jail in a fury. Alkowitz passed through and shut it with a slam. Wasting

no time, he grabbed the arm of the guard who was on duty at the entrance

and ushered him to follow. The two stormed their way into one of the small

cell block areas of the basement and down to the far end of a cell corridor.

He brushed past the other guards as he made his way to cellblock ten.

“Old Alky? What brings you down here to visit me? Seems like it’s

been forever since I’ve had the pleasure of seeing your crusty face.” The

young and smug Dorn Kepler asked as he sat on his folded out bunk behind duranium bars and watched Alkowitz move with haste. His dark skin

served to obscure his facial expressions in the dimly lit basement cell. “You

look awfully well wrinkled today if I do say so myself.”

“Shut it! We don’t have time for this!” Alkowitz barked as he fumbled

the keys and frantically tried to release the lock on the cell. “You!” He

pointed one of the guards. “Get them outta here now!” He ordered, pointing

towards the other cells.

Caught completely off guard by Alkowitz’s sudden distaste for judicial

punishment, Dorn dropped his usual sarcastic tone and curiously sat

forward on the bunk.

“What’s going on?” He asked.

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“There’s no time to explain, grab your things, we’re leaving! Now!”

The old man ordered. Dorn took his jacket and hurried down the hallway to

the front office. He was too rushed to comprehend why Law Minister

Alkowitz, the bane of his existence, was now freeing him from his dreaded

and uncomfortable cell. Alkowitz himself had put him in there for a

particularly mild infraction, but Dorn was naturally not about to question Alkowitz’s new direction on the matter.

“Your ship is impounded at docking bay twelve, the release code is

three-three-two-one-nine-seven.” Alkowitz said as he opened up a security

box with Dorn’s gear in it. Dorn looked on with cheery disbelief, still

blissfully ignorant of the situation that had befallen the planet. Alkowitz

handed Dorn his belt, a small pack of items, his holster, and lastly his

illegally modified blaster pistol. Dorn reached to take the gun but Alkowitz

held on to it for a moment longer.“I know you don’t really like me kid, and I don’t like you either. But I

need you to listen to me, and listen good. Neither of us are gonna to make

it out of here alive if you don’t do exactly what I say.” Alkowitz let go of the

blaster. Dorn’s face froze, for the first time ever, scared by the tone of his

rival’s voice. Dorn looked directly into Alkowitz’ eyes as he slowly holstered

the weapon. The two started to move towards the exit of the facility as the

old man spoke more feverishly than ever.

“You’ll need to get the hell out of this system,” He barked.“Wait, what? Where-”

“Anywhere but here! Reach someone in the Republic, and tell ‘em

what’s happening. Tell ‘em to send help and that our planet is under attack,

we are being wiped out. I’ll try my best to get you to your ship, but I’m afraid

my glory days are long behind me.” He reached into one of his pockets and

removed a chip and his own blaster. “Take this data-chip just in case,

there’s evidence of everything I’ve said there. You can’t stop for any

reason, I don’t care what laws you have to break, just do it!” Alkowitz

brushed his way past the other guards with Dorn in tow. As they ascended

from the basement of the complex, Dorn began to hear an unsettling

groaning noise. It seemed to come from everywhere, reverberating through

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the jail’s walls. “What is that?” He asked, trying to pin down where it was

coming from.”

“Bad,” Alkowitz replied, still looking forward.

The lobby of the jail filled with inmates, escorted by the dozen or so

remaining guards. Eager to make make their way to freedom, they happily

chattered amongst each other, taking little notice to the increasingly loud droning outside. Each clutched a box carrying whatever belongings they’d

been brought in with. Alkowitz glanced over them as they passed. He was

the one who had put most of them in their cells. None of them had

committed any particularly heinous crime, he recalled, but laws were laws.

He knew the looks of excitement on their faces wouldn’t last long once the

doors opened.

“Let ‘em out!” He called over the crowd to the two guards stationed at

the main door. One nodded, before releasing the locks. The doors creaked open, and the prisoners and guards started pouring into the street. The

cheers and joyful chatter that previously filled the lobby stopped

immediately. The herd of inmates froze, staring in bewilderment at what

their freedom had suddenly turned into. Alkowitz pushed through the doors,

dragging Dorn along with him.

Dorn looked on towards the crowds of screaming people scattered

outside. He noticed the eerie darkness cast over the city, slowly his head

turned skywards to see a sheets of metal in place of the sky. The gigantic silhouette blocked out the sun, and hordes of small craft filled the

cityscape. Dorn didn’t know what he had missed during his past week in

jail, but he knew one thing for sure, and that was that Minister Alkowitz was

serious when he said that they may not make it out alive.

The minister pointed to a nearby security forces speeder that looked

to be abandoned.

“Get in!” Alkowitz shouted.

Dorn hopped over to the passenger side as Alkowitz took the

controls. The paint was chipped and several panels were missing, but it

was the best the security forces could muster on a world such as this. The

two sped down the road, leaving a trail of dust behind them.

“Are you crazy? Slow down!” Dorn shouted in surprise.

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“I may be old now, but I used to make punks like you look slow. Now,

watch and learn boy!” The Minister said with a slight smirk on his face.

Dorn held on for dear life as Alkowitz pressed down on the speeder’s thrust

accelerator. He felt like he was going to be thrown out the back of the craft.

