Star Wars - Imperial Duty

by ApeUnit

01 - The Pathfinder: The crew of the Imperial Star Destroyer Adeptus are on a routine mission to rendezvous with a deep space exploratory vessel. The operation is straightforward and complacency has settled in. But anything can happen on the edge of the Unknown...

Imperial Duty

The Pathfinder

"…Reveille, reveille, all hands heave out and course correct, reveille."

The Boatswain's voice echoed over the intercom of the Star Destroyer accompanied by the familiar and ceremonial whistle. It was the call to rouse the sleeping crew from their bunks and begin their morning duties.

Captain Hadebrand Feit was already on his way to the ship's bridge by the time of the call. He strode briskly with a cup of prepared Tarine tea in his hand. The Captain was aged in years, his silver hair just exposed from the band of his olive drab fleet cap. Having commanded a now antiquated Venator-class through the Clone War, Feit had distinguished himself in many campaigns and had seen his fair share of combat. But that was a much younger man. Feit had passed his sixtieth year and had his sights set on retirement. This tour of duty on the Adeptus was meant to be his final cruise.

The Imperial Star Destroyer Adeptus was holding a high orbital rotation around the gas giant in the Trounus System. To her crew and Troopers aboard, the ship was affectionately known as the Easy Able. They were past the furthest reaches of Imperial Space, beyond them was the unknown. If the Adeptus burned her engines at maximum impulse, it would take the ship six months to reach the nearest Imperial Fleet outpost, as there were no charted hyperspace lanes to travel. This was the frontier, the furthest extent of the Empire, though few residents recognized it as anything but the Unknown.

"Good morning Captain," said Commander Philal.

Lieutenant Commander Amalla Philal was an eager and competent Imperial; serving as the ship's third officer. She was thirty, tall and slender, with straight dark brown hair. A native Corellian, she was as much at home aboard ship as her home planet.

Philal had been waiting, her morning custom, for the Captain, as Feit approached the bridge. She served a dual role, the ship's third officer and the personal adjutant the Captain.

"Any word as of yet from the Pathfinder?" grunted a rousing Feit.

"Still nothing on our long range sensors," replied Philal. "Though the large electro-nebula that intersects this system is not helping. The sooner we complete this rendezvous the better."

"Are you not relishing the downtime we have accrued?"

"Sir…?"

The old Captain just smiled, as he strode onto the command deck. He moved with an air of confidence, experience; an old veteran who had seen it all. The crew under him affectionately referred to him as the "Old Cap", though never to him directly. He commanded their loyalty and their respect. They knew Captain Feit was calm and seasoned, not the impulsive sort ready to throw lives needlessly away for trivial objectives.

The Adeptus had arrived in the Trounus System three weeks ago and had done nothing, but wait. The orders given to Feit when they left the Naboo Anchorage stated they were to rendezvous and resupply a survey ship. The survey ship was the Pathfinder IV, a deep space vessel tasked with charting hyperspace lanes through the far edges of the Galaxy's Outer Rim territories, and into the unknown regions of space.

The Pathfinder's five year mission was sanctioned and financed by the Galactic Empire. It was the task of the Adeptus to resupply the survey ship with provisions and download the survey data of newly plotted hyperspace lanes. The data would then be taken back to Fleet Command for analysis.

The crew on the Adeptus' command deck went about their business. Feit had put an end to their call to attention whenever he stepped onto the bridge. His argument believed it was too much of a distraction. "A crewman cannot be monitoring a sensor suite if he's busy saluting."

The Executive Officer was at his perch above the stations of the bridge crew. Commander Bertram Rogge had started his watch a few hours before; believing it was his responsibility to ready the coming day onboard for the Captain. Rogge was an officer devoid of any sense of humor. A strict disciplinarian, he was not at all troubled with having a man shot for dereliction of duty or severely punished for the slightest infraction. The relaxed protocol enacted by Feit came as juxtaposition to Rogge, yet the First Officer respected his Captain's service with unquestioned loyalty.

"Captain on the bridge!" announced Rogge, snapping to attention despite being to only one to.

"Easy now Bert," replied Feit, placing a hand on the XO's shoulder. "Any contacts on comm/scan in the last ten hours?"

"None sir."

"What day does this make this, two hundred…."

"Two hundred and seven, sir," added Philal. "And the Pathfinder is now two weeks overdue."

Feit shifted his gaze to massive gas giant just outside the command deck's viewing windows. The bright orange glow illuminated the interior of the bridge, yet special composites in the panes kept out any harmful or blinding rays. The Captain was content with this assignment. Upon his return to port and then journey to FLEETCOM on Coruscant for a debriefing, his retirement would go into effect and his career would be at an end. The thoughts started to drift to days gone by and battles fought long ago.

000

Hath woke suddenly from a deep sleep. He was gasping heavily for breath and drenched in sweat. The result of yet another haunting nightmare; they were getting worse. Another dream spent on another alien world, fighting another foe, watching another set of close friends die. They were all too real for Hath; his dreams playing out his past battles, the howls of dying filling his head unable to be silenced.

He sat up in his bunk and rubbed his eyes. The call for morning reveille blared on the intercom in his private quarters. It was technically a call he did not have to answer, as his watch had concluded at 0300 ship time, yet he did not stand down from duty until about 0430. Major Ronhar Hath was twenty-eight and a well-seasoned from years of combat in the Stormtrooper Corps upon an accelerated academy graduation. With faded hair and blue eyes; born and raised on Coruscant. Recently transferred to Army Intelligence, this deployment to the frontier was the result of a sympathetic commander wanting to spare Hath an ignominious discharge.

The less than an hour and a half of sleep was all his body would permit. He excelled during his time at the Academy and acts of gallantry within the Stormtrooper Corps saw Hath groomed for a position within a special operations detachment. Those days were behind him now, only the mental and physical scars remained. The post-traumatic stress of the battlefield and the deteriorating cybernetic implantations were taking their toll.

The cabin itself was small and cramped. It was a small luxury afforded to an Officer of the Intelligence Service. Their secretive and classified work required they have a secured area where they could freely work without interruption from un-cleared individuals. A small desk in the corner of the compartment, adjacent to Hath' bunk contained his terminal. A majority of the work was conducted here, consisting of analyzing information returned by probe droids launched by the Adeptus. The Captain, of course, would receive regular briefings from Hath, as would Hath' superior aboard ship, Colonel Kesyk.

In a matter of minutes, Hath was showered and pulling on his black Imperial Officer's uniform. The act of the sleeve of the tunic passing over his left shoulder sent a spike of burning pain through his back. A small motorized servo had been surgically implanted about five years prior. It was an experimental procedure, one Hath had been volunteered to undertake. It was meant to increase arm strength for the Imperial Commandos who had undergone the surgery. Hath was the only one in the program who had yet to have his arm amputated; a result of the servos' failure.

With sleep not an option, Hath made his way to the officer's mess, assigned to his section, for the breakfast meal. The corridors Hath passed through were alive with the morning's activity. Crewmen made their way to their duty assignments at a brisk pace in order to cover the vast distances of a Star Destroyer's interior. Junior officers led platoons of Stormtroopers in tightly packed formations; part of the regular drill routine. It was all routine for everyone on board. The ship's assignment was breeding idleness, rapidity.

The officer's mess closest to Hath' quarters was one of several on the ship designated for those of the commissioned ranks. It was spacious hall meant to hold 800 officers at capacity. Unlike the enlisted mess, the accommodations we far more suited to those of rank. The seating at the tables, for example, were individual compared to the bench arrangements in the other mess halls.

Hath had a meal selected from a dispenser and found a seat across from the closest one to friend he had aboard the Adeptus. Lieutenant Gallis Khel was commander of Ferox Squadron, the flight of TIE Interceptors attached to the ship. An arrogant, boastful, and downright reckless pilot, Khel was the leading fighter ace of any Imperial Pilot in the 3rd Fleet, or so he would claim. He was the complete opposite of the more reserved Hath, yet the two shared a working friendship; a respect from one warrior to another. Though, the bond would be tested from time to time.

"Surprised to see you up this early," quipped Khel in his refined Kuati accent. "Thought you only stood down an hour ago? You ever sleep?"

"What do you think I do when manning the comm/scan," joked Hath.

"I can't blame you. This operation needs to wind down. You'd think FLEETCOM would rather have a lesser ship out making this rendezvous and not a Star Destroyer. Hell, contract the job out to bounty hunters for all I care."

"Would you trust something so important to lowest bidders on a military contract?"

Khel grunted, as he shoved an oversized ration loaf into his mouth. The uncouth chewing sent crumbs spattering all over the table. Hath tried to ignore his friend; shifting his focus to the datapad he brought to the mess. The datapad was a typed up report he had to submit to the Captain and Colonel Kesyk. It was a nearly identical report to the one he had sent yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that, only the dates had to be altered.

There had been no developments for some time. Upon their arrival in the system, Hath ordered a probe droid be deployed to the surface Trounus III, the only astronomical body in the system to register both life forms and a large settlement. The probe had returned the vital information on the moon, just a far flung outpost of a few hundred thousand trying to make a living on salvaging junk. That being learned when the droid initiated its self destruct sequence, as scavengers attempted to tear the probe apart for its components. There were no indications of any Rebel activity on the surface that could be inferred without boots on the ground. A fringe Terror group had mentioned Trounus III in dispatches, but no activity had justified no further investigation.

"Same old same old?" inquired Khel motioning to the datapad.

