The Jedi Temple on Coruscant was a towering piece of architecture. It loomed above the glittering spires of the ecumenopolis around it, above the seedy underbelly of the planet city. Its monolithic silhouette dominated the skyline for miles around. The Jedi presence of Courscant was a steady reminder of their Order's influence and prestige.
Atop its highest chamber, the Jedi Council debated.
"We cannot ignore this. Such a disturbance in the Force can only mean that the Sith have returned, and are making their move." Mace Windu, foremost blademaster of the Order, and second most senior amongst the Council, argued.
His steadfast dedication to peace was tremendous, as was his implacable resolve against the Dark Side.
"I am not so sure it is the Sith, Master Windu. They have not troubled the galaxy for millennia." Ki-Adi Mundi spoke, wizened brow furrowed.
Mace nodded, acknowledging his colleague's input.
"Master Mundi. Respectfully, the Dark Side has never been, and can never be, extinguished. We must be vigilant. This disturbance goes beyond anything that the Order has ever experienced."
"Concur with Master Mundi, I do."
The oldest, and perhaps greatest, Jedi on the council spoke now. Master Yoda, Grandmaster of the Jedi Order, leaned deep into his seat, small form hunched and frail.
"This disturbance, not of the Dark Side. The Force itself, changed it is. Clarity, I find." Yoda said.
Windu's eyes narrowed.
"Master Yoda, I do not understand. This disturbance was felt by every force sensitive being in the galaxy. Every Jedi, across every planet. The Force is in complete turmoil. Even now, I can feel it. Something is very wrong."
"And yet, the work of the Dark Side, this is not." Yoda answered.
"Then what could it be?" Mace leaned forward.
"Answer you, I cannot."
Mars Eternal was going to war. Aboard the gargantuan warship, countless thousands of crew-thralls scrambled to muster stations. Servitors moved with alacrity, carrying shells to macrocannons and ammunition storage. Engineseers chanted in sync, incense rising from censers as they appeased the uncountable machine spirits aboard the magnificent vessel. Tech-Priests of all orders saw to their duties, cogs in the wheel that spun eternal.
"Warp-exit, T-12" A burst of techna-lingua fluttered through the noosephere. Archmagos Vespasian Scipione-37 subroutines filtered the data, cogitators clicking and neural servos whining as rivers of pure binaric code flowed through him.
The Explorator Dominatus was fully in tune with his glorious flagship now. His mechadendrites interfaced with the Throne Mechanicum positioned at the heart of the command bridge, and he could feel the ancient, titanic presence of the Mars Eternal's machine spirit as it stirred. It was still half-asleep, lulled by tech-cant and rituals of appeasement. Yet its bellicose nature was unimpeded, its wrath as pure as it was divine. Even in its slumber, its majesty inspired pure veneration for the Machine God within Vespasian.
Fleetmaster Idis prowled the bridge, barking orders and ensuring that each of the officers manning their stations were ready for the coming storm. She was on edge, Vespasian absently noted.
The weapons capabilities of the Xenos were unknown. Magos Metallurgicus aboard the Mars Eternal had conducted an initial analysis of what loose matter they could capture in deep space, and their preliminary findings had indicated that matter in this universe consisted of the same periodic categorization as their universe of origin. That indicated that weaponry would be designed along the same principles. It had given some reassurance, but still uncertainty abounded. Xenos technology was ever treacherous. It was the foolish Magi that underestimated the cursed work of the alien.
Idis knew this, and instructed the fleet accordingly. The increased precision of translocation through the Empyrean had allowed the Fleetmaster to implement a strategy that maximized caution. They would exit the Warp within Auspex distance of the system, and quickly ascertain the situation before executing another short range jump into weapons range. It was satisfactory to Vespasian. The righteous hatred that had filled him called for war, but it did not call for stupidity.
