Author's Note: As promised, here is this week's second chapter of "False Imperium." A few of you have pointed out that I seem to be biased towards the Galactic Empire, and I'll admit that I am giving them some lucky breaks here and there, just so that it's not a one-sided battle. Rest assured, however, they will get their comeuppance, once the Imperium mobilizes against this latest threat. I am trying to be relatively objective.


Kryos Installation, 2.14 AVY:

Krennic was alone in his office, with the door shut and the lights dimmed. If anyone saw what he was looking at, it would make for some awkward questions.

The screen at his desk showed the last transmission of a probe droid, A-1750, one of several which had attempted to enter the vast pink-purple nebula only a few hundred light-years from the Kryos Installation's terminus. Few of the probes sent there had returned data, but A-1750 had. It had landed on a rocky world deep inside the nebula and beamed back a snippet shortly before going dark.

Its findings were… disturbing. He had hidden them from Lord Vader and all but a handful of analysts, and he planned to go on pretending that A-1750 had just vanished without a trace.

He played the file again:

There were human skins, hanging from hooks by the thousands, amid jagged outcrops of jet-black rock.

Lines of flayed, moaning people, kept alive and in agony by who knew what.

Tortured screams as bat-winged things stripped flesh.

A guttural voice chanting in an alien language.

An eight-pointed star, a dozen meters wide, cast in iron and dripping with blood and jutting from the tallest outcrop like some gruesome monument to primitive gods.

It wasn't likely that the probe had randomly come down in the middle of a slaughterhouse—most of the planet had to be like this. A menagerie of horrors.

"Director Krennic?" said a voice over the intercom. Krennic glanced instinctively around his empty office, and shut off the screen. He pressed a key on his desk with a gloved finger.

"Yes?"

"The Pursuer has arrived at the recall point, sir." It was Lieutenant Commander Greaves, presently overseeing the installation's command center. "Shall we bring them across?"

"About time," he muttered, then said to the lieutenant commander, "Yes, immediately. Inform Major Tykon and Captain Brigain that they are to meet me in Hangar Three for a full debriefing."

"At once, sir."

"Very good. Krennic out."

He stood and made for the door, sparing one last glance for the screen that had so recently shown a vista of horror. The Kryos Installation had been at full charge for seventy-seven hours, ready to pull the Pursuer back home, but the problem was that the ship hadn't shown up on time, and the portal's sensors—able to detect vessels at the terminus, in the other galaxy—hadn't picked up a soul on the other side. Until now.

The door slid open and he walked out into the corridor. It was wide, as the Imperial style dictated, and every few meters a vertical strip of lights provided steady, sterile illumination. Not far down the hallway was Captain Enric Pryde, clutching a datapad.

"There you are, sir! I was just about to give my report."

"Walk with me, I'm in a hurry," Krennic said. Pryde fell into step beside him. "What is it?"

"The first draft of Operation Falcon, sir."

"Excellent." They turned a corner and passed a pair of stormtroopers. "How many targets?"

"At least sixteen. Most haven't been identified yet, we are waiting on the next round of probes." Pryde handed him the datapad. Krennic looked it over while he walked, keeping one eye on the hallway so that he didn't trip over a mouse droid or something.

"Population centers, military garrisons, storage depots…" Krennic read off the list of target categories, well aware that most of them were, at this stage, hypothetical. "'Religious targets?'"

"Yes, sir. The proliferation of iconography and apparent cathedrals suggests a highly devout society. Final confirmation, of course, will come from the Pursuer's findings, but I felt that to be a classification worth including."

"Still don't see why you'd single out cathedrals, when we're talking about indiscriminate bombardment of entire planets."

Pryde furrowed his brow. "Oh, no, sir. My assumption was that an empire of this scale would have worlds wholly dedicated to religious functions."

"Absurd. No civilization would waste resources on something like that."

A KX-series enforcer droid strode by, a tall and long-limbed black figure.

"These natives appear to be technologically advanced but culturally primitive, sir. They likely have a different value system than we do. I believe we can damage their morale by destroying sites they consider holy—like we did against the barbarians of Durivic, when we obliterated their Soul Temple."

"The Durivites still trouble the Empire, captain, as tenaciously as they ever did."

"Well, yes… I suppose they do. Bad example."

"I want you to focus on targets of strictly military and economic importance, for now. But I commend your imagination."

"Very well, sir. And thank you."

Krennic scanned through the report, picking out the most prominent lines of text. "Another thing: this assumes twenty-three Imperial-class Star Destroyers."

"Yes it does, sir. Was my assumption off?"

"Judgment suffers from engine troubles, and two others are waylaid on a pacification mission in the Outer Rim. We'll have to make do with twenty."

"I'll make adjustments right away."