"I honestly haven't significantly altered the report for a week now," replied Hath. "Pretty much copy and paste."

"See, just goes to show the Empire is wasting our talent."

"Yours maybe."

"Best damn pilot in the fleet and I get stuck safeguarding your lot. You can imagine how pissed I was when I got the assignment post to the Easy Able. Six transfer requests to Death Squadron, all denied. More fun to be had running with that task force, after a real enemy. But oh well, onto more important matters, what is the deal with you and Amalla?"

Hath diverted his gaze to the datapad in his hand, yet there was no masking how he felt. The question had irritated the Major, who only scowled at the Flight Lieutenant. It was a sensitive subject and one broached so directly. Khel was always on the hunt to for the latest gossip. The trained eyes of a pilot made him a keen observer.

"What about Lieutenant Commander Philal?" Hath grunted, annoyed at the question.

"Come on Ronhnny," said Khel. "You think you intelligence folks are slick with your covert operating. I saw her leaving your cabin three mornings ago, as I was gearing up for patrol."

Khel was bursting into a fit of laughter, yet Hath was not amused in the least bit. It was a one-time romantic encounter that Hath and Philal wished to remain discreet, as this manner of liaison was viewed unfavorably by the military. Of all the people who could have found out, it had to be the loudmouthed Khel.

"You know, I have it on pretty good authority she actually has a thing for you," added Khel, almost taunting. "I wonder what your wife would have to say."

That struck a nerve with Hath and he felt the anger course through his veins. The Major wrapped a hard grip around the datapad, the pressure causing the circuits to break and the image to distort. The fact had yet to dawn on Khel that he may have taken things too far. Hath's deteriorating marriage was topic of gossip among some of the select officer's circles, but had yet to be broached to the Major as directly as Khel did now.

Before tensions could escalate any further, there was sudden interruption on Hath's personal communicator.

"Major Hath," the electronic voice paged. "Your presence is requested in comm/scan receiver station two."

"This is Hath," the Major snatched the communicator from his belt. "I'm on my way.

Khel was still seated; leaning back in his chair with a cocked smile on his face. The Pilot's expression was a sardonic reflection of pride and accomplishment. He thrived on seeing others worked up, and getting them worked up, regardless of the consequences. The image Khel projected of himself was so high, he was unequivocally convinced his personally would reel back in anyone he offended or otherwise alienated.

Hath moved swiftly toward the bank of turbovators, which would take him to the comm/scan receiver station. Khel snickered at the Major's sudden departure, as he lifted his mug of caffa. Just when he pressed the edge of the mug to his lips, the steaming vapors absorbing into his skin, the ship's klaxons blared.

000

"Yellow alert," Feit ordered. "Launch our Interceptors and have them take up an escort. Tell our air patrol to maintain their picket line."

The bridge of the Adeptus jumped to a frantic shuffle. Additional crewmen rushed to their duty stations and soon every screen focused on their target. The Pathfinder IV, the deep space exploration vessel, had emerged from hyperspace several thousand kilometers from the Star Destroyer. "Finally" the Captain said to himself, closing his eye for a moment. Their objective materialized to break the idleness. Soon their mission would be accomplished.

"Captain," Philal reported. "We have established communications with the Pathfinder. Their Captain is requesting they be brought on for repairs and resupply."

"Excellent, excellent," replied an enthusiastic Feit. "Tell her Captain they may put in to docking bay one."

000

The comm/scan receiver station was a secured room down the corridor from the ship's bridge. Hath had stood at the door while a sensor scanned the code cylinder that rested in Hath's left breast pocket. Once the coded was concurred, the door slid open. The room was darkened and the black uniforms of the technicians that manned the screens were almost indistinguishable, had it not been for the electronic glow of the sensor equipment.

Petty Officer Caslclov looked up from her station, as Hath entered. She tapped a few keys and unlocked the spare terminal the Major would use. Military discipline was somewhat relaxed in the station. Whenever an officer arrived on deck, the crewmen were allowed to remain at their posts. The work they conducted required constant attention and it was necessary to forgo the ceremonial protocol.

"Signal's on repeat," stated Caslclov. "Originating from the third moon of Trounus. Signals complex, our filters can't seem to crack it. That's when we called you"

Hath stood over the unlocked terminal. He slid the same code cylinder into a port on the terminal's input board. A prompt on the screen required he type in a personal keyword, which the Major did. The screen cursor spun before unlocking the restricted decoding program.

The program was several classification levels above what a regular comm/scan technician was cleared to operate. The more sophisticated software went to work decoding the transmission. Already, bits of text and characters were pulled from the data stream. Hath rubbed his eyes; the harsh lights in the darkened room coupled with the lack of sleep caused a strain.

"It's Twi'lek," said Hath, examining the lettering.

"What?" asked a confused Caslclov.

"The message, it's being transmitted in Twi'lek."

"Fragging rope heads, what are they doing out this far? What the hell is wrong with Ryloth?"

Hath ignored the Petty Officer's prejudicial remarks. The software was pulling apart the transmission and decoding its encryption. One by one, the spoken word of the message, electronically scrambled, was converted to text and then into Basic. A surprising fact of the message caught Hath' attention and was also cause for concern.

"They're using a Rebel channel, short range" Hath stated, holding his hand to his chin in contemplation. "But the encryption is…primitive."

The technicians all looked up from their stations and focused their gaze upon the Major. They had not expected Rebels to be operating in this region of space. The realization was one Hath tried to reconcile. They were beyond anything known officially to the galaxy, surely beyond anything on interest to the Rebellion. The screen flashed an indication that the decryption was complete.

The word repeated "Rendezvous", over and over with a sequence of navigation coordinates. The computer program ran a few more cycles and then it matched the encryption. It promptly displayed the results for the Major. The code was being transmitted on an Alliance frequency to be received, most likely, by a Rebel ship in this sector. The encryption, the source of the transmission and those who coded it, originated from Trounus III and appeared to be sent by the large settlement on the moon. The message had something to do with the terror group on Trounus III, they were a breakaway arm of the Free Ryloth Movement, no doubt involving Twi'leks. Hath immediately mashed the commlink to bridge.

000

"Sir, we have the Pathfinder's Captain on comm channel seven," relayed Philal.

"Alright, patch them through," said Feit.

Philal tapped the comms button on the datapad she held in her hand. A holographic image of the Pathfinder's Captain appeared on the holoemitter towards the rear of the bridge. It was the image of a young, yet worn down woman; exhausted from the months spent charting hyperspace lanes through the expanse of the Unknown Regions of space.

"Captain Feit I presume?" the holographic image of the Pathfinder's Captain asked.

"We are receiving you Pathfinder," Feit responded, almost nonchalantly. "What is your status?"

"Clipped an asteroid a few days back during a blind jump. One of thruster's is banged up pretty good, hull is otherwise intact."

"Damned unfortunate, Captain. We'll have our engineers see what they can do when you put aboard. Is the data ready for transfer?"

"Indeed it is. Prepare to receive…and thank you."

Feit waved a hand, as an indication to end the transmission. The holographic image disappeared. The Captain turned to his Executive Officer.

"Inform me when the download is complete," Feit ordered, though the rigidness of command was not in his voice. "You think the damn software update we received at the last refitting would speed the computers up?"

"You know how it goes, Cap," added Philal. "First rule of the Navy, if it isn't broken, fix it until it is."

"…And have an engineering team to the hanger to commence with repairs," Feit responded through laughter.

"Sir, page for you from Major Hath in comm/scan two," a crewman called to the Captain from the crew pit.

Feit swiftly turned back to the officer's terminal. Philal was leaning against the consol. The Captain nodded and the commlink was established.

"Feit here," started the Captain in a relaxed manner. "What is going on Ronhar?"

"Sir?" replied Hath, responding to the Captain's informality. "Decoded a transmission from Trounus III. It's on a Rebel frequency, short range."

"Who's transmitting?"

"It's a Twi'lek encryption. I've seen used by the United Ryloth Front. It's a fringe terror group, but whoever they're transmitting to, is close."

The jovial mood of Feit had altered. He stood up straight, stiffened his tunic. The genuine feeling of concern overtook the Captain, but not panic. Philal noticed the Captain's change. She stood up as well, turned to speak, but Feit spoke first.

"How close Major," he asked.

"The range is less than a parsec,at best estimate" was the reply. "Rebel ship could be in this sector. It's a single word, "Rendezvous" on repeat."

"Sir!" an excited crewman called out. "The download from the Pathfinder, the hyperspace charts, they're being intercepted."

An excited Feit stormed across the walkway followed closely by the vigilant Rogge. Both the Captain and the Executive Officer stood towering over the crewman in the crew pit below. All of the eyes of crewman's colleagues, seated around him, were now focused and anticipated his next words. It was Rogge who spoke first.

"Crewman, report!" the Executive Officer barked.

"Someone is jamming the transmission!" the crewman reported, their eyes fixated on the consol. "The Pathfinder was transmitting, but we are not receiving. Another ship out there is!"

000

Khel and his squadron of TIE Interceptors had launched on the order to go to Yellow Alert was issued. It was standard procedure to launce the Interceptor wing of the Star Destroyer's strikecraft complement to supplement the combat air patrol already deployed.

Ferox Squadron had just cleared the hanger bay of the Adeptus. The Interceptors darted across the void to take up station to escort the Pathfinder in.