Zamander-12 swept unto the bridge, more enormous cybernetic centipede than man. A humanlike torso emerged from the recesses of skittering limbs and treads. Servo-arms and many-jointed limbs flexed and weaved about the mass of cables and coils that was the Magos Dominus' "body". His head was segmented, bristling with targeting equipment, auspex arrays, and tools of war, and about him buzzed servo-skulls, whizzing about like a swarm of angry wasps.
++ Lord Archmagos. The Legiones Skitarii stand ready, as does the Cybernetica. War-strategem optimized for planetfall and interdiction ++
Zamander did not bother to speak, instead transmitting directly through the noosphere to Vespasian.
++ Fleetmaster Idis will break whatever blockade suffocates the planet. You will be the Machine God's instrument of retribution upon the foul Xenos. ++
Vespasian answered.
++ Will God-Machines walk? ++
++ If necessary ++
Zamander paused, cogitators slaved to the calculus of war spinning and purring. The Dominus had no control over the maniple of Legio Tempestus Titans that had been attached to the Explorator Fleet. Five God-Engines, each a veritable avatar of the Machine God. Both Vespasian and Zamander knew that the Titans alone would be enough to drive any Xenos offworld. And yet, uncertainty urged caution. To risk a God-Engine against an unknown foe was unthinkable sacrilege. The Titans would only deploy if necessary.
++ What of Astartes ++
++ They will retrieve this Queen Amidala. She will provide data ++
++ Glory to the Machine God ++
++ Glory to the Machine God ++
Brother-Sergeant Erasmus knelt, deep in meditation. Incense filled the air with a scent that was not unpleasant, and dim candles flickered, illuminating the solemn shrine-chamber.
Facing him, his battle brothers, Sword Brethren of the Black Templars, mirrored his pose of supplication. Each was a veteran of a thousand battles on a hundred worlds, and each bore the scars of crusades that had brought glory to the Imperium and annihilation on the enemies of humanity. An Astartes was to a man what a man was to an ant, their transhuman physique wrought by the gene-sorcery of the God-Emperor himself. Clothed in only ritual sackcloth, their muscles bulged with restrained power. It was not just their physical prowess that elevated them far beyond the level of any mortal, but their minds. Built by indoctrination and trial, strengthened by training and discipline, and perfected in battle, an Astartes could think faster, harder, and better than any unaugmented man, and could endure privation beyond imagining.
The Black Templars however, carried that which elevated them beyond even any Astartes. Their ironclad, unwavering belief in the God-Emperor of Man.
Trust in the Emperor at the hour of battle.
Erasmus spoke, allowing the words of his Chapter's battle-prayer to soothe his soul. Astartes knew no fear, but the situation that they had found themselves thrust into was beyond even Erasmus' understanding. Another Universe, one where the God-Emperor of Man did sit upon the Golden Throne. The Light of the Astronomicon did not permeate each and every soul, and Humanity itself was imperiled on all sides. For all he could understand, he and his sword-kin were separated from the Crusade Host, from the Chapter. Alone in a hostile universe filled with Xenos.
Trust to him to intercede, and protect his warriors true as they deal death on alien soil.
The Archmagos had sent a servo-skull bearing his requests for the coming battle in the past hour. He had absorbed and understood the directives instantly. Humanity, even here, was besieged by the foul, hated xenos. This human leader had broadcast for aid, and the Archmagos had answered. Erasmus approved. He crushed the uncertainty that had insidiously crept into his psyche, centering himself upon the foremost purpose for which he had been created, and for which he had served for centuries.
O Emperor, in wrath rejoicing at bloody wars, fierce and untamed,
whose mighty power doth make the strongest walls from their foundations shake.
