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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
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