The comms buzzed back and forth between the pilots of the Squadron. All were trading gossip, speculating rumors, and taking jabs at their fellow Imperials, not limited to Hath and Philal. Theirs was a closed circuit, so the conversation would remain limited to the pilots. It was at that moment, Khel's incoming comm line started to flash.

000

"Sir, picking up multiple contacts!" a technician in the crew pit opposite excitedly notified the Captain, and the rest of the bridge.

The combined attention of everyone on the bridge focused on Feit, as he rushed over to the combat terminal at the fore part of the bridge. The display mirrored what the technician viewed. Philal and Rogge followed close behind. The holographic image displayed a blip, signifying the Pathfinder. It was being approached by a grouping of red triangles, signifying the inbound flight of escort TIE Interceptors. What had appeared on the screen were four blue circles. The scanners aboard the Adeptus went to work immediately to identify the contacts.

"They're Rebels," stated the technician, to a combined shock from everyone present. "Two X-Wing class fighters escorting one…no two Y-Wings."

"Put this ship on Red Alert!" shouted Feit.

The bridge was a scene of organized chaos, as crewmembers rushed to their battle stations. The deflector shields of the Adeptus were raised on the orders barked by Commander Rogge. Overlapping commands were issued by the respective deck officers. Soon, sections reported they were manned and ready; navigation, gunnery, engineer, damage control, and so on.

"Combat squadrons, all pilots man your ships," Philal spoke into a commlink.

The TIE Fighters assigned support combat detail were ordered to their craft and started to takeoff in order to reinforce the ships already deployed. Despite the observed commotion, it was a carefully choreographed and organized display of Naval discipline. Within moments, the entire Star Destroy was ready to engage the hostiles.

000

The message flashed in Khel's cockpit, a holographic image of Philal relaying the contact with the Rebel ships. The Lieutenant signaled to the rest of Ferox Squadron and the Interceptors throttled their twin ion engines to full. They rapidly closed the distance between them, the Pathfinder, and the Rebel strikecraft.

There were four Rebel craft that dropped out of hyperspace, almost on top of the Pathfinder. The survey ship was slow moving; not fast enough to outrun the Y-Wings and not sufficiently armed to take on the X-Wings. Her crew frantically plead for support from the Adeptus. Despite the Imperials doing everything they could to reach the Pathfinder, the Rebels were closer.

The X-Wings made a close run; strafing the survey ship with their heavy cannons. The blast impacts were enough to overload the Pathfinder's defector shields and they failed. Now exposed, the Y-Wings moved in for their attack. They passed over the dorsal section, unleashing their payload of proton bombs.

The Pathfinder never stood a chance. The proton bombs detonated on her hull, blasting it apart and tearing the ship in two. A faint bright flash was seen by Khel. It was the reactor aboard the Pathfinder imploding from the sustained proton bombardment; destroying what was left of the survey ship. Ferox Squadron in their Interceptors had overtaken and surpassed the TIE Fighter rushing to engage the Rebels.

Just before the lead Interceptor, Khel's TIE, was in weapons range, the Rebel ships spun up their hyperdrivers. One by one, they slipped away at lightspeed, entering hyperspace where the TIEs could not peruse. Khel saw the last Y-Wing accelerate beyond his view right as he increased the pressure on the throttle's trigger. He swore and banged the side of the craft's hull in frustration.

000

"New contact, bearing 0-7-2, mark 1-5-8," reported a comm/scan operator to the Captain. "Single contact, CR-90 class…Corellian corvette on the scope. Emerging from the far side of Trounus. Picking up a Rebellion transponder."

"That's how we missed them!" exclaimed Rogge. "They were masking their signature in the shadow of the gas giant!"

"It is probable that corvette is the source of the jamming," reported Philal. "It is also quite capable of intercepting transmissions."

Feit was quickly losing his patience; growing enraged by the deteriorating situation. A simple rendezvous and download of newly mapped hyperspace lane data, had turned into a Rebel attack with the scout ship destroyed and the critical data intercepted. The Pathfinder had been deployed on a critical mapping mission for Imperial Command and the new hyperspace lanes were to be considered military secrets. Now, they were hands of the Rebellion. Fortunately, Feit realized, the Rebels, like the Imperials, were isolated in this region of space.

"Who do we have in strike range?" Feit grunted to Philal.

"Lieutenant Khel's TIE is closest to the Rebels." She replied.

000

Khel answered the message from Feit. The order was simple and blunt. The corvette was not to escape the system. Accelerating the engines to beyond their safety limit, the craft shot off directly toward the Rebel ship. The Interceptor shook violently while Khel used all his might to hold the stick and the craft on course. Warning indicators deafened the cockpit with noise; blinded it with their illumination. Yet, Khel pressed forward.

The kilometers between the two vessels shrunk rapidly, but Khel knew he was on borrowed time. The bright glow of the CR-90's large thrusters was an indication it was revving up to accelerate into hyperspace. There would be no chance to position for an attack run. The weapons on the TIE Interceptor were designed to destroy enemy fighters; not ideal for engaging larger ships. It would require several passes to take down the deflector shields and several more to inflict any damage that would be sufficient to disable the Rebel ship.

There was simply not enough time to stop the corvette with conventional means. But this is where Khel thrived, he lived for the reckless maneuvers and out the box strategy; unorthodoxy. The Twin Ion Engines were at their limits, the overload warning blaring. The CR-90 was starting the lightspeed jump, the hyperspace field forming.

Khel pulled back on the stick, the TIE Interceptor altering course suddenly, cutting across the bow of the corvette. It was less than a split moment the corvette was in hyperspace when the navcomputer aboard aborted the jump. The Rebel ship was ripped violently from its course and executed an emergency stop. The Interceptor posed a navigation hazard that was too close for the corvette to avoid. The only option was an emergency stop at the cusp of hyperspace to avoid a collision that would have destroyed both ships.

The sudden stop put a dangerous amount of stress on the CR-90. The hull of the corvette started to buckle with fractures tearing along its axis. Three of the ship's heavy thrusters exploded and the hyperdrive was irreparably crippled. It limped mortally wounded, propelled by the inertia caused by the destruction of the thrusters.

The maximum push had burned out the engines on Khel's TIE. The overtaxed engines shutdown and Khel was left adrift with the only option having to request a tow back to the Adeptus. He would be spared the humiliation of the helplessness, as he had brazenly stopped the Rebel ship. From his cockpit, Khel watched the Rebels aboard their corvette fire up the remaining thrusters in a vain attempt to evade the Imperials. It what would have been an effort in futility; Khel noticed how close they were Trounus III, the only inhabited surface in the system. The moon was in a close orbit of the gas giant Trounus. As luck would have it, the Rebel ship had enough thrust to get themselves caught in the moon's gravity where they could then maneuver to the surface.

000

"How the hell did this happen!" Feit shouted, slamming a fist down on the table in the briefing room.

The Captain's temper, the temper he worked hard to contain was set loose on his subordinates all seated at the table. He then shot a furious glance at Hath who, despite rushing to the meeting immediately when summoned, was just entering the room. The Major quietly took the open seat next to Philal. A despondent Colonel Kesyk sat reclined in his chair, idly picking at his fingernails. Being part of the Stormtrooper Corps, Kesyk felt these failures and the subsequent responsibility should rest solely with the Navy. It did somewhat bother the Colonel that Hath was the recipient of so harsh a look from Feit, being he was not a Naval Officer.

"This code you intercepted, Major Hath," started Rogge, trying to pander his Captain and shift blame away from his branch. "Clearly it was linked to Rebels. Were you unable to make that positive determination!? I thought you were our military intelligence attaché to this operation?"

"Major Hath did make that determination," grunted Kesyk, unable to further tolerate the deflection of blame. "The Major reported the presence of Rebels. My question is, how could your comm/scan systems fail to detect a Correnlian Corvette in this system, or a combat air patrol fail to neutralize a small flight of enemy strikecraft?"

The animosity shared by the colonel and the executive was poisoning the briefing room. The meeting, it appeared, had been derailed by their bickering. Hath did not welcome the unsolicited defense given by his commanding officer. He wished to simply deliver a report on his actions with no embellishments or speculation of blame. The exchange between Kesyk and Rogge escalated with neither backing down; each trading vile blows in an effort to infuriate the other.

"I wonder how long we'll have to put up with this," Philal whispered to Hath, a half smile, half expression of annoyance. "It must be nice having a commanding officer so willing to rush to your aid."

"I really wish he would not do that," Hath replied.

"Both of you be quiet!" Feit shouted at Rogge and Kesyk, slamming both hands on the table. "There will be plenty of time for inquiries when all of this is over and we will be made to answer. For now, we must focus on the matter at hand. The Rebels are now in possession of classified charts detailing newly mapped hyperspace lanes. Major Hath, will you please proceed with your report."

An exasperated, yet now tired Feit took a seat. His chastisement had been sufficient enough to silence Rogge and Kesyk. The pair turning away in their chairs and now focusing on the Major. Hath stood up with his datapad in hand. His thoughts though were still on Amalla, she was constantly on his mind, an almost obsession. Hands starting to shake, he had to tighten his grip to prevent the datapad from slipping.

"The Rebel corvette," Hath began. "Disabled after its aborted hyperspace jump attempt, went down on the third moon of Trounus. From our reports, the moon supports sparse vegetation, mostly comprised of soil and rocks, with frequent and heavy rain storms that create muddy conditions, and roughly of standard gravity to that of Courscant. The corvette wreckage is located roughly thirty kilometers from the moon's only verifiable settlement. No doubt that was an intentional landing site."