All-conquering Master of Mankind, be pleased with this war's tumultuous roar
Erasmus began to chant, prayer turning to warcry. Around him, servos whirred and mechandendrites descended from the shadows of the shrine, bearing arms and armor. Chapter-thralls moved between the praying Astartes, each carrying a sacred, anointed piece of equipment for their masters. His faith turned resolute. How could he doubt that the God-Emperor protected each and every soul of humankind? Even here, separated by a Universe, He had sent His avenging angels of death to break the Xenos and safeguard humanity. Erasmus was of Sigismund's line, the Emperor's Champion, and he would champion the Emperor here, in this dark, alien galaxy. Around him, his power armor was assembled, each part fitting in turn. Hisses of steam and gleaming ceramite shone forth as the armor pressurized. His blessed Bolt Pistol was affixed, maglocked to its position upon his thigh. Krak Grenades were anointed with prayer oil and stored within his armor, along with fresh ammunition for his weapons. All along his armor hung rosaries and sacred adornments, each a symbol of past honors won, and victories gained. All this was done as he fixed his mind upon the death that he was to bring.
Delight in swords and fists red with alien blood, and the dire ruins of savage battle.
Rejoice in furious challenge, and avenging strife, whose works with woe embitter human life!
The God-Emperor Protects!
His helmet descended, pressure seals activating. All was dark, and yet he knew no fear. A high-pitched whine, and his visor hummed to life. Darkness was banished as his autovisor compensated, revealing the temple-shrine in all its glory. Erasmus rose to his feet. His Sword Brethren remained kneeling. He stretched his arm forth, and wrapped a gauntleted fist about the hilt of his artificer power sword. An ancient blade, it had been passed down from Templar to Templar, a gift for heroism. Drawing it forth from its sheath within the torso of a servitor, it gleamed with zeal, catching the candle light of the chamber.
"Brothers. We have purpose." His voice, now no longer unimpeded but broadcast through the voxcaster within his helm, boomed through the shrine. Each of his brothers, much like himself had been armored and armed by their serfs and thralls, and each now lifted their helmed visages to meet his stern gaze. Their datalinks had already transferred all that each battle brother required to know regarding the details of their mission. They were united in purpose now, and in their hatred of the alien.
"Black Templars, to battle!" He roared, and each of his brothers lifted their voice to echo his own.
They went forth from the Shrine, each a colossus, each a paragon of war. They were His Space Marines, Angels of Death. Sons of Dorn, Sigismund's own. Sword Brethren of the Unending Crusade. They were the bulwark against the alien, the witch, and the heretic. The Black Templars strode to war.
"Master, look out!" Obi-Wan cried.
Qui-Gon whirled, blade already rising, deflecting a barrage of blaster bolts that had been sent his way. A wave of his hand, and a dozen battle droids went flying through the air, crumpling on impact.
Their diplomatic mission had gone decidedly south, Qui-Gon mused. They had escaped the Federation trap easily enough, and had commandeered a starfighter to the surface of Naboo. Arriving in Theed had been easy enough, but the streets were fraught with Federation battle droids and patrols. They had advanced through the outer districts of the city stealthily, but nearing the palace, there were just too many droids in the streets. The Droids were on high alert now, on the lookout for the pair of Jedi.
"Come Obi-Wan. We must find the Queen." Qui-Gon barked, already in motion. The Force was less agitated now. It was a far cry from its usual serenity and tranquility, but it had calmed enough for Qui-Gon to draw upon it. It flowed through his limbs, strengthening him, allowing him to move faster than what should have been possible. His Padawan followed suit, azure blade humming in the evening sun.
As they moved through Theed, they noted the signs of battle all around. Whatever resistance the Naboo Security Forces had put up, it had not been enough. Damaged buildings and craters in the paved streets revealed the Federation's preferred tactic for uprooting the defenders. Their heavy armor was present throughout the city, Qui-Gon noted dryly. To use them in citizen-rich environments... the elder Jedi shook his head. Thank the Force that the Naboo had not put up a great deal of resistance. Anymore, and Qui-Gon was sure that the city would be in ruins.
Even as it was, citizens were rounded up by droids, marched through the streets like cattle. The Federation seemed to be relocating the populace to holding zones for processing and detainment. Just another crime against intergalactic law to add to the list. No doubt the Senate would move to sanction the Federation, but whether such sanctions had more teeth than mere nominal condemnations remained to be seen. Qui-Gon doubted that the Chancellor could do any more to move the Federation off the planet. After all, the supposed central governing body of the Galaxy had no way to enforce its will militarily. Now that the Federation had revealed itself to possess real strength, the political situation in the galaxy would surely only grow more unstable.
