Chapter 1
A senate building, no matter what culture, no matter what place, will always look the same. A pervasive atmosphere of bureaucracy and officialdom fills the buildings, the smothering feeling of sheer red tape always repressing. Sumptuous mobile platforms, seats for the politicians, arranged in concentric circles. All arranged around the hierarch, the spider in the web.
In this case, The Emperor.
Origins shrouded in mystery, as all good leaders are, the Emperor was rumoured to be over a thousand years old. Scholars thought that he was a survivor of the ancient Cold War, where the Sith had been so thoroughly defeated, after near-certain victory, by the Jedi. He then discovered many secrets of Sith alchemy, prolonging his life, encasing himself in a massive life-support unit, black and menacing, and slowly rebuilt the Sith Empire in the unknown regions, studiously avoiding contact with the Republic.
The Sith Empire had grown large; spanning over a hundred worlds, a navy over a two million ships strong, constantly patrolling. The Sith Academy kept the apprentices happy, barring the recent insurrection. The law enforcement was heavy-handed when necessary; the mechanics of crowd control was well-known to them. The military-a massive force of elite troops, led on the most part by Sith lords and Mandalorians, of the quasi-independent Mandalorian colony of Hetrea.
The Emperor brooded in his alcove, raised above the other platforms, the cameras that allowed him to see from his black throne spying on the Sith lords below. Each camera was endowed with the dark side, which registered on the Force-sensitive as a continuous and irritating push. Thus, all of his subjects constantly felt harassed, under scrutiny. Less inclined to make mistakes.
Sometimes, listening to the banter of the Sith lords, he felt tempted to mute the speakers, or, even better, wipe their minds, and keep them as mindless pets. But, he admitted, albeit begrudgingly to himself, he needed them for the administration of his empire. Each Sith lord was assigned a quadrant and a section of the military, so each had his own fiefdom. Each lord could arrange the fiefdom as he wished, albeit within certain limits. Thus, optimum administrative capacities could be attained.
Turning the vast power of his mind to the conversation, he heard the familiar sounds of the hot-headed Lord Melchet roaring at the deceptively calm Lord Ravius, the elusive Mandalorian Sith lord, the youngest member of the council, and probably the most dangerous to his position. Many times, the Emperor had considered having Ravius assassinated, but always relegated his plans to the a distant point in the future when Ravius showed his brilliance and usefulness, which was almost every day. Now, the two lords were arguing about the ongoing 'Jedi' insurrection, and the massacre of Joptis.
"The orbital bombardment of Joptis proved effective! All rebel forces were annihilated!" roared Melchet.
"So were all civilians and troops garrisoned on the planet. A highly expensive method of victory, Melchet. Shall we sacrifice our empire to destroy a few disgruntled apprentices?" Ravius replied, calmly. "I propose a systematic, land-based offensive against all known rebel bases, with ample orbital support. But not," he paused, tilting his helmeted head at Melchet, "With several giga-hertz lasers."
His adversary laughed harshly. "A land-based offensive? Has it not been proven ineffective by Lord Kendrath's offensive on Laltae?"
The council murmured assent. Kendrath had lost his troops and his life in that ill-fated assault.
Ravius slowly shook his head. "He attacked a heavily fortified base, with an orbiting fleet of armed merchant freighters, with a small navy and only the garrison immediately available to him. He was rash, and an inept commander." He turned to face the Emperor's throne.
"Give me the permission to reclaim Laltae, my liege, and I shall. Only my military, my Mandalorian commandos, and my sith beasts."
Melchet rose from his chair, face red with anger, before being thrown back into the black suede cushions with overwhelming force.
"Melchet." Warned the Emperor, in his booming, deep, grating voice. "Ravius shall lead the assault. But, the consequences shall be your own. No reinforcements from other divisions. Should you lose, you lose your men. Not mine. And retreat is forbidden. You stay until either you, or the enemy, is dead."
Ravius nodded, then pulled on his black hood over his reddish-grey mandalorian mask, vaguely reminiscent of Revan's, the empire's bogeyman, and glided out of the room with a swish of his robes.
I shan't fail you, Emperor.