"What of this settlement, have we any information on it?" Philal asked, knowing full well Hath had an answer and merely sought help the Major impress the rest of the command.

"The settlement is called Hoseth City. Sensors indicate a population of around three hundred thousand. The populace forced the self-destruction of our probe droid we deployed when first entering the system. Other than that there has been no trouble from the surface. It's an old mining and smuggler outpost, mostly people evading tariffs and hiding from the law in one form or another."

"From the Empire," Rogge added.

"Indeed," said Hath. "The Rebels will have dispersed through the city and we can expect little cooperation from the locals."

"Then we will compel their cooperation," interjected an annoyed Kesyk. "Major, you will take a platoon to the wreck of the corvette and recover the data from their ship's computer."

"Those plans are to be entrusted to the care of the Imperial Navy!" stated Rogge, an effort to save face. "Commander Philal, you go with him and take possession of the data once secured."

Kesyk shot a hostile glare to Rogge who returned it kind.

"The Adeptus will establish an orbital blockade," Feit spoke up, instantly grabbing the attention of all present. "The Destroyer will remain in high orbit above the settlement while fighter deployments will prevent any ship from leaving the moon. I do not want this to turn into a protracted siege. Recover those plans and we must be on our way."

Feit quieted himself for the next part. The rest of the room filled with a reverent hush. All eyes were focused on the aging Captain, the experience showing through the wrinkles on his face. He had seen, too often, the penalty for failure in the Empire and knew they could not return empty handed.

"FLEETCOM sanctioned the Pathfinder's mission," began a solemn Feit. "The Emperor himself had a hand in organizing it. His Majesty is expecting us to return with those charts…"

The last statement was clear and to the point. They all knew their objectives and were prepared to carry them out. The punishment if they failed would be swift and without mercy. The direness of their situation began to sink in, but there would be no failure, there could not be any failure. Feit stood up and the rest did as well according to protocol. The meeting was adjured and the command dismissed.

000

The Sentinel Class landing craft bounced roughly, as it slipped through the atmosphere of Trounus III. The fifty Stormtroopers along with Hath and Philal were jostled in their seats. The interior lighting flickered at every bump. The Troopers sat back in their jumpseats; faces obscured by the iconic and uniform helmets. A few, here and there, talked amongst themselves, made jokes, or checked out their blasters. Others just sat motionless and started directly ahead.

Hath gripped the restraint bar to his jumpseat, his sweaty palms sticking to the rubberized grip section. He recalled the last time he was deployed on a combat drop like this; it had been maybe two years, back when he still served with the Storm Commando. Only they were not taking heavy flak fire this time and he did not expect to aid in the massacre of an entire settlement of dissident subjects. The subsequent mental breakdown in the aftermath of the operation saw him transferred to role not directly involved on the frontlines, but the memories still haunted his dreams.

"Hey!" said Philal, slapping his bad shoulder inadvertently. "You alright? First combat drop?"

Evidently, Philal had noticed that Hath was not quite at ease with the flight. Hath turned to look at Philal. His face had adopted an uncharacteristic pale complexion. The crew was unaware of Hath's background, despite the transfer, the nature of his operations with Special Forces remained classified. In truth, Hath had flew more combat missions than he could recall.

"I've done this a few times," Hath joked, the awkwardness from their night on his mind.

"They don't let you Intel people out in the sunlight a lot, do they?" replied Philal

The craft jerked almost violently, caused by an atmospheric depression. Some loosely secured equipment tore from its mountings and crashed to the deck of the interior troop compartment. Every jolt the landing craft made, threw Hath back into his seat, slamming his bad shoulder against a hard surface. The pain shot through his body; testing the limit of his tolerance. The Stormtrooper Captain curse loudly at the Troopers responsible for packing the gear and their clear ineptitude at the job poorly performed.

The Stormtrooper armor glistened in the conservatively illuminated craft's interior. The white uniformity made the individual indistinguishable. These troopers had been issued dark cloaks to wear over their armor, as further protection against the heavy rainfall and elements of Trounus III. The Troopers' Captain was the only one of their number identifiable, with a blue pauldron seated above his right shoulder. Hath and Philal were both dressed in olive drab combat fatigues, complete with chest plate and shoulder armor. The fatigues more suitable to the operation than being deployed in the service uniforms. They each carried a SE-14r blaster as a sidearm, holstered.

The pilot spoke over the intercom that they were approaching the landing area. The turbulence had settled a bit, but it was still rough flying. The Stormtrooper Captain ordered his Troopers to their feet in preparation for deployment. All hands braced against the handrails, mesh nets, or each other in an effort to remain upright. Hath put a hand to an eager Philal, as she went to stand up. A gesture to wait.

"Let them do their job," Hath spoke. "Then we'll do ours."

The side hatches opened on the port and starboard of the landing craft. Natural light, though heavily obscured by clouds, penetrated the interior. The door gunners leaned out with their swivel mounted DLT-19 heavy blasters; surveying the ground below for any hostiles. The craft's wings were folded upwards and the forward ramp lowered.

The first squadron deployed on the ground; immediately set to work establishing a perimeter. The second squad followed swiftly to move toward the wreckage. The immediate area secured, the rest of the Troopers filed out, followed closely by Hath and Philal. The pair were accompanied by a K-X series Imperial droid with a knapsack fitted to its back. The knapsack contained a transportable deciphering computer, which would be used to slice into the computer aboard the downed ship and hash the data for examination.

With all Troopers discharged, the landing craft fired up its repulsor lifts and climbed skyward once again. It established an air support role; circling the wrecked CR-90 and keeping an eye out for any hostile individuals.

The CR-90 wreck was in the middle of a shallow, yet rocky valley. The debris field behind the ship was strewn about for several hundred meters, indicating it was a hard crash landing before coming to rest with a partial list on its starboard side. Thick white smoke bellowed from the marred thrusters. A long fracture ran down the spin of the corvette where sparks regularly discharged from the wound. The predominant barrel shaped forecastle had been crushed from the impact and driven into the ground. Only the bridge windows were visible less than a meter from the dirt. Bits of flaming rubble burned sporadically around what was left of the ship.

The lead Troopers approached the wreckage with their blasters trained forward. They advanced with authority, yet cautiously as they searched for any Rebels who had managed to survive. A hard rain descended on the low valley, almost immediately the ground turned to a thick morass. Every step was a trudge through the growing mire.

A large protruding rock, over four meters in height, stood equidistant between where the landing craft deposited the Imperials and the corvette. The rain was driving, blinding to the eyes and cutting through the uniforms, soaking the skin. Of course the armor of the Stromtroops kept them isolated and protected from the elements, but Hath and Philal were less fortunate.

Philal spotted the rock, nudged Hath to direct his attention and the both set out. Each officer held a hand up to shield their eyes from the stinging rain. It was falling quickly, blindingly.

They huddled together against the edifice of the rock, on the leeward side shielding themselves from the wind. Their cloaks were inundated, their uniforms drenched. Together they stood shivering, as the Troopers approached the airlock of the downed corvette.

The airlock was mangled, the outer door ripped from its mounting, as if it had been jettisoned. The burn marks around the hatch's explosive bolts were the telltale sign that was case. When the Troopers relayed their find to their Trooper Captain and he, in turn, revealed it Hath and Philal, it was clear there were Rebel survivors on the planet. Just how many Rebels was unknown.

000

With the landing craft away, the Adeptus positioned itself to keep the space clear of any and all traffic coming and going from the moon. Feit paced the walkway of the bridge, as he worked to keep his mind cool and focused. The Captain could not help but think, like many aboard ship, that had everything gone according to plan, they would be steaming back to an Imperial port. The downloaded charts would provide the Star Destroy with a more viable route back to Imperial space, thus cutting the return trip to a number of weeks.

There was speculation and rumor spreading quickly through the ship. No definite answer was given to the crew, outside of the conference, concerning the circumstances of the Pathfinder's destruction. Paranoia was starting to manifest that the Rebels were ready to strike at the first opportunity. The ship was well into the Unknown Regions where anything was possible. The fact the Rebels knew of the rendezvous and were brazen enough to attack compounded the uneasiness that accompanied voyages into this part of the Galaxy.

"Captain," called a crewman manning a scope. "Comm/scan has detected a vessel two-one-zero, mark one-one-zero, single contact."

Feit turned his attention to the crewman. Commander Rogge rushed briskly to be by the Captain's side. The overbearing stance of the ship's command prompted the crewman to give their report.

"Sirs," the crewman began. "Vessel climbing sharply from the surface, point of origin is the settlement."

"Logically," added Rogge. "Please continue."

"Scans show it to be a gas freighter. They aren't transmitting a registry."

"Open a channel with her Captain," Feit ordered. "Bring the ship to Yellow Alert and have gun crews plot targeting solutions. Bring us about one-six-zero, one third ahead."

The crew at once jumped into action. All over the ship, sailors raced to their action stations. The Captain strode to the forward command console at the head of the bridge. He stared out the front viewing ports, the gas giant Trounus almost taking up the entire view. The moon was silhouetted against the glow. The communications officer reported to the Captain that the vessel received their hail.

"This is Captain Feit, of the Imperial Star Destroyer Adeptus," Feit spoke. "This space is under flight restriction until further notice while we carry out operations. Alter your course and return to the surface."

