The command center of the newly formed retrieval detachment took the form of the simple and rugged Crusader-Class Corvette Kal be Dar'vod. Beside it in the void above Mandalore floated at least 30 Kom'rk-class fighter/transports and numerous other transport ships dedicated to carrying vehicles and warriors. All ready and willing to make the Hyperspace jump when given the order.
On-board the small but nimble corvette, Kal Skirata stood surrounded by his sons and the young Twi'lek volunteer inside the semi-cramped grey and yellow bridge of the vessel, all standing around a holographic projector showing the surrounding star systems to their target. The blue phantoms of distant stars danced and jittered as the old mercenary ship vented power to the computer. As it did so, the aging Mandalorian addressed the planned operation.
"This operation is going to go smoothly and as quickly as possible. Our objectives here are simple, go in, disable security, and secure all ships within the fleet. Atin and Sana will then begin retrofitting the ship's software with more up-to-date operating systems. Following us will be a massive force of technicians and former, or current, navy men, at least 10,000 in total. Doubt they'll be enough to get the ships up to full battle-ready status but they'll maintain a skeleton crew until then. Now, these people are mostly civvies and former pirate fleet members, so we need to keep them as far away from the stations until we know it's clear for them to go."
"We will have the civvie fleet stationed here at Gratus-17 until we give them the clear to jump to our location," Kal said as he pointed at one of the jittering star systems. "Once they make their way to the stations and the coast is clear, we are to attempt to contact Mandalore and let them know so they can begin sending more civvies to fill up the crews."
"And if they are unable to start sending civvies our way? We have no clue when the Empire is going to launch their attack." Atin asked, his characteristic dry scruff voice piercing the calm of the room.
"Then we'll 2 alternative options. Mandalore the Ultimate seemed to not want anyone to know about this fleet, and he obviously refused to deploy it even when The Wars were taking a nosedive for the worse. It's likely whoever he had guarding the ships were droids, much easier to keep in check and less likely to blabber on about whatever secret project he had planned out. We could retrofit these droids into being navy men, mass re-program them, and take them into the crews. The harder option we have is we could broadcast an open signal galaxy-wide that we need the extra support, but I don't know about any of you but I'd rather not broadcast a massive bullseye for the Empire to come and shoot right on our backs." Kal responded plainly.
Atin laughed dryly at the response. "Yea, let's not go doing that." The rest of the Squad around him simply responded with a nod.
"Alright, droid crew it is then," Kal said as he turned the Holographic table off, the dancing blue shapes disappearing in an instant as a distinctive noise sounded their departure.
"Kal'buir, could you remind me what heat we are packing for this shin-dig?" Commando Darman asked, the clone looking at his father figure through his glowing blue visor.
"5 squads of ten Airborne troopers, 3 squads of ten Heavy Weapons, all bringing Disruptors or Rotary Blasters, a few clone deserter squads, some old confiscated BARCS, a few of my old comrades with Beskads and Executioner vibro-axes, and at least 6 confiscated Saber Tanks and AATs." Kal said as he smiled at his son.
Darman chuckled in response. "A bit overkill, but I like it."
"Son, I thought you knew this by now, there is no such thing as overkill to us Mandalorians." Kal finished the meeting as he communicated his orders across the fleet, they were to jump in 5 minutes. They knew they had a job to do, and once they left, they knew they had better return with that fleet, or not return at all.
0
More than a million light-years away, in an alien galaxy facing foes unimaginable in scope and depravity, sat a lone continent-spanning ship of wraith-bone and light. Racing down a long, winding, white hallway, a lone figure almost ran towards a massive domed structure deep near the core of the same ship of bone and light, the ship he had lived on his entire life.
The elven-like figure strode gracefully into the blinding white council room of this world-ship's ruling council. Despite all the thousands of years of chaos and destruction their Craftworld had suffered, they still somehow clung to the foolish ways of Aristocrats and Kings. The figure hated that fact, he despised it.
As he stood at attention in the massive chamber, at least 50 men and women looked down at him from massive and artistic pillar-like seats that held the council members far above himself. He held in one hand a spear, ornate and silver and almost begging to be used, and in the other, his entirely alien hot pink and Egyptian blue helmet. The helmet was beautiful like everything here, a crest billowed far above the helm, and below it sat a number of strange organic wraith-bone bubbles and gems. And finally on the massive forehead of the helm was the crowning symbol, a golden rune, a red soul-gem imbedded in the ornate bottom of the living symbol.
The council stayed silent as they stared at the rune-covered, robe-wearing Aeldari below them, waiting for him to say what he had come here for.
"I am Farseer Isetar Faetara. I come to you today to discuss the futures I have scryed." The Eldar began, his sky-blue eyes staring at the aristocrats staring down at him in contempt.