Obi-Wan was moving quickly, easily keeping up with his Master. They were not far from the palace now. Qui-Gon only hoped that the Queen was still alive.
"What's the plan, Master? Once we rescue the Queen..."
"We must find a way off-world, and to escape the blockade. We will take the Queen to Coruscant."
"Master, the Federation will surely fire upon us. They have already shown no qualms attacking us Jedi." Obi-Wan started.
"The Force is with us, Padawan. Do not fret." Qui-Gon answered. Obi-Wan nodded solemnly.
"Sheathe your blade. Quietly." Qui-Gon muttered, his own hilt already clipped on to his belt. With a single motion he leaped up, the Force flowing through his legs, clearing the outer Palace wall in a smooth leap. Obi-Wan was right behind him, and the two Jedi advanced on high alert.
Qui-Gon signalled for Obi-Wan to follow him, before mantling a ledge and taking up position upon an archway overlooking a courtyard. Obi-Wan joined him, crouching.
Beneath them, a delegation of Naboo nobility protested as they were led away by battle droids. A man turned, and attempted to sprint away into the open. The Droids shot him as he fled, and his smoking corpse crumpled upon the ornate plascrete tiles of the courtyard.
"Such savagery. We must do something, Master." Obi-Wan whispered.
"We will. But we must find the Queen, Obi-Wan." Qui-Gon said, eyes peeled, searching the outer verandas of the Palace.
There! Qui-Gon spotted several figures, not entirely visable, moving through a hallway. The grand arched glass windows allowed Qui-Gon to track them as they moved. The regal figure of Padme Amidala was hard to miss. Not with her outfit and the air of furious defiance that radiated about her. Droids flanked her, blasters brandished menacingly.
"Come Obi-Wan. We must save her."
Padme walked, defeated but still regal. For the past three days the Nemoidans had been grilling her, demanding that she sign their so-called Treaty of Theed to ratify their actions and acknowledge the Trade Federation's occupation as a legitimate peacekeeping operation. The absurdity of it all had fueled her rage. They had attempted to break her spirit, showing her holo-vids of her citizens suffering in the detention camps, but her pride did not relent. To sign would be to surrender, and to admit that the Federation was truly victorious. Padme knew that the only hold she still had over the Federation was signing that Treaty. As soon as she signed it, she was sure that the Nemoidans would execute her, and enslave her people.
They were surely bringing her to different holding room, another chamber in which they would strive to break her will. They were yet to physically torture her, content to break down her will emotionally. Padme had no doubt that as things dragged on, they would eventually resort to physical privation. She steeled herself, clinging on to the small hope that her final distress message had found a listening ear.
"Your Highness, on the ground!" A baritone voice called out, startling her from her thoughts. She threw herself onto the ground, ignoring the sound of her magnificent dress tearing. A hum whizzed overhead, a blade of pure light spinning through the air. The Droids escorting her were bifurcated, falling to the ground in halves. The blade halted in mid-air, before zipping back behind her. She immediately leapt to her feet, turning to greet her rescuers.
"You Jedi sure are late!" She exclaimed.
"Apologies, your Highness. We have been fighting our way through Federation droids. It took us a great deal of effort to reach you." The apparently older of the two Jedi smoothly said. His voice was deep, soothing, and he carried himself like a man with complete confidence in his own abilities.
"I am Qui-Gon Jinn, Jedi Master. This is my Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi." The man spoke once more, giving a short bow.
"Well, Master Jinn, Padawan Kenobi, we have much to do. We must see to the rescue of my men." Padme said brusquely, bending down to retrieve one of the Droid's blasters.
The two Jedi looked slightly taken aback.