"This is Captain Tong-ree of the vessel Kygry," the ship's captain responded over the comms. "Commerce and Government in this sector are under the jurisdiction of the Hoseth Consortium. You have no authority to impede our flight plan."

"Captain Tong-ree, this is a vessel is a warship of the Imperial Navy. We are on a military operation to secure property of the Empire."

"And we are transporting our property, a cargo of tibanna gas, mined from Trounus to the refinery at Chaet."

"If you fail to alter course and return to the surface, we will be forced to take action."

Feit motioned to have the communications line cut. He turned Rogge and tapped a few buttons on the command consol. It brought up a holographic display of the deployment area, outlining the Adeptus and the Kygry set against the backdrop of space. A small cluster was in orbit the moon, the combat air patrol of TIE Fighters. The fighters would have to alter their course significantly in order to intercept the Kygry.

"The fighters are out of position," Rogge stated. "Estimate five to seven minutes before they're on station."

"So much for a combat air patrol," Feit humored then turned to address the bridge. "Starboard roll, seventy degrees, forward batteries one through three prepare lock."

The helm officer repeated the course commands, while the gunnery officer relayed the instructions to the gun crews. The crew braced for the coming engagement. Feit tapped a communications switch on his command consol and attempted to open a connection to the Kygry. The consol flashed a few times, but there was no link.

"They're jamming the transmission, Captain," the communications officer reported.

"Then perhaps we ought to speak up," Feit grinned.

"Forward battery one," Rogge commanded. "Fire a warning shot across that ship's bow."

The commands were directed from the Gunnery Officer on the bridge to the gun crews. At once, the forward number one turbolaser turret rotated to align the shot. The targeting scanners calculated the distance and adjusted for a slight lead on the target; the warning shot across the bow. It only took a few seconds for this intricate series of steps to be executed.

The turret fired a turbolaser bolt from its barrel and quickly another. The two flashes raced across the empty space and passed harmlessly in front of the Kygry. It missed the tanker by less than a hundred meters. The tanker did not alter its course, rather, its sublight ion engines increased their thrust and picked up the velocity necessary to leave orbit.

"Sir, they are not adjusting course," reported the comm/scan operator. "They are increasing their speed to break orbit."

"A stubborn foe," added Rogge. "Our fighter picket is less than a minute out. Shall we have them target that vessel's thrusters?"

"We risk igniting the tibanna gas with a direct shot," said Feit. "Even if it is a grazing shot, that gas is too volatile to risk it. No, have ion control fire another warning shot off their bow. The ionization might be enough to interrupt their navigation computer and prevent a hyperspace jump. It will buy us enough time to engage a tractor beam lock."

"A tractor beam will hopefully make our intentions clear," Rogge said, then turned to the bridge crew. "Ion control, a warning shot across her bow, single bolt at two-thirds charge, fire when ready."

The Gunnery Officer repeated the command of the Executive Officer and the gunners made their adjustments. Once a shot was lined up and the ion cannon brought to bear, the gun crew opened fire. A jet of light blue ionized energy burst forth from the Adeptus. It cut across the empty space in front of the Kygry's bow, missing by several meters.

Feit was ready to order the Star Destroy to flank speed and prepare a tractor beam to capture the gas hauler, when a blinding light engulfed the view windows. The Adeptus rocked slightly, as the deflector shields absorbed the brunt of the energy wave. A glowing cloud of dust dotted with fragmented pieces of debris was all that was left of the Kyrgy.

"Damage control!" Feit shouted. "I want reports from all sections on the integrity of this ship and bring us to red alert!"

"What the hell was that!" exclaimed Rogge. "That dammed gas hauler just exploded!"

The First Officer turned a vicious scowl to the bridge's Gunnery Officer. He extended his arm with an accusatory finger pointed at the weapons station.

"You!" snarled Rogge. "Lieutenant Sirebal, you were ordered to fire across that ship's bow, not destroy it!"

"Sir," the Lieutenant nervously replied. "We didn't hit it. I'm checking the gun footage and our sensors…"

"Our gunners don't miss," Feit stepped in, with a hand on Rogge's shoulder. "We're operating on the frontier. A ship as aged as that one looked was perhaps on its last legs and I doubt their maintenance regimen was up to even the lowest of commercial shipping safety standards. This was an inevitable event we happened to hasten. For now, Commander Rogge, stand us down to yellow alert. I want our combat air patrol doubled, no more leaving us exposed like that. We've been suffering one setback after another on this deployment and that needs to stop."

000

An hour had passed. An hour shielded against the rock in the torrent of rain and wind, while the Stormtroopers made a thorough check of the ship and declared it all clear. In the time spent, Hath and Philal had hardly said a word, more overcome by cold than a desire to chat. The moment they stood and prepared to make their way to the corvette, the rains stopped.

Philal cursed and turned to see two Troopers watching the perimeter apparently make a joke about the fortune. Hath removed his cap and wrung the water out in his hands. The Trooper Captain was struggling to stomp through the mud in order to reach the officers. When he finally made it, after several minutes, he reported the situation aboard ship.

"My Troopers have secured the wreck," the Trooper Captain began. "It is a mess inside; E-braking a hyperspace jump tore her apart pretty bad. The computers are not online and there is no internal power. Shall I call in a generator to be deployed?"

"That won't be necessary, I have everything I need," Hath replied, motioning to the droid. "What of survivors?"

"There were eighteen bodies, we could actually identify as bodies. All of various species, Humans, Zabraks, Rodians, Twi'leks…"

"Twi'leks, that could explain a few things," Hath mused.

Philal pulled herself through the blown out airlock and into the ship. The hallways were all crooked from the ship listing on its side where it crashed. Hath was already through and examining a circuit junction on the bulkhead. A Stormtrooper balancing to navigate the corridor approached.

"Sirs," the Trooper addressed them. "Ship's computer is this way."

"We are quite capable of finding our own way Trooper," Philal snapped. "Return to your duties."

Hath turned to notice and could not conceal a half smile.

"You Corellians always this arrogant about finding your way around ships?" joked Hath.

"How'd you know I was Corellian?" Philal asked.

Philal turned to face the Major. There was a look of being somewhat surprised by what Hath had said.

"The way you look at this ship," replied Hath. "You've been staring at it, analyzing it, the entire time we were huddled by the rock. Like you have a crush on the damn thing."

"The CR-90 is the pinnacle of Corellian engineering," Philal defended, though humoring. "Such a shame to see her in this state. And yes, we do pride ourselves to the point of arrogance if necessary."

The pair laughed, as they continued to navigate the hallway. The interior was far from the pristine bright corridors. It was a mess of debris, exposed wires, and sharp beams jutting out from the sides. They advanced cautiously, with their glowrods held forward. The corridor was dark with the complete loss of the ship's power.

A Stormtrooper emerged from a hatchway at the opposite end holding a glowrod up. It was a guide for the two officers, to lead them in to the ship's information room. Hath and Philal stepped through the opening of the hatchway, followed closely by the droid. The information room was a series of terminals and consoles that lined the walls. There was also a terminal bank in the center of the room where information could be viewed by a senior officer. Several of the consoles were smashed beyond use, with only a handful in what appeared to be working order. The Stormtroopers had hung a series of glowrods they carried from the bulkheads in order to light the room.

Hath made a quick visual scan of the room and identified the terminal. He motioned to the K-X unit. The droid removed the knapsack and set it on the floor next to the indicated console. Hath knelt beside the knapsack, pulling a shroud from the top exposing a dark scanner array. The Major input a command and the device started to hum and click, as it booted to life. A screen onboard lit up while the droid pulled a terminal connection cable from the scanner and inserted it into an access port.

The scanner contained its own generator that could supply power to the ship's console despite the electrical system being destroyed. The terminal screen on the ship's console lit up and bootup script began to scroll across the screen. Hath took one of his command cylinders and placed it into the slot on the scanner. Unseen to those in the room, the scanner was reading the authorization from the Major to proceed.

The scanner was running a complex cryptographic application that was accessing all information on the downed ship's computer. The application was able to break through any and all forms of digital security measures in order to access the stored information. It was a classified technology that could only be operated by the Major, in this instance, and one the Rebellion had yet to find a way to counteract. Philal let out a sigh more from boredom. She was shivering noticeably from the cold the rain that drenched her through. The K-X droid, K-7U9, turned to Hath.

"The charts have been purged from the database," K-7 began. "The log records their interception from the Pathfinder and upload to this vessel. From there…"

"Alright we get it," Hath interrupted, frustrated.

The Major stood up and arched his back. The pain shot from his shoulder and across his body. He kept a straight face to mask what the old wounds and failing augmentations were putting him through. It was clear to Hath what had happened, in a way he figured they would not find the hyperspace charts aboard this ship. The Rebels would have transferred the charts to a datadrive and fled with it to the nearby settlement. The encrypted transmission sent from the surface was an indication the Rebels had allies on this moon.

One of the Stormtroopers approached, a Sergeant by the extent of wear on the armor.

"Sir," the Trooper Sergeant began. "We've also located this Rebel protocol droid on the ship's bridge."

The Trooper Sergeant motioned and two additional Stormtroopers emerged from the shadows. Between them, lifted from under the shoulder joints with its legs dragging, was the protocol droid. The droid resembled the humanoid form and was coated in a red tinted chrome finish. A large tear in its abdomen section revealed a mass of circuitry and wiring; ripped out as a result of some source of impact. Its eyes were dark and appeared to not be functional.