The Kryos Installation began to hum around them—that was it returning the Pursuer from the other universe. Pulling a ship back was a somewhat faster process than sending one out.

"Sounds like our ship is finally coming home," Pryde said.

"Indeed; I'm on my way to meet them." Krennic returned the datapad. "Operation Falcon looks promising, captain. Keep working on it."

"Yes, sir." The captain nodded and left. Krennic continued walking, his hands clasped behind his flowing white cape.

Twenty minutes later he arrived at Hangar Three. The two personnel from the Pursuer had beaten him there, much to his chagrin, and he found them standing out on the polished black floor of the hangar, next to the shuttle they'd arrived in. It was a Lambda-C, wings shortened to fit inside a ship as small as the Pursuer. As a result it had a stubby and dwarfish look to it.

"Captain, major," he said, waving. "Welcome back to the Empire!"

"It's good to be back," Brigain said. He was a stocky man, with rounded cheeks and a slight paunch. As a captain, he would normally command a Star Destroyer rather than a mere corvette, but Krennic had wanted somebody experienced to lead the Pursuer on its first extragalactic mission.

"Thank you, director," said Tykon. There was a small splotch of blood, probably not his, on the left sleeve of his tunic. Unprofessional, but perhaps he'd just been working on someone. His official title, "cultural analyst," didn't describe half of what he did.

"I'm sure you've picked up many fascinating stories from the natives." Krennic gestured towards the nearest door, and started walking. "Let's discuss."

Tykon fell into place on Krennic's right-hand side, beating the captain to it, and Brigain had to settle for the left. Side by side the three of them made a spectrum of black, white, and grey, a small cross-section of the Imperial bureaucracy.

"How hard was it finding the planet?" Krennic asked.

"Harder than we expected," Brigain said. "The probe only partially mapped the hyperspace route. And…"

"And what, captain?"

The doorway slid open ahead of them, and they walked into the long hallway beyond.

"Our navigational shields were unusually strained during the passage through hyperspace. As if something were trying to get in."

"Director Krennic," Tykon cut in, "the captain and I have discussed this. I maintain that it was nothing more than a quirk of hyperspace phys—"

"That's not what it was, dammit!" Brigain shot a glare past Krennic at the intelligence officer. "This thing was intelligent, it targeted the weak points in our shields and caused power fluctuations like nothing I've ever seen. And it gets worse. A crewman went insane during the voyage, not long after we transited, and we had to shut him in a storage locker to keep him from killing his bunkmate. When we opened it up again... it was a grisly sight."

Krennic raised an eyebrow. He remembered that monstrous vista the probe droid had beamed back, the flayed skins and the eight-pointed star, and for a moment he didn't doubt that other, even worse things existed on the far side of the portal. Then he got a hold of himself; fear of the unknown was the domain of savages and mystics, not men of the Empire.

"It was a classic case of space psychosis," Tykon said. "Brigain is being superstitious."

The captain stopped in his tracks, and pointed a finger at Tykon. "Space psychosis doesn't make men tear out their own eyes, major!"

Krennic raised his hands. "Gentlemen, please control yourselves. I'll have scientists look into what happened and see if they can find an explanation. Now, tell me about the planet."

Tykon spoke, while Brigain fumed. "They call it Mortias IV. Hive world. Most of the surface is a toxic wasteland, dominated by a few vast, dilapidated arcologies. We estimate fifty-five billion inhabitants, low end."

"Fifty billion? Incredible." It did not come close to Coruscant, of course, but it outclassed nearly any other planet in the Galaxy. "Must be their capital, or close to it."

Tykon shook his head. "Their capital is a planet called Terra. Another hive world, it seems, where according to legend their God-Emperor sits upon the Golden Throne and rules the Imperium of Man."

They reached the debriefing room, a large chamber, trapezoidal in cross-section, with a steel table flanked by several chairs. A window looked out over the center of the Kryos Installation. Krennic shut the door behind them, and they took seats.

"Tell me about this Emperor. Is it a hereditary title? Is he a genuine ruler, or a mere figurehead?"

"According to their propaganda there has only been one Emperor for the past ten thousand years, during which he has not moved or spoken to his subjects. We have every reason to believe that he does not really exist."

"I see. You determined all of this from intercepted broadcasts?"

"And from a prisoner."

"A prisoner? Now things are getting interesting."

"We found her during a raid on one of the hive cities." Tykon paused, pensive for a second. "Actually, we took two prisoners, a male and a female, both local police, but the male died of a brain hemorrhage inflicted during capture. The female is our primary information source, and an uncooperative one at that. She required the use of an interrogator droid."

Krennic interlaced his fingers in front of him, and leaned back. "What did she tell you?"