"Your Highness, I believe a wiser course of action would be to escape the planet. We must move to the hangar and secure ourselves transport off-world. If we return to Coruscant, the Jedi Order will protect you. You may petition the Senate to intervene directly here." Qui-Gon spoke again, raising his hands disarmingly.
Padme bit back the fury rising up in her.
"Well, Master Jedi. I have been petitioning the Senate to intervene directly here for the past month. Judging by how that direct intervention appears to be the two of you, I don't suppose my appeals in person will have much effect. I am not a fool, the Senate has no military to speak of. What will they do? Ask the Mandalorians to invade Naboo instead? Hire the Hutts? I would rather see to the liberation of my people on my own." Padme spat venomously.
"Your Highness - "
"I am going now to the holding area, where my personal security detachment is being held. Yes, I do know how to use this blaster, before you ask. If you two are guardians of the innocent as the Jedi purport to be, you may follow me and help me free my men. If not, you are free to return to Coruscant and explain to the Chancellor where exactly he can stick his blasted assistance." Padme cut off the Jedi Master, already turning to move. Her dress protested the movement, ornate regalia completely unsuited to her physical exertion. Exclaiming in annoyance, the Naberrie Queen tore her dress open in one swift motion, revealing the short but well padded camisole and shorts she wore beneath.
She took off, eyes trained ahead, blaster rifle at the ready.
"Master. I... I didn't expect her to be so... hands on." Obi-Wan murmured.
"No, my Padawan. Neither did I." Qui-Gon replied, slightly perplexed. Either way, they would have to protect her. The Chancellor had given them clear instructions to keep the Queen safe. Qui-Gon had not expected that would entail serving as her personal special forces. But the Force had different ideas, it appeared.
In orbit around Naboo, nine Lucrehulk-class Battleships drifted, holding station above the planet. They were large and easily recognizable, appearing almost as donut with a ball in the center. The Saak'ak, flagship of Viceroy Nute Gunray sat in the middle of the formation as it held geosynchronous orbit above Theed. The Viceroy gulped, steeling his nerves for the coming tranmission.
A flicker, and then a hologram came to life before his eyes. A hooded figure stood before him, and it was all the Nemoidian could do to not flee in terror.
"Viceroy. Your failures are beginning to... annoy me." Sidious whispered, barely audible.
Beside Gunray, Rune Haako fell to the floor, prostrating himself.
"My Lord Sidious! It is only a matter of time before the Queen signs the Treaty. I swear it! We are almost -" Gunray stopped as he felt a delicate pressure descend around his neck. Coughing, he stammered.
"P-Please! We have done all we can. The city is secure. The Jedi -"
"Do not lie to me, Gunray!" The Sith snarled, and the pressure around the Viceroy's neck became a vice, choking the air from his gills.
"The Jedi escaped your ship. They are on the surface of the planet as we speak, and are planning to liberate the Queen." Sidious' voice returned to a whisper.
At this, Haako turned to flee. They had tried to deceive their benefactor, reporting that they had slain the two aboard the Saak'ak. His aide froze in place, suddenly unable to move.
"We - We... We will... resolve this" Gunray choked out, grey flesh turning pink with asphyxiation.
"No. My apprentice has arrived on Naboo. He will slay the Jedi. Upon doing so, you, Viceroy, shall return at once to Coruscant." Sidious growled.
"Y-Yes Lord Sidious." Gunray answered. He could do little else, falling to his knees.
"Good. Do not test me further. Vice-"
A terrible clarion call erupted through the bridge, warbling and wailing, interrupting Sidious. It was loud, and only grew louder.
Haako screamed, melting down in fear. All around him, Nemoidian officials staggered and collapsed, defeaned by the siren. It was no alarm that the Saak'ak possessed, indeed Nute did not think his systems capable of making such sound. Tactical Droids beeped in a frenzy, overwhelmed as they attempted to quell the rebelling sonic systems.