As soon as Dorn was able to grasp hold of something in his seat, a squad

of First Order stormtroopers appeared on the corner before them. It looked like they were preparing a makeshift roadblock with barriers, wired fencing,

and gun emplacements. They took up positions on their hastily established

checkpoint.

The minister pulled a hard right and barely clipped the side of a

building, as blaster fire narrowly missed them. The tight turn threw Dorn

hard into his door. Only barely recovered from the jarring experience, the

speeder soon crossed into a chaotic traffic lane.

“Watch out!” Dorn pointed as two First Order assault speeders nearly collided into them from across the street. Edging past them, the minister

looked back and shouted.

“Not today, bucketheads!”

A small smile appeared on Dorn’s face but was quickly replaced by

fear as a stream of blaster fire darted across the hood of the speeder from

behind.

Two combat bikes, manned by stormtroopers, had taken chase to

them.“Shoot back, would ya!” Alkowitz ordered.

Dorn, still in shock from everything happening so fast, was not fully

able to process his new reality. Amazed not just from his release, but to the

chaos outside and the fact that the harshest man he’d ever met was

actually quite a bit of fun to be around. Dorn hesitated a bit before drawing

his blaster pistol. He had never been involved in a chase with the First

Order before and never thought he’d get the chance to be in one, let alone

with the man whom he despised the most.

Another round of blaster fire skimmed the engines of the security

speeder. Dorn took cover behind the seat. He had been in quite a few

firefights before with the usual backwater gangster types or wannabe tough

guys, but the Order was different. It required a greater level of focus. Dorn

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knew enough from experience and common sense that remaining as calm

as possible was almost always the best bet when it came to accuracy in a

firefight.

He had always been a big fan of gambling and learned to leverage

the odds as best he could to his favor. He applied that knowledge to many

circumstances in his life and being in the passenger seat of a speeding security forces craft was no different than any other, he supposed.

He had heard stories of the old imperial stormtroopers but he had

never seen them up close and personal. Dorn began to pop shots off at the

speeders. He always thought that being able to hit a moving target was no

different from hitting a stationary one, you just had to compensate a bit.

Dorn quickly realized that it was much harder in practice then he

envisioned. Especially while moving at the speeds Alkowitz was driving at.

He managed to hit one of the bike’s thrusters and the lead trooper lost control. Alkowitz continued to zig and zag across the streets, dodging other

speeders, roadblocks, and panicked crowds alike. The engines whined

loudly as he struggled to push them harder and faster, well beyond their

designed parameters.

Alkowitz pointed the speeder at a low bridge, hedging his bets, he

pressed on at full speed.

“Hang on!” He shouted as Dorn turned around and screamed loudly

at the sight of the rapidly approaching tight space. The speeder swooped under the bridge, the sides of it’s hull scratching against it’s low ceiling and

shot out trails of sparks. A panel or two flew off sides as Dorn looked back

around to see a large explosion at the base of the bridge.

Alkowitz finally began to slow down as they approached the docking

bay. The two dismounted as the muffled sounds of blaster fire and screams

filled the streets. Dorn noticed several fresh blaster marks on the side of

the bay and readied his weapon as the two made their way inside. The bay

guard was dead, his body lay at the entrance, smoking and limp. Down the

corridor there were signs of a struggle and many cargo containers

containing vital medical supplies for the city were already destroyed.

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Finally making it to bay eleven, Dorn ran over to his vessel, a small

blue courier, the

Morina. He was very pleased and surprised to see it

unharmed. He turned to Alkowitz,

“I thought you told me you were going to slag it?” Dorn asked.

“I hadn’t gotten around to it yet.” He said as he quickly entered the

release codes and made his way to the control booth to open the bay doors.

The joyous moment came to an end as blaster fire erupted from the

bay entrance. A team of stormtroopers moved in, blasting away at Dorn. He

darted to cover, and began to return fire but found himself confined to his

rapidly failing area of safety. The damaged shipping crates to his left and

right were quickly destroyed by blaster fire and nearby scaffolding was

faring little better.

Alkowitz realized Dorn was trapped and drew his own blaster from beneath his robes. He slammed the controls and forced the bay doors

open. With a deep breath, he then ran towards the large window before the

control panel. The glass shattered as he dropped to the floor below, landing

directly on one of the advancing troopers

Fairing the trauma of the landing indifferently, Alkowitz opened fire on

the next nearest trooper, blasting a large hole in his armor and knocking

him back several feet. The three remaining troopers turned their attention

to Alkowitz, as he ran for cover towards the nearest crate.Dorn capitalized on the distraction and opened fire on the team

leader, striking him in the back of the head and shoulder. He ran forward

and continued to fire and made his way towards Alkowitz, who was

hunched over behind a small transport dolly.

Alkowitz slid to the side of the dolly to take another shot, but was

instantly struck by a blaster bolt in the arm, which violently spun him around

and knocked his pistol from his grip. Dorn leaped forward, ramming himself

into the nearest trooper. Briefly stunned, the trooper struggled to regain his

footing.

A contest between them ensued as the last trooper debated how and

when to take the shot. Aiming down his sights, he prepared to pull the

trigger, lining up Dorn as his target. The trooper collapsed at the last

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second and dropped his rifle. As the trooper saw the death of his partner,

Dorn gained the upper

Documents

Star Wars Star Destroyer Cataclysm Retribution PART ONE