"These people are fanatically devoted to their Emperor, sir. It is a cult more widespread than anything we've ever seen—the entire society is organized around worshiping and fighting for this one, solitary deity, who was interred upon the Golden Throne during a mythical conflict ten thousand years ago."

Ten thousand years. A long time, to be sure—longer than the Republic had been around.

"How much would you wager that the Golden Throne is empty, and this Imperium of theirs is actually run by a cabal of fabulously wealthy priests?" Brigain said.

"It's either empty, or there's a rotting corpse sitting on it," Krennic said. "Now, how about the military situation? What have you found out?"

"Well, there's only so much a policewoman is going to know." Krennic nodded, conceding the point, and Tykon went on, "However, between her and the broadcasts, I was able to determine that the Imperium has a diverse military, comprising a regular army and navy as well as a host of religious orders, militias, and elite forces. Most are deployed in a bitter struggle against what they term 'heretics and xenos.'"

"Xenos?"

"Aliens, sir. They kill them on sight."

"I see they, too, recognize the supremacy of the human race." Krennic grinned. "Though perhaps they go too far."

The Empire would have to educate the people of the Imperium on how to properly utilize the subservient races. The Death Star, for instance, could not have succeeded without Wookiee slave labor, hundreds of thousands of aliens plucked from their treehouses and put to useful work. Their sacrifice had made possible the greatest instrument of peace in galactic history—which Tarkin had then stolen from him. Krennic would be damned if the Grand Moff ever got so much as a toehold in the new universe.

"I'd like to know more about these elite forces, major," he said.

"Of course, sir." Tykon shifted in his seat. "The Imperium fields super-soldiers known as the Adeptus Astartes, or Space Marines. They're… well, all sorts of fantastic abilities are attributed to them. My prisoner said they're more than two and a half meters tall, they wear impenetrable armor that can shrug off tank shells, they dive from orbit to smite the Emperor's foes… the list goes on. I would liken them to many primitive mythologies' ideas of angels."

"Do we have any evidence that these Astartes actually exist?"

"Nothing conclusive. The broadcasts mentioned them, but we saw no images in the few video transmissions we picked up. They might just be propaganda devised to prop up a failing regime."

"I see." Krennic certainly hoped they were a myth, or at the least wildly exaggerated; the nagging voice in the back of his mind kept asking if he was perhaps biting off more than he could chew. He looked down at the table, then returned his gaze to Tykon. "What would you say is the overall condition of the Imperium, major? Can it fight?"

"They do little besides fighting. On the other hand, sir, the hive city I visited was falling apart. The people inside were starving and brainwashed. This Imperium cannot provide for its citizens, it cannot put a lid on internal rebellion, and it cannot defeat its external enemies."

"It may well be stretched to the breaking point," Brigain cut in, "ripe for another power to push it towards collapse."

"So we only have to kick in the door, and the whole rotten structure will come crashing down," said Krennic. He stood from his seat, and reached across the table to shake hands with both men. "You each have done an admirable job for the Empire. Captain, I would like you to take Pursuer back through the portal—after rest and refurbishment, of course—and map hyperspace routes."

Brigain nodded stiffly, as if he didn't really want to go back. Too bad for him. Krennic went on, "Major, once you've reported back to Imperial Intelligence, I want you to begin organizing a diplomatic staff."
"Diplomatic staff, sir?"

Krennic grinned. "Well, we're going to need someone to negotiate the Imperium's terms of surrender, aren't we?"

Tykon returned the smile. "Of course."

"There may also be disgruntled elements in the Imperium we can sway to our side. Not everyone can be a fanatic, after all. Any further points you would like to make?"

"No, sir," Tykon said. Brigain shook his head.

"Very well. You're dismissed."

The captain and the major made for the door. Just as Tykon was about to leave, Krennic spoke up:

"And, major?"

Tykon turned. "Yes, sir?"

"During your expedition, did you ever come across a symbol that looked like an eight-pointed star?"

"Could you describe in more detail?"

He could; that wickedly pointed iron star was burned into his memory. "I'm talking about a circle, with eight irregular arrows crossing its perimeter, pointing outwards. Seen anything like it?"

"I encountered nothing of the sort. Why?"

"Never mind that. You're dismissed, major."

Tykon departed with a curt nod. Krennic meanwhile, turned and looked out the room's sole window. The view from here was much like that from the command center; there was the dull grey band of the particle accelerator ring, forming an artificial horizon, while a host of ships loitered nearby, white-hulled Star Destroyers and cruisers and various service vessels. The panoply of Imperial power, soon to be unleashed upon an unsuspecting galaxy.


Author's Note: Thanks for reading! Next week, stay tuned for some stuff blowing up, as well as the introduction of a very important character. Also expect a "Gifts of the Blood God" update in the near future, if any of you are following that.