++ Foul Xenos. Hear Me ++
In the distant void of space, portals to another dimension began to tear their way into existence. Before the Nemoidians' disbelieving eyes, space unmade itself. Through these portals that roiled and flashed with eldritch lightning and pulsated with technicolor beyond understanding, truly gargantuan ships emerged. They were staggeringly large, larger than any space-faring vessel in the galaxy, approaching the size of the drive-yards that built said space vessels. They looked like nothing in the galaxy, profiles jagged and blocky. All along their superstructures were weapons, guns the size of small corvettes, and crenellations, outcroppings that resembled some sort of gothic architecture.
The most terrifying of all was the warship that broached through the central, largest portal. If the others were large, this one was unfathomable. It dwarfed even the grand planetary shipyards about Kuat, approaching fifteen kilometers in length. Along its spine a gun the size of the Saak'ak drew Nute's eyes. It was unthinkable. Along its length ran iconography, symbols of unknown make and origin. A ginormous human skull sat within a cog-wheel, its macabre stare striking terror into all that laid eyes upon it.
++ Glory to the Machine God. Maker and Unmaker of all Things ++
The message was defeaning, a thunderous peal that shook the floor and sent Gunray from his knees to entirely prostrate. Rune Haako had yet to cease his wailing.
Every display across the bridge flickered and wavered in sync, almost hypnotic. A burst, and before Nute's eyes each of the displays, at once, began broadcasting the same hololith, of a towering, red-cloaked machine being. It looked like a creature from Corellian legend, a cybernetic demigod. Mechanical tendrils extended forth from its back, appendages and servos that looked alien beyond reason. Glowing red eyes bore down on Gunray, seemingly pinning him to the ground.
++ The Stars Belong to Humanity. You have Desecrated our Sacrosanct Birthright. ++
Nute blinked, uncomprehendingly. Terror had driven all sense from his mind, rendering him near catatonic. The portals began to close, leaving behind the warships of nightmare that began to accelerate on direct course with the Federation fleet.
"Sir. Orders." A tactical droid beeped.
Gunray had nothing. He turned, looking about the bridge. The transmission with Sidious had ended, but when, Gunray did not know.
"Raise - Raise shields! Prepare for..." The Nemoidian trailed off. He was an administrator at heart, not an admiral. Fear overcame him.
Then the ships opened fire.
"All ships. Engage. Glory to the Machine God." Idis orders echoed over the voxnet, and Fleet Scipione obliged.
Vespasian allowed satisfaction to fill his neurovaults. It appeared in this new universe, the Xenos were pathetically weak. Their cyber defenses were but paper before his data-djinns and cybertheurgy, breaking through and slaving their systems to his will had been as easy as stepping through door. That had been hit with a melta. Twice. Already, he had totally crippled their propulsion systems, and soon their shields would be dropped.
They used some sort of energy shielding. Efficient, but only geared towards stopping energy weapons. Vepsasian filed that away. It appeared that the majority of weaponry in this galaxy was energy based. Hungrily, he continued feeding upon their databanks. This was what he had been searching for. Data in abundance, information about the wider galaxy. Vespasian tasked several of subroutines to continue to consume and catalogue information from the xenos ships. He returned his primary attention to the fore.
Already, three of the minnow-like bulbous ships were aflame, disintegrating and falling upon the planet, hulls shattered and ruined by macrocannon fire from the Basilisk and her escorting destroyers. Their shields had done little to stop mass accelerated slugs, and their armor folded like paper.
The Mars Eternal spoke, and two more of the ships popped like balloons, speared and annihilated in an instant by the lance batteries of the Ark Mechanicus.
"This is almost too easy. The Xenos scum have no answer for the might of blessed Mars." Idis said, haughtily.
Vespasian agreed internally, before releasing a message through the Noosphere.
++ Dominus Zamander. Our ground assault begins. ++
Idis grabbed a poor adjunct by the arm.
"Send word to Lord Erasmus to prepare for teleport insertion." She said. The adjunct nodded, before hurriedly making his way from the bridge.
Their Crusade had begun in earnest.