The droid was set down next to the scanning device. The K-X droid had its focus turned to the ship's console, as it worked at a feverish pace to process the extracted data, at a rate far faster than a human could ever dream to achieve. Hath rotated the head of the protocol droid to access the panel at the back. He ridded the panel off and discarded it off to the side; exposing the connection port. Taking another data cable from the scanner, the Major attached it. The initiation sequence was executed and the droid's eyes started to flicker, the application bypassing all security measures and tapping into the memory of the droid.

"C-Seven, P-Nine," the protocol droid said in its mechanical voice. "Alliance Protocol Droid at…"

"Droid, execute input program, Imperial-Alpha-One-Eight," Hath commanded sharply. "Now what of the Rebels aboard this ship? What have they done with the charts?"

In an odd move, Hath slapped a hand across the head of the droid. It was a strike of chastisement that had the droid looking sharply left to right. It was, what a sentient could express, a look of bewilderment, as the droid tried to comprehend what was happening. Being a droid it was not necessary to perform such physical abuse, yet Hath felt it calming. All the while, the K-X droid furiously stroked the keys of the portable terminal. It was unlocking the memories and data contained within the protocol droid.

"Accessing…accessing," the droid spoke, illuminated eyes flickering. "Captain Jo'Jol, killed…First Officer Rengh, killed…Second Officer Luh, killed…Intelligence Officer Vosau assumed command…hyperspace charts downloaded to datadrive for handoff with Alliance Intelligence…We have a contact within the United Ryloth Front in Hoseth City…a Twi'lek named Mab'pege."

"K-7," Hath turned to the Imperial droid. "Interface with our Imperial network on Able. Find all intel on this Mab'pege."

"Sir," K-7 responded. "Heavy atmospheric ionization has severed our link with the Adeptus. An established link is not possible under these conditions. Might have been prudent to update our long distance carrier when offered."

"Very funny K-7. Let's not waste anymore time here then we have to. Download their databanks into the array and we can finish decryption and processing aboard ship."

Hath disconnected the data cable from the protocol droid. The information contained within the droid's databanks had all been uploaded into the knapsack array. He then grasped the central processing drive and tore it from the droid's head; effectively destroying its usefulness.

000

"Khel, get up!" said Commander Tybin, shoving the pilot's boots from the table.

Khel had been relaxing in the pilot's lounge aboard the Adeptus, this was the room set aside strictly for pilots. It matched the same drab scheme as could be found anywhere aboard an Imperial Star Destroy, any Imperial facility for that matter. The lounge was accented with couches to relax, tables with chairs for Sabacc or other games of chance, and holonet terminals. Khel, with his TIE Interceptor laid up for repairs, was taking full advantage of the situation. He had been reclined lazily in one of the couches with his feet resting on a coffee table.

Commander Tybin stood glaring at Khel, as the pilot took his time bringing himself upright. It was a poor showing on Khel's part toward the Commander of the ship's air wing. Khel did not concern himself one bit; riding on the arrogance he felt being an ace pilot and more recently the hero who downed the Rebel corvette.

"You'll show a superior officer the proper respect," snapped Tybin, gritting his teeth.

"Yes sir! Certainly sir!" Khel snidely said, jumping to attention with an over exaggerated salute.

"Ensign Dafflin is in the infirmary on sick call. Which means I'm down a pilot, and at last check, you were down a ship."

Khel immediately ended the routine and adopted a more serious expression; a look of annoyance given the fact the Ensign piloted a TIE Fighter. In Khel's case, it was a humiliation for a pilot of his self-absorbed character to be made to pilot a Fighter over an Interceptor.

"I'm not an eyeball jockey," Khel retorted, disgust in his words.

Tybin wound back and threw a surprise punch forward. Delivered directly to the stomach, Khel recoiled from surprise and the pain of the impact. It was a heavy handed blow, yet Tybin was holding back, so as not to crack any ribs. It would not be prudent to render another pilot out of action.

"You are in the service of the Empire," Tybin snarled. "You'll be in that TIE Fighter by the time the patrol launches or I'll have your ass flying the Lambda until you're drummed out of the Navy! Now get yourself composed. The next patrol rotation is on the hour."

With the last words spoken, Commander Tybin turned and departed. Khel struggled to his feet while holding his stomach. The pain was excruciating, but it was the humiliation that wounded Khel. All of the pilots in the lounge had turned to watch the confrontation. They all knew Khel's reputation and seeing him chastised sent a few grins to his rivals.

The preflight check had been completed with no faults discovered. Activating the control panels, Khel fired up the Fighter's Twin Ion Engines. A surge of energy coursed through the pod suspended between the massive panels on either side. The call from traffic control had come through and Khel was cleared for launch.

The Lieutenant pulled the release clamp and felt the TIE drop several meters from its overhead mooring clamps. The stabilizing repulsor lifts stopping the craft from slamming into the flight deck below. Khel opened the throttle; the ionized jets of energy propelled the TIE forward. In a matter of moments, he was clear of the hanger and accelerating to join the other TIE Fighters in formation.

"We have that hot shot Khel flying our wing this evening," said a pilot over the comms.

"Glad to see him move up from the Interceptors to real piloting," another pilot added.

"Oh please," Khel replied. "It's an embarrassment that I have to keep watch over all of you."

"Woah, big talker!"

"All of you pay attention!" the squadron leader interjection. "Stay sharp and stay off the comms unless it's urgent."

The banter abruptly ceased, with several of the TIE Fighter pilots making rude gestures in their cockpits directed toward Khel. The TIE Fighters banked at the edge of the patrol zone, keeping their formation together throughout the turn. The patrol would be devoted to intercepting any vessels attempting to leave the moon. Since the blockade had been established only one tibanna gas freighter attempted to slip through. A few turbo laser bolts across its bow were intended to serve as a warning, but ended up inadvertently destroying the freighter. Khel settled in for a routine flight and just hoped the mechanics would have his starfighter flight ready.

000

The skies outside were still heavily overcast. It was doubtful if the planet ever knew a clear day. The winds were picking up, blowing dust furiously across the shallow valley. Hath stepped from the mangled airlock hatch and into the rocky soil. Philal was already outside and standing with the Stormtrooper Captain. Kneeling before the officers were two Stormtroopers working on a backpack carried transmitted. Each was doing their part to align the antennal, adjust the knobs, and tune the frequencies. Hath walked over to the gathering.

"We can't reach the landing craft," said Philal, as Hath approached.

"Storm ionization," added Hath, holding up hand to secure his cap.

"Right. Throw in some interference from the metallic soil content with this wind. Couldn't have picked a nicer destination."

The landing craft was visible from the ground, as it provided an elliptical overwatch. The only problem lay in the fact they could not establish direct communications. A Stormtrooper Sergeant stepped forward, after receiving a nod from the Captain, and drew a smoke flare. Holding the flare in an outstretched hand, the Trooper let the thick, concentrated red smoke plume upwards, before tossing the flare into a cleared area.

The smoke was enough to get the attention of the landing craft's pilot. On the next pass, the craft broke its pattern and adopted a landing approach. The pilot understood that though they lacked communication, the Troopers were ready for extraction. The flare served as the prearranged signal for a situation such as this one.

The rain started to fall again, lighter this time. Philal felt her arms contract into her body in anticipation of a coming deluge. The landing craft slowed overhead, the repulsor lifts engaging while the stabilizers started to rotate upward.

A large fireball streaked across the sky, a howling noise pierced the air accompanying it. It was rocket fired from somewhere unseen. Before the Troopers could process what was happening, before the pilot could react to deploy countermeasures, the missile struck. A blast tore the port stabilizer from the Sentinel landing craft and engulfed the thruster in bluish glow.

The landing craft could no longer maintain lift and found itself plummeting to the ground. The Troopers looked on, awestruck, as the craft made its uncontrolled descent. Within moments, the hull struck a low lying ridge just opposite the valley where the corvette rested. The landing craft burrowed into the dirt, the structure remaining relatively together, save the inferno tearing through the aft section.

"What the hell was that!?" Philal exclaimed.

Hath could only offer a look of bewilderment as a response to Philal. His was the only face not obscured by the helmet of an Imperial Stormtrooper. If the Troopers had any concerns or fears, they surely were not outwardly expressing them.

"Incoming fast movers!" "Taking fire!" "Fireteam Six, multiple contacts!" "Left flank, left flank!" echoed a chorus of shouts from the Troopers.

A dozen landspeeders shot forth from over the horizon. They were simple twin seat landspeeders with an emplaced heavy repeater blaster mounted and manned by a standing individual. It was a crude, yet effective fast ground assault speeder popular among guerillas, pirates, and raiders. The landspeeders blew past the Troopers who established a perimeter around the landing zone.

The fast attack bested the stationary Troopers, who were prepared for a standup fight. The gunners on the landspeeders swung their blasters around to hit the Stormtroopers from behind. The landspeeders began to make erratic and rapid movements, cutting through the landing zone that encompassed the corvette wreckage. With the hostile landspeeders effectively inside the Troopers' perimeter, confusion and panic seized the Imperials.

Stormtroopers fired in every direction in a vain effort to stop the onslaught. A few lucky blaster bolts were able to pick off the exposed gunners on the landspeeders, who would almost immediately be replaced by an individual in the passenger seat. A contingent of barges and skiffs soon appeared at the edge of the once established landing zone; hovering meters from the ground on repulsor lifts. They quickly deposited nearly a hundred armed combatants on foot.