"Not many cycles ago, I had become aware of a possible future quickly approaching us. A threat not from this galaxy, but from one of an all too different complexion to our own. These horrific futures have stunned even I. Visions of warriors, both of the familiar Mon'keigh we have faced thousands of times before and ones I have never once seen. Blood-thirsty beasts of all kinds, from the all too familiar Space Marine to lowly Mon'keigh guardsmen, to warriors clad in unbreakable steel. As I said, this threat approaches not from this forsaken galaxy, but another seemingly unmolested by the Great Enemy until now."
"If we do not act now, I fear as my visions predict we will fall prey as their first target outside of their realm. This new enemy, composed of elements both familiar and new, will rip a path through our Webway and make itself known to our homes as many have done before. I ask for your permission to form a task force and chart previously forgotten paths of the Webway to find and eliminate this threat before it makes it is too late."
Murmuring from the many Eldar above him began, their voices forming a chorus of unrecognizable speech, the constant bickering and bureaucracy that often led to damnation. Finally, the politicians quieted and one of them, a woman of the Artisan House began to talk uninterrupted.
"How do you know this threat is even a likely one? Have any of your colleagues had similar visions?" The woman asked, looking down at the Farseer with her hand placed on the rail preventing her fall.
"No, I am the only one, but this changes very little, many threats Suyanrain has faced were predicted but by a lone-" The Farseer couldn't even finish before the mass of bureaucrats erupted into argumentation yet again, drowning out every structured thought the Eldar had conjured in his mind.
"This is outrageous! First, you come to us, pleading to allow the Aspect Shrines and the warriors they hold to fall under your command without explanation, then you give your reason as an unfounded vision? This Craftworld is not your personal army, Isetar! Eldar lives are not something to throw away over a hunch!" A deep-voiced man screamed, the leader of the Shipman House.
"I asked for military assets first because I understood the council would likely not respond to my pleas. I apologize for my insolence." Isetar said in response. "Our Craftworld is at threat, and it needs our protection. Please, listen to me and give me permission to lead a small strike force to eliminate this threat."
The murmuring then became a borderline fight, the council like flies to a discarded piece of meat they scrimmed and fought for any opportunity to say their piece. As the arguments grew from a rumble to a rapturous roar the fighting was silenced almost as soon as it began, a voice not of words but one of psychic force drowning out the pointless debate and silencing everyone in the chamber.
Out of the door on the opposite side walked a figure clad in the same kinds of robes as Isetar, only far more exquisite and finally crafted. The helm he wore was of the same type as well, only far larger and far more decorated and ornate. With the confidence and grace of a lion he strode into the chamber, looking down Isetar, the orange eye lenses of his hot-pink crested mask burning into his soul with the heat of an entire star.
Taking his eyes off of him, he looked up at the council, slowly taking in their thoughts simply via observation alone. When he finished, he looked over to the younger, brasher Farseer away from him.
"As Chief Farseer and Head of the Suyanrain Council, I, Ororos Amoroth, forbid any action taken on the behest of Farseer Isetar Faetara's scrys. This decision is final, and disobedience of this order will result in immediate exile from Craftworld Suyanrain. All citizens who assist Isetar in any actions he takes at behest of these scrys will be punished similarly." The elven figure spoke with an almost choking air of authority.
"Master, you can't be serious!" Isetar began to say before the ghost-like man cut him off again.
"Isetar, you should have informed the Farseer Council of this before coming to the Suyanrain Council. Given the time, we could have investigated these threats more thoroughly. But you refused to even tell me." Ororos said, his voice a mixture of anger and disappointment.
"Master, there is no time left! If we wait, the best we can do is fight them on their own front! The events that will lead to our ruination are likely already happening right now!" Isetar exclaimed the sense of urgency in his voice palpable.
"I have told you, Isetar, from the very moment you first stepped foot on the Way of the Seer, not all futures are possible. The strands of fate are endless and forever tangling, and fate is a cruel mistress. You cannot believe everything it shows you."
"But it isn't like that! I have seen false futures before, master, I have been on this path for 200 years. This is real, I have felt it!" Isetar pleaded to his teacher.
"My decision is final. I am giving you a second chance, Isetar. Take it before you are forever gone." The man stepped away and left the chamber, the aristocrats of the council following suit and leaving through the suspended doors at the top of their spires. Anger boiled in Isetar's mind, an alien rage, deep and crimson.
He stomped out of the Council's chambers, despite his rage at this situation, he had already planned in case a situation such as this were to happen, he had allies all across the other paths. He knew he was risking exile, but for his home and his people any price was worth the cost, and he knew of many willing and able to accept that cost as well.
Only a few of the Aspect Shrines were going to follow him, and the coming war was going to be much harder without the support of the Council forcing the rest into fighting alongside him, but a few could do, would have to do. As he walked further into the world-ship's bowels prepared to gather his allies and ready for the long journey ahead, he reckoned with his thoughts. A long, blinding night was on the horizon, and he was going to be the one to prevent its birth.