If not for a semi-strategic location and just enough resources to be worthwhile, Poln Major would have been a total backwater. But it had a semi-strategic location and just enough resources to be worthwhile, and that was enough for it to become a sector headquarters. Its capital, Whitestone City, had been aptly named: the governor's palace was raised on a large mound of white stone, making it rise up above the surrounding city, and the building itself was constructed of still more of the substance. In the daylight it gleamed to the point where anyone in its proximity had to wear glare-reducing glasses, which consequently had become a focal point of Poln Major's fashion.
Admiral Gilad Pellaeon himself wore a pair of glare-reducing glasses, though his were strictly functional, violating no element of the official rules of Imperial Officer's Decorum. So too did the man who accompanied him to their meeting at the palace, Admiral Teren Rogriss.
The garden surrounding them was well-ordered. Cultivated with precision by a team of experts, no doubt, it was vaguely maze-like, providing a series of wide, winding routes that led from the city to the palace beyond. "This is all a reminder that the Outer Rim can be spectacular, when given the opportunity," Rogriss said, gesturing in the direction of the governor's palace.
"The Candoras Sector has been well-governed," Pellaeon replied, a bit gruffly. "Unlike so many of the Moffs—or Senators of the Old Republic before them—Moff Ferrouz's interest was always the prosperity of his people and the Empire."
Rogriss chuckled softly. "It is liberating to be able to say freely what we all thought for so many years, isn't it?"
Rogriss said that with such casual comfort, Pellaeon thought uncomfortably. It was remarkable the change he saw in the smaller man. When they had served together last—during the Linuri campaign against General Garm Bel Iblis—Rogriss had been haggard and exhausted. The lines in his face had drawn tight with tension and Pellaeon had rarely seen the man without a bottle near to hand. But since they had been forced into… insurrection… against the New Order that now ruled the Empire, and its illegal attempt to seize control of the Imperial Starfleet, Rogriss had changed. He seemed less burdened and looked visibly younger, and while he still often had a bottle close to hand it was much rarer for him to have a glass.
But for Pellaeon it was not so simple. Yes, of course he had been aware of the foibles of the Moffs, their excesses and their corruption. But they still represented the Empire, and had been owed loyalty for that reason alone.
The tension must have showed on his face. "Gilad?" Rogriss probed.
Pellaeon turned towards Rogriss,wincing. "I'm sorry, Teren," he admitted. "I'm still grappling with everything that has happened."
"I know," Rogriss said with a nod. "We all need to do that. But I want you to remember two things. First, Grand Moff Ferrouz is the rightful ruler of the Empire. He was Kaine's handpicked successor and the Imperial Security Bureau had no right and no authority to seize control of Kaine's territories from him. Legally, we are the Empire, not them."
Pellaeon nodded firmly. That much he could get behind without any question.
"Second, Halmere and his goons are coming here." Rogriss turned towards the Palace. From where they stood on the garden grounds, the two Admirals looked up at the looming white structure, gleaming in the noonday sun, spectacular. "They are coming here to crush Poln Major, and to crush Grand Moff Ferrouz… and to crush you."
That was all too true. In all the propaganda that had come out of the New Order since the Battle of Carida, Pellaeon had been cast as the worst villain in Imperial history. The worst of the clips accused Pellaeon of butchering his own students, likening the act to a mother strangling her baby in its cradle. He still had nightmares about that clip.
"So we fight," Rogriss finished. "We fight, with the knowledge that this time, at least, there are no doubts about the cause for which we fight."
…but that was the whole problem, wasn't it? Pellaeon had never had any doubts. The corruption had been but a flaw in the system, but the system had been just. More just than the Old Republic, certainly! It had been better than any possible alternative, at least.
Those lifelong certainties had fallen away. Somewhere, deep in his gut, he now knew he had been wrong, and yet to see Rogriss so casually say so, so confidently say so, say so as if Rogriss had known all along…
How had he missed it?
There was the hum of a speeder. A simple open-air speeder, with an Imperial pilot sitting in the driver's seat and a woman, one who looked far too young to be wearing an Imperial Captain's uniform, sitting in the back seat. As it approached them it came to a stop, the engine going quiet amidst the palace gardens so that Pellaeon could once again hear the song of the local birds. "Admirals," Captain Asori Rogriss greeted them, hopping out of the speeder and offering a precise, Academy-grade salute. "I saw you walking and thought I'd offer you a ride to the palace."
"You don't have to be so formal, heija," Teren said, smiling affectionately at his daughter as he returned it.