These combatants were a motley assortment of aliens, Twi'leks, Rodians, Weequay, with humans and repurposed droids dispersed among their ranks. They were all dressed in long dusters with cobbled together armor and some wore cloaks. These were not Rebels, their appearance and numbers suggested they were inhabitants of this moon; weathered by the harsh conditions. The arms varied from top of the line blaster models, to custom built, refurbished, and Republic surplus weapons from the Clone War.

Hath was crouched against the large rock they had sheltered themselves against earlier. He had a protective hand pressed against Philal's back to keep her down and shielded from the hostiles. A speeder rushed by and its turret was firing wildly. Hath had drawn his SE-14r blaster from his holster. The weapon shook, as he tried to tighten a nervous grip around the blaster's handle. The visions were returning at this inopportune moment; the memories of entering the village and opening fire on its inhabitants. The screams, as they tried to run, the pleas, as they tried to bargain, in vain, for their lives.

A loud cry echoed behind Hath and pulled him from the trance. He turned swiftly only to see Philal clutching a hand to her left shoulder. The uniform tunic around the area had been scorched, the flesh cauterized. She felt her knees buckle and give out, the pain racing through her was excruciating. A spent blaster bolt had grazed the limb. The wound itself was mostly superficial, but the pain was near crippling. Philal collapsed back against the rock, her legs slumping into the mud.

Hath rushed to her side and knelt down next to her; positioning his grip to prevent her falling completely to the ground. Philal clutched her right hand to Hath' left arm, he could see the pain in her eyes, the burn from the blaster bolt was excruciating. A medical Trooper had rushed over, unseen by Hath. The Trooper nudged the Major out of the way in order to render medical aid to the wounded Philal. The sight of an officer being wounded prompted they be treated first, due to their rank.

A rage manifested itself within Hath, as he watched the medic start to tend to Philal. Gone was the uneasiness brought on by the flashes to his past, to the deaths at his hands. Now, there was only anger, a hatred of those who had wounded Philal. Hath had to do what needed to be done in order to keep her safe. It was a lust for blood he had felt in some time.

Pointing the blaster pistol, he took several shots at the passing speeder. The well aimed shot sent a laser bolt through the speeder's windshield and passed through the skull of the driver. The driver slumped forward over the controls, veering the speeder off course. It crashed into a clump of rocks protruding from a low ridgeline.

A Stormtrooper was running when a blaster bolt struck the Trooper in the back. The Trooper fell to ground; dropping their E-11 blaster at Hath's feet. Hath reached down and grabbed the E-11 and extended the folding stock. Bracing the stock against his shoulder he looked down the scope. The implanted servos in his arm steadied the weapon allowing for pinpoint precision; working through the pain of gears grinding against bone. He squeezed the trigger and let out a hail of blaster bolts, each one cutting down an onrushing attacker. The implants worked to keep the weapon perfectly focused on target; guaranteeing a kill.

Five hostiles fell dead from a bolt delivered to each, yet it seemed like several more rushed forward to take their place. A heavy bolt fired by a mounted weapon exploded next to Hath. The impact churned up the rocky soil and showered the Major with dirt. Hath wiped the dirt from this face and sighted the hostile who manned the mounted blaster cannon. He fired E-11 and dropped the enemy, who tumbled from the back of the zooming landspeeder.

The medic had done all he could Philal, slapping a bacta pack to the wound and shooting her with a syringe of adrenaline. The Stormtroopers were dragging wounded comrades to the rock, and the medic's attention was needed.

Philal had drawn her pistol as well. Bracing against Hath's back, she covered his blind spot. Squeezing off a few bolts, she managed to drop several of the hostiles. The Stormtroopers had all been scattered by the attack. A few fell back to form a new perimeter around the rock. Dozens of smaller boulders surrounding the rock jutted out of ground; provided cover for the Stormtroopers.

The Imperials were being pushed back to the center rock; the speeders in effect corralling them together by rushing the flanks. The Stormtroopers kept up a murderous fire and tenacious defense, but their numbers were dwindling. The hostiles were grounding the platoon down.

Hath worked himself into a rage; cursing the enemy at every pull of the trigger. He seemed like a man possessed, half crazed. The onrushing hostiles were finding the mud to be hampering their advance, as their momentum was slowed having to trudge through the morass. The enemy was being picked off the few remaining Stormtroopers; able to take advantage of the conditions.

"You bastards!" shouted Hath, as he watched his shots find two hostiles. "I'll kill every last one of you!"

The Major was standing in the open, completely exposed to enemy fire. All around, the blaster bolts whizzed past or hit the surrounding ground. Not a single one found Hath. A speeder zoomed close. It did not have a mounted repeating blaster, but human and a Rodian riding in the back as essentially mechanized infantry. Hath turned his blaster and fired. The bolt impacted on the center of mass of the human; knocking the hostile from the speeder.

The speeder was within only a few meters of where Hath stood. There was no time to aim a blaster, much less fire a round. The Rodian, moving quickly, leapt from the rear of the speeder and landed on top of Hath, bringing the Major to the ground in the process.

The pair was locked in a hand to hand struggle. The hostile Rodian flailed about in an effort to land blow after blow. They grappled in mud, as a torrential rain began to fall once again. Hath threw a punch with his left hand, which was increased in force because of the servo implants giving it more strength than the average human. The blow shattered the right eye socket of his foe, who recoiled with an awful shriek. Hath could feel the gears of the servo dig deeper into the bone and ligaments in his shoulder. The pain was intense, almost crippling. The Other speeders were rushing in to deposit combatants closer to the Imperial line, an effort to bypass having to advance through the quagmire.

While Hath fought with the Rodian, Philal was down on one knee taking shots with her blaster pistol. She opened fire on a cluster of attackers, who found themselves significantly slowed by the mud. The mud put a stop to any attempt at a rapid sprint or charge; pulling those who dared to trudge downward or tripping them completely. It was essentially shooting at stationary targets for Philal. These were not the first lives she would take; the first kill was the result of a disorderly Trandoshan at a spaceport who refused all commands to disarm. There was little debate for Philal on the ethical nature of shooting the hostiles, as it was their lives or hers.

Hath managed to get a hand around the neck of the Rodian, as he clenched the muscles in his fingers tightly and dug them into the hide-like flesh. The pitiful creature tried to gasp for breath, smack a hand against Hath's forearm in a plea to make him stop, but the Major only tightened the grip. Soon the lifeless Rodian flopped down in mud, its tongue dangling out of the end of its elongated snout. Hath let go of the corpse and stared down at his trembling palms.

It had been a long time since he had taken a life in this manner, yet it felt exhilarating. The guilt that had been weighing him down for so long felt suddenly lifted, and he was invigorated. This had to be the conditioning the military put him through from years ago, lying dormant, was now forcing its way to the surface, wanting more.

000

Khel was lazily reclined in the cockpit of his TIE Fighter. The combat air patrol had been flying its observational course around the Star Destroyer for several hours already. The squadron had just executed a navigational turn and the next one would not take place for another thirty-nine minutes, or so Khel had calculated. The fighter's course would not have to be altered, and unless there was a hostile contact, the pilot could easily sit idly by as the TIE followed the set trajectory.

"Hey anyone picking up the landing craft?" a bored Khel called out over the comms. "That fug Conote was flying those bucketheads to the surface and buzzed out before paying me the credits she owes."

"Can't blame her," replied one of the TIE Pilots over the channel. "Everyone knows you cheat at Sabbac, Khel!"

"It isn't cheating, it's strategic opportunity."

A chorus of grunts and profanities sung out in response to Khel's explanation of his card playing style. The patrol had worn through all of Khel's patience and he sought any sort of means to occupy the time. So he switched to the frequencies on the Fighter's communications array to attempt to pick up chatter from the landing craft on Trounus. Sel Conote was a competent pilot, but sheepish around others. This subjected her to numerous taunts and harassment from Khel, as he sought out those ripe to be bullied.

"Nothing but static from the surface," another pilot added.

"It's that damnable atmospheric content," snapped Khel. "Enough rubbish buzzing around and it's guaranteed to frag up all manner of comms."

Khel peered out the circular viewport on his TIE at the moon. The darkened color of the Trounus moon reflected as a shadow against the backdrop of the gas giant. The dust storms added to the darkened haze that covered the moon. A sudden, sharp crack broke across the radio; any words were indistinguishable through the static. It was enough grab the attention of everyone on the patrol. A red indicator light flashed the corresponding channel the message was being broadcasted.

"What the hell was that?" one pilot inquired.

"It's Imperial," Khel said. "But not on a pilot or flight channel."

"Could be infantry? You think the Stormtroopers are trying to signal?"

"Why would they be transmitting from the ground? It makes more sense to broadcast via the Sentinel. The landing craft has a more sophisticated comms suite, able to penetrate the atmospheric interference."

"They would route their communications through the Sentinel," Khel said. "They also carry long range comms equipment to transmit direct from ground to the Destroyer…Which they would use in the event they…"

Khel banked his TIE Fighter hard and dropped from the formation. He set a course toward the moon's atmosphere and fired the afterburners for orbital entry.

"LIEUTENANT KHEL!" the squadron commander bellowed over the comms. "Where the hell do you think you're going? Return to formation immediately!"

"If we can't raise the landing craft," Khel responded. "Then it wouldn't hurt to do a visual check."

