PROLOGUE

The intense temperatures of the volcanic sand of Mustafar were hot enough to blister the unarmored skin of most lifeforms, making the Kunu species of the Kurgan race an especially smart choice for slave labor within the planet's unforgiving environment. Kunu - while on rare occasions cornered into violence - were relatively easy to subjugate and would typically, uniformly succumb to the notion that existance even under the most trying of circumstances was preferable to the unknown which was almost always granted to those who chose to step out of line.

The Kunu are deemed unattractive by most scales of judgement and even amongst their own habitat they are regarded as an unpleasant lot. There is no family nucleus during their upbringing. Progeny are relegated to independence shortly after birth and learn quickly to subsist on the landscape without much instruction or guidance. Consequently those grouped together in their work on Mustafar operate on this instinct and seldom communicate with one another, an attribute greatly valued by their Imperial masters. Droids are considered somewhat less efficient due to the inherent ability of the Kuru as sentient beings to provide creative solutions to problems which are quite frequent in an environment as hostile as found on the molten planet. They are quad-pedal and the casual observer may derive an odd sense of satisfaction watching the Kuru traverse the foreboding and dynamic landscape.

Studying footage of the Kunu provides clarity and reveals that each toughened pad of the foot of their multi-jointed legs only makes contact with the searing terra for a fraction of a second. Whether this limited exposure results in any level of discomfort or pain has never been a concern for the Imperials but for anyone observing their behavior the Kuru appear to be acquiesced to their role in serving the Empire, even in a place such as this.

The activities of the Kuru had distracted Tyrk Loamgait for some time as he scanned a multiscreen in the Command Center of the Imperial Outpost of Mustafar. A group of Kunu were busy tipping some large objects over a small precipice into a white river. If only for a second, Tyrk wondered what the life story of a Kuru must be like however he was urgently snapped back into the present by the remarks of Commander Thorne.

"Are you listening to me, Tyrk?" Thorne wasn't genuinely interested in any reply and immediately continued. "The expedition is concluded. There is no more time, let alone the appetite for any further speculation that any remaining artifacts might exist here. The general consensus is that this is a dead planet. Its only value to our cause now is that it remain inconspicuous and that it represents the most prominent choice out of a remaining few locations to conduct our planned activities. Is that understood?"

For a brief instant Tyrk imagined Commander Thorne half immersed in the lava just outside the balcony, calling out in his last agonizing moments for it all to end. But Tyrk quickly acknowledged that would be a poor strategy and chastened himself for wasting any time on pleasurable activity in his current situation.

"Fully," answered Tyrk. "Be assured Commander that my only interest in extending the expedition to the Western Regions was the potential for the discovery of useful ores and mining byproducts that might yield significant advancements for our cause, such as Kybar.

"Very well," concluded Thorne, his face permanently locked in a contorted half-grimace that only partially hid the history of a very difficult life however privileged it might have been. "See to it then that the men under your command are fully briefed on their next mission."

"Which is?" Tyrk became suddenly lost again in his desires wondering if he would finally be granted the opportunity to be relocated to a more hospitable planet. Any place but Mustafar.

"The construction of a fortress here. One suitable for an Emperor of the Galaxy."