"Nepotism has poisoned the Empire from its very birth, so all due respect, sir. I will maintain the formalities of rank," Asori replied, her fine-featured face carefully neutral, an echo of her father's. "Admiral Pellaeon, sir. It's good to see you again."
"And you, Captain," Pellaeon nodded, feeling a slight sting at Asori's comment. How common was it to be so blase about the faults of the Empire? He worked hard to not let his feelings show. "Is your squadron still in-system?"
"My ships remain under cloak out behind the system's innermost gas giant," Asori replied crisply. Her accent reminded Pellaeon strongly of his first instructors at the Raithal Academy, back when he had first been trained for entry into the Old Republic's Judicial Forces. A disproportionate number of them had been natives of Anaxes—the world had a long military tradition, and had frequently sent its best and brightest to join the Judicials. "We're under orders to stay safely out of sight until Baron Fel and Moff Ferrouz are prepared to reveal the existence of the UREF." She shrugged. "Not that the system really needs our help for defense. The fleet you've assembled should prove quite sufficient. The New Order simply doesn't have the ships to breach Poln Major's defenses."
Pellaeon commanded the fleet defending Poln Major from the New Order's advances. He had four Imperial-class Star Destroyers, including his own Chimaera. Then he had thirty of Grand Moff Kaine's Enforcer-class heavy cruisers, which were the heart of his formation. Elsewhere, he had another thirteen Enforcers and three Victory-class Star Destroyers, but those had been sent to Nirauan for refit.
It was an impressive fleet. It also represented only a fraction of the strength potentially available to fight the New Order. The Unknown Regions Expeditionary Force—Grand Admiral Thrawn's secret resource in the Unknown Regions, which represented not only ships, but full-blown colony worlds and shipyards, and a network of alliances with alien powers that known space had never even heard of—could at least double that strength, if not more. Pellaeon did not even know for certain how much strength Baron Fel's UREF had. Fel, for the moment, was still reluctant to reveal too much.
"Agonizer is still at Nirauan," Rogriss added. "I have Captain Tigan organizing our reserve fleet, in case the New Order finds enough ships to really threaten Poln Major. In the meantime, we're still secretly rotating Enforcer-class ships out to Nirauan for refit and repair… it's doubtful any ISB spy will notice, at least for the moment." He smiled thinly. "One of the benefits of using so many non-human crew… they're very good at sniffing out ISB sneaks amongst them." He gestured at the aircar. "Instead of walking, Asori, let's take a ride to the palace. There's no harm in arriving early to a staff meeting, and I suspect Baron Fel and Moff Ferrouz will have quite a lot to say to us. Besides, I can spend the time speculating about which book you've stolen from my ready room."
The speeder ride was swift and refreshing. The open-air speeder was hardly Imperial standard issue, but there was something to be said about having the wind in your hair—although Asori looked vaguely annoyed when they finally arrived at the gravel path to the palace's side entrance and she had to shake out some road dust, restoring hair into something appropriately regulation with a tired twist and flick of her wrist.
Pellaeon was unsurprised to find Commander Dreyf waiting for them. A dark-featured human native to Poln Major, he wore polarized glasses that looked comfortable and suited his face, likely something he'd brought from home.
"Admirals," he said, saluting as they climbed out of the speeder. "Baron Fel has just arrived at the palace landing pad and is having his initial meeting with Moff Ferrouz now. We are scheduled to meet with them in twenty minutes." He gestured into the palace, where the gleaming stone floors were lined with white stone columns that had been polished until they glowed. "The Moff has been good enough to open his kitchens, if any of you are hungry."
Pellaeon shook his head dismissively. "I ate aboard Chimaera before I departed. How was your leave, Commander?"
"My mother was so excited to see me she had me rearrange her living quarters, and then we spent rather a lot of time baking. Sent me home with an entire packing allowance of sweets and baked goods. I believe they were also sent to the kitchen…"
Pellaeon gave a fond harumph, and waved the group onward.
"Well, it may perhaps not be the height of Starfleet decorum, but if you do not take the Moff up on this opportunity, Gilad, I will," Teren said with a slightly cheeky smile. "Never turn down the opportunity for a fine meal! After all, you never know when your number will come up. You're welcome to join me, Captain, if you would like?" he said to Asori.
"That's quite all right, sir. I'm not senior enough to breach decorum." Her smile, though, was a mirror of her father's. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it for the both of us."
Dreyf looked relieved, and he went to stand next to Rogriss. "Oh, thank you sir. If you all had declined, I would have been obliged to do so myself, and it would be a shame to waste the efforts of the Grand Moff's chef." He grinned broadly. "After you, sir."
The silence following the departure of the elder Rogriss and Dreyf was profound. The younger Rogriss stood at parade-readiness, her hands folded carefully behind her back and her Imperial officer's cap perched perfectly upon her head.
"Are you all right, Admiral?" Asori asked him. The question surprised him—junior officers were not nearly so probing with their superiors. She seemed to sense his sudden discomfort, and hastened to continue. "I know that a lot has changed for you in the last few months, sir, and your experience at Carida would be trying for anyone."
He grimaced. His instinct was to lean on his Imperial Admiral's mask. He had already made his peace with his decision to throw in with Baron Fel and Moff Ferrouz, and it had been—and remained—the right thing. And yet… "Since my arrival, I have heard it expressed by many people—Baron Fel, your father, and others—that the Empire is… was… deeply flawed."
His voice faded away, and he found himself meeting Asori's gaze. Her expression was steady and unintimidated—an important trait for a young Imperial officer in conversation with a senior officer—but there was just a hint of wariness in her expression. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"
"Granted."
Whatever she saw looking at him, though, that wariness faded into sympathy. "How much do you know about my mother, Admiral?"
The question caught Pellaeon off-guard. "Nothing, I'm afraid. I am aware that your father is a widower, but beyond that, he's never spoken of his wife." Rogriss had kept a portrait of his wife in his office aboard Chimaera, but every time Pellaeon broached the conversation, Rogriss had steered the conversation carefully away.
"When I was younger," Asori said after a moment, sounding thoughtful, "the Empire and the need for the Empire was a common—and bitter—topic of conversation in our household. Mother was a fierce partisan of Senator Risanamen—she served on his staff when she was young—and when Emperor Palpatine had him executed for treason, she was never quite the same."
The name was vaguely familiar. Pellaeon thought Risanamen had been one of the Two Thousand—Senators who had demanded that Palpatine surrender to the Separatists before the end of the war, led by Padme Amidala—and had thought little of it when he had later been accused of treason. Treason had been all-too-common at the time.
"She knew better than to speak out," Asori continued. "but she used to keep track of stories about abuses of power. Abuses by the new Moffs after they had fully replaced the Senators at the top of the Sector hierarchy, by Imperial officers… she and my father would sometimes argue about it." Asori looked down, grimacing. "She wasn't happy when Terek and I decided to follow our father's footsteps into the Starfleet, but you know how it was… the expectation that the children of fleet officers would join the fleet was quite intense. Especially on Anaxes."
"But all those problems dated back to the Old Republic," Pellaeon objected. "The Empire couldn't fix every social problem."
"The Empire doesn't even try, most of the time," Asori said, and there was a quiet anger in her voice that started him. "Do you know what it was like to be a woman at the Academies? I had it easy. I was protected because my father was an Admiral. But everyone knew the story of Tarkin and Daala, and it wasn't a cautionary tale. It was license. Tarkin was the example all the junior officers wanted to emulate." She shook her head. "And that's just the story I know because I saw it up close. How many other small abuses happened through the fleet? Through the Empire?"
"Your superiors would have acted—"
"My superiors were the problem," Asori snapped, then she mastered her anger. "I'm sorry, sir. But we never knew which officers would protect us and which would take advantage of us. And even if one of them did help us, would their superior? The worst offenders were at the highest levels of seniority, like Tarkin." She shook her head. "Forgive me, sir, but I'm glad to be here. My father is right. The New Order isn't something new or different from the Empire. The New Order is the Empire laid bare, and being here means that we are free to speak plainly about what it is, so I will do so."
Pellaeon looked away first as silence reigned. She just sat there. Evaluating him. Judging him.
Asori snapped her mouth shut, reverting carefully to parade rest. Pellaeon seemed no longer to be paying her any mind—she just hoped she hadn't gotten herself into too much trouble. She'd gotten too comfortable, she thought sourly. Ever since she had been pulled out of the regular Imperial Starfleet, out of her position as Exigent's executive officer, and been impressed into service with Baron Fel's Unknown Regions Expeditionary Force—and what a misnomer that title was, the UREF was very much an empire in its own right—she had found herself relaxing, and when she relaxed too much she said too much.
She had lived her whole life in the Empire and sometime, in all of those years, she had grown to expect constant surveillance. ISB was always watching, and if they weren't your fellows were. Everyone was always just waiting for you to slip up, to expose yourself as anything other than perfectly, pristinely loyal… and the costs of slipping up were so high, so catastrophically high, that everyone learned not to speak.
And then she joined the UREF. At first she hadn't realized what was different, but she had realized that something was different. She found herself smiling more, actually even laughing on occasion—two extreme rarities in the Imperial Starfleet—and then they became commonplace.
It had taken her months to realize what had changed.
The people she served with—humans and aliens—were comfortable. They did not live in constant fear, they were comfortable expressing their ideas and with questioning authority.
It was liberating.
But Pellaeon had not been with the UREF for as long as Asori had, and she suspected that the transformation was far more difficult for the older officer than it had been for her. She wondered how long it would take him to notice the difference—and she wondered if he'd approve after he did.
She glanced at him from out of the corner of her eye. Pellaeon, thankfully, didn't notice; he was staring down the long palace hallway. The interior of the structure was made of the same white stone as the exterior, with polished floors and columns and the occasional click of footsteps as civil servants made their way between the numerous offices. She followed his gaze and found him looking at a small banner hanging from one of the pillars: a red background, with the black and white Imperial Crest emblazoned across it. Every fourth pillar had one, all facing into the building, all illuminated by soft lighting.
"Admiral Pellaeon, Captain Rogriss?" A protocol droid shuffled up to them, bowing slightly in the stiff way protocol droids typically did. "Grand Moff Ferrouz will see you now."
Asori followed Admiral Pellaeon into Ferrouz's office. It was the same office that had belonged to Governor Ferrouz, and then Moff Ferrouz, as the man had gradually made his way up the promotion chart. Bidor Ferrouz was not a household name—certainly it was not one Asori had heard prior to the catastrophe at Carida—but it was well-known among the higher echelons of the Imperial government. A spry stick of a man who wore his rank plaques lightly on a soft kezmir blouse, he didn't cut a figure anywhere nearly as intimidating as Vader or even the becaped and predatory Kaine. When Ferrouz had been younger, he'd been one of the rising stars in the Imperial bureaucracy, but a series of missteps and whispered innuendos had pushed him out of the Core and into the Outer Rim. When Grand Moff Kaine became sovereign over the galactic northwest, Ferrouz had fallen under his authority and then diligently worked his way into Kaine's good graces.
The two men did not have many things in common, except two: they were both excellent administrators, and neither was an Imperial true-believer. Together they had implemented the successful policy of bringing aliens into Kaine's military forces—many of those aliens were now crew aboard Pellaeon's flotilla of Enforcer-class heavy cruisers, all of which had been built by Kaine—and ultimately Kaine had chosen Ferrouz as his successor, much to the dismay of the Council of Moffs, most of whom had later sided with ISB.
Now Ferrouz was the head of an Imperial insurrection against Emperor-Regent Halmere's New Order practically by default. He had claimed the title of Grand Moff out of necessity but, Asori reflected as she regarded the well-appointed but hardly palatial governor's office, he had not adopted any of Tarkin's excesses. It's nice to work for someone I can respect, she thought.
Next to Ferrouz was Baron Soontir Fel. Where Ferrouz was lean, Fel possessed the blocky muscularity of a TIE pilot, just barely short enough to fit into the cockpit without it becoming uncomfortable. The two men were clearly comfortable with one another and were in close conversation when Asori and Pellaeon entered the room; they stopped and stood, offering Pellaeon their hands in turn.
"Admiral," Ferrouz greeted Pellaeon. Fel merely nodded. They all took their seats; Asori, as the junior officer, stood towards the back. There was only one chair remaining by the desk, and that would belong to her father when he arrived.
No sooner had that occurred to her than the door slid open once more. "Admiral Rogriss and Commander Dreyf," Ferrouz's protocol droid announced.
Her father spared her a smile, one she returned somewhat severely—maintaining the necessary separation between their familial relationship as parent and child and their official relationship as superior and inferior officer—and then he moved to take the remaining seat at the desk. "Grand Moff Ferrouz, Baron Fel, it's good to see you both again."
"Admiral Rogriss," Fel responded. His dark eyes were surprisingly emotive, Asori thought to herself. Despite his perfect Imperial dignity, Fel's every motion was imbued with energy; she suspected that was one reason he'd been such an excellent teacher at Carida. "Let's begin," Fel said, and pressed a button on Ferrouz's desk. The lights dimmed, and behind the desk a screen blinked to life. Ferrouz and Fel both moved to one side, and all five of them watched as a map of the galaxy appeared. The map quickly zoomed in on Imperial territory; in green was the Candoras Sector that Ferrouz still controlled, with small dots marking the presence of Pellaeon's fleet and her own squadron at Poln Major. In a lighter grayish-green was a much larger area that stretched into the Unknown Regions. That volume of space was just as large as the entire Empire, with dozens of dots representing the Imperial colonies, shipyards, bases, and allies of the UREF.
The New Order was in blue, with dots on Entralla—the current Imperial capital and home to Bastion, its center of government—Sartinaynian, Jaemus, and Muunilinst, its four most important systems.
To the south of the green and blue was a mass of red; dozens of dots representing planets and fleets belonging to the New Republic.
"Our objective," Fel began, "is to keep the New Order from recapturing Candoras Sector. The longer the New Order fails to accomplish that military objective the more its authority will degrade. Our intelligence operations indicate that there are a number of systems within the New Order chafing under ISB's new policies—"
Asori winced. Since taking over the Empire, ISB had instituted zero tolerance policies for anything that smacked of anti-Imperial heresy. Kaine's pro-alien policies had been revoked with prejudice, and she knew that throughout the systems still held by the Empire there was a great deal of building resentment. The problem, though, was that there was also a great deal of support, and there was no guarantee of which way any given ship, planet, or system would go if given the choice.
"—and the longer we can hold out, the higher the chance that ships or systems will choose to defect to our side." Fel looked up, his eyes catching Asori's. "But at the same time, we also do not want to reveal the existence of the UREF to the New Order just yet. At the moment, they are convinced that Grand Moff Ferrouz has been able to repel their assaults thanks to Admiral Pellaeon and the ships that defected at Carida. What they don't know is that those ships are receiving repairs and logistical support from the UREF that Candoras Sector would be unable to provide on its own."
Ferrouz snorted. "The Candoras Sector is in Wild Space. We can barely provision our Golan platforms. We'd have no chance of provisioning even one Star Destroyer, much less Admiral Pellaeon's entire fleet."
"Which means that ultimately, the New Order would succeed in defeating my forces without that support," Pellaeon added. Now that it was a question of tactics and strategy, Asori noted, all the qualms he'd expressed earlier were gone. Pellaeon was commanding a ship and a fleet. In his element, he was able to put all other concerns out of his mind. "Resupply and repair are most important, of course. Thankfully, we're well-supplied with TIEs and pilots, which means our biggest concern is simply keeping our Star Destroyer's operational."
"Not an easy task," Rogriss added. "Each Star Destroyer is its own logistical nightmare."
"That is a problem we can handle," Fel said. "The UREF will continue to provide what supplies we can without making it obvious to the New Order's observers that Ferrouz is getting help." He once again gazed at Asori. "Captain Rogriss, your squadron of Lively-class frigates represents Admiral Pellaeon's principal reserve."
Her four ships were sufficient to defeat an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer handily, and carried twelve squadrons of Chiss Clawcraft between them—a better fighter than anything the Empire had put into common use. But at the same time… "Sir, if the New Order brings a dozen Star Destroyers, my ships will be able to contribute but won't be able to make a decisive difference."
"Which is why I'm still putting together the real reserve at Nirauan," her father said. "When the fleet is ready, we'll more than double Gilad's current strength."
Fel's lips firmed. "We need to do that in a hurry, I'm afraid. Rumors out of the New Order are garbled and it's been difficult establishing good intelligence sources since the Battle of Carida; ISB has been systematically purging anyone they even suspect of disloyalty. Nonetheless, the sources we do have indicate that Emperor-Regent Halmere has some kind of secret project. Unfortunately, I don't know much more, only that the New Order believes it will change the dynamic of the war."
"Has anyone told the New Republic?" Asori asked the question before she'd even realized she had, and cursed herself for speaking out of turn yet again. Fumbling, she added, "Sirs? That might fire them up at least as much as it does us."
"General Cracken is very good at his job," Ferrouz said, somewhat dismissively. "There may come a time when we go to the New Republic with a formal proposal to end the war, but it would come at a high political cost. We'd likely have to promise to give them border systems, not to mention control over Corellia, and we would also have to reveal the existence of the UREF. If we do that, there are many of their Senators who might panic at our increased strength and insist they continue the war until we are fully subjugated. For those reasons, going to the New Republic for help is a last resort."
Asori nodded choppily. At least they didn't seem angry with her, and she was again relieved to be out from under the heavy hand of ISB. If she'd made that suggestion within earshot of an ISB operative, the consequences for her, her father, and her brother would have been severe.
"I have friends and family in the New Republic," Fel said with feeling, surprising her once again. "Many of us do. But that fact will not prevent us from fighting them if we must. We can delay that day, or try to negotiate it away, but we