At this point, Khel switched off his cockpit communicator. It would deafened by the squadron commander and the superiors aboard the Adeptus screaming their heads off about his maneuver. As Khel saw it, he and his family were of a class superior to most in Imperial service; their immense wealth and status attributable to that mindset. Heeding instructions from these people, according to Khel, was beneath him.

The glow around the exterior of the TIE intensified, as the fighter massed through the atmosphere. The heat-shielding doing much to mitigate the drastically rising temperature. Before long, Khel had broken through to open sky and leveled the craft off. The navigation unit honed in on the coordinates last transmitted. The entry trajectory through the atmosphere put Khel only a few kilometers away; a distance easily crossed in a short amount of time.

000

The platoon of Stormtroopers had been reduced to less than a dozen; the remaining cordoned around the rock by the hostiles. The Stormtrooper Captain had been severed in twain by rocket blast, his legs gruesomely separated from his mangled torso. The platoon's Lieutenant was dead, killed at the outset of hostilities. What was left of the Stormtroopers desperately fought on against an overwhelming foe.

Hath picked up the blaster again. He shot down two more attackers; picking them off of the landspeeder they crewed. The fight was hopeless, the odds too great. A single Trooper now manned the comms device and frantically tried to boost the signal. A bolt passed through the Trooper's helmeted and they fell forward, dead, onto the comms unit. Hath scanned his immediate surroundings and quickly tried to determine the next course of action. The retreat was cutoff, really there was nowhere to retreat towards, their numbers diminished and the enemy was unrelenting. Perhaps, Hath mused, it was best to determine to die and fight until the last bolt was spent.

As Hath prepared for this fate, a piercing, familiar sound broke through the sky. It was unmistakable screech of the twin ion engines of an Imperial fighter.

000

Khel had the wreckage of the downed Rebellion corvette in his sights just ahead. The tall plumes of smoke rose upward to the sky. He was just below the overcast clouds and had drops of rain colliding with his cockpit windshield. The streaks of light from the blaster bolts flung across the terrain below. Khel was coming in low; could see the marred white armor circled around the standing rock, the one noticeable geographical feature within the shallow valley. The transponders every Imperial carried were immediately picked up by the TIE Fighter, so Khel had a display readout marking friend from foe.

There were three landspeeders tightly packed and moving together toward the survivors. Khel swung sharply and aligned the vehicles in his gun sights. He pulled the trigger on the control stick. The twin laser cannons mounted under the spherical cockpit let out a burst of green energy. The blasts hit their marks, shredding all three speeders and engulfing their hulks in a searing conflagration.

But Khel was not done, as a line of hostiles on foot were advancing with the previously combatant speeders. The pilot strafed the infantry and cut down nearly their entire line. The hostiles stopped in their tracks; consternation overtaking them from the arrival of the TIE Fighter. Some raised their blasters towards the sky and tried to shoot the craft down, though it was in vain. The TIE was too fast and too maneuverable for the crude shoulder mounted surface to air rockets to target. Others were less inclined to continue the fight, which was costing their side dearly as well. Khel banked sharply and prepared for another pass.

Hath lowered his blaster and focused on the TIE Fighter. The Fighter made a strafing run and banked, then turned to unleash another burst of murderous fire on another group of hostiles. The Major saw the hostiles begin to withdraw. The smaller speeders quickly turned and fled, while the larger ones slowed down long enough to pick up those on foot. Gradually, the shooting ceased and the Stormtroopers were able to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Major Hath," the comms buzzed, Khel's voice. "You all are having a party and didn't think to invite me? Local wildlife seems charming."

One of the Troopers handed a comms receiver from the communications pack to the Major. As he took the comms receiver in his hand, Hath spoke in jest.

"Was that some of your banthashit flying, Khel?"

"Banthashit flying!?" Khel fired back. "You all just had your asses saved by the best pilot in the Third Fleet."

Khel had more to add on the topic, though Hath switched off the communications.

Hath stood shivering, his clothes were drenched, his trousers soaked with mud, and his muscles burning from pain. He was exhausted and breathing heavily. Looking down to his side, he saw Philal seated with her back pressed to the rock, also exhausted. The Major held out a hand that was soon grasped by Philal, and he pulled her up.

"You have done this before," Philal quipped, a half smirk.

Hath responded with barely a smile. The heavy klink of mechanized joints sounded, as the Imperial K-X droid approached. Under its arm was tucked the scanner array. The droid caught Hath's attention.

"And where the hell have you been?" Hath grunted.

"You organics and your violence," K-7 retorted. "While you were settling your mutual differences, I was able to decipher the Rebel's code. They are, indeed, in league with the United Ryloth Front and are being sheltered in the main settlement."

"Didn't we already determine that?" added Philal.

"You know their location, don't you gearbox?" Hath grinned.

"They made the mistake of maintaining an audio log aboard the CR-90," said K-7. "I was able to fine tune the communications sent from this moon. Once you filter out the Twi'lek gibberish there's the distinct noise of several light freighters coming and going."

"Then I suppose we know where to start looking," Hath spoke. "K-7, bounce a signal off of one of the incoming TIEs and have it relayed to Able. Report our situation here and provide our findings on the Rebels."

The droid gave a slight nod in affirmation and then began to boost its communications signal for a transmit lock. The two Imperial Officers staggered through the mud. All around the wreckage of battle was strewn. There were bodies, both Imperial and those of the hostiles. A few burning speeders smoldered in the now pouring rain. Those Stormtroopers who had survived checked the condition of the wounded and if any of the motionless were still alive. The battle had been costly for the Imperials, less than a dozen, including Hath and Philal, were left from the platoon of fifty that had been inserted.

Overhead, a sizable contingent of TIE Fighters flew in formation; reinforcements were being sent to establish air superiority. The battle, for now, had ended.

000

"Captain, we are receiving an incoming transmission," the communications operator announced.

Feit's attention was turned from his contemplative gaze out the large viewport, at the glowing giant, to the communications operator's announcement. The violent turn of events was troubling. The attack on the personnel on the crash site, but for what purpose? Feit went over the scenarios in his mind.

"Put it trough up here," Feit said, unlocking the holo emitter on the panel before him.

An image of a trio of aliens materialized; their figures comprised of the blue tinted light. All three were dressed in expensive and ornately appointed robes, the attire commissioned by those of wealth and power. The Abednedo was at the forefront of what could presumed to be a governing council, flanked on either side by a Rodian and an Ithorian. The Abednedo immediately launched into a tirade in its native tongue, its arms gesticulating some perceived outrage. The two other aliens remained silent and stoic as their compatriot continued the rant.

"Speak basic dammit!" Feit countered, unable to understand a word.

The Captain was no adept linguist and struggled with the languages of species unable to speak basic. His career had been spent among crews of humans with little opportunity to be fluent in anything other than basic. If he ever encountered a situation where translation was needed, as he did now, Feit would summon a protocol droid to translate. On the communications panel was a small paging button he discreetly tapped. Within a few moments of being summoned, an onyx hued protocol droid shuffled quickly onto the bridge and made toward the Captain.

The alien continued its raving, incensed the Captain had to now call upon a droid to aid in their discourse. The droid began responding immediately upon arriving at its place next to Feit.

"The Abednedo is incensed you must rely on the services of a droid for translation," the droid interpreted.

Feit offered a grunt and grinned slightly. The droid continued.

"He accuses you of destroying the gas hauler Kygry, which was owned by the group these individuals represent, the Hoseth Consortium they call themselves. He is also accusing you of sending troops to occupy a wreck his people have a legitimate salvage claim on."

"Baseless accusations," Feit responded coolly, with the droid translating. "Your gas hauler was in no way spaceworthy. When its hull could not even absorb a grazing ion blast should be evidence enough of its decrepit state. As for what is unfolding on the ground, our forces were dispatched to recover stolen Imperial property. We have no need for the scraps of metal or failing electronics, but your people attacked us, your scavengers drew first blood…"

Feit paused a moment to straighten his back and cross his arms across his chest. He adopted a more menacing persona. It was subtle wording linking the scavengers to this trio, who seemed more angered over the loss of their gas hauler to deny the attack on the wrecked corvette.

"I can order a Base Delta Zero to flatten your settlement," Feit continued. "What is there to stop me?"

"Because we have the Rebel and the charts you are after!" a voice said, pushing his way into view on the hologram.

A Twi'lek appeared amongst the trio. His rounded teeth gritted together with a scowl to match. This newcomer to the group was speaking a heavily accented dialect of basic, but still understandable to Feit. The Ithorian pushed the Twi'lek to the side and imposed himself in the conversation, immediately grunting and growling in the Ithorian language.

"The Ithorian says to ignore the tail head," the droid translated. "He is calling for a ceasefire and halt to further hostilities. He wishes to hold a parlay at the Administration Hall in Hoseth City where we can discuss intentions and equal reparations for both sides."

On the hologram, the Twi'lek was shoved out of the image projection by the Rodian. Feit grimaced and gave it some thought. He gained that this Administrative body either had the charts in their possession or they were easily accessible. The outspokenness of the Twi'lek and the speed at which he was silence indicated their union may not be ironclad; there might be factionalism to exploit.

The parlay could be advantageous. Perhaps they could talk the return of the data out of the hands of the Administration. Feit also surmised, if they met, it could give Hath the opportunity to take the action he needed. Hath's droid reported they had a lead.

Captain Feit opened up a dual channel on the shipboard communications display. After a few paging sounds, Rogge and Kesyk appeared on a split screen.

" Gentlemen," Feit began eagerly. "It looks like we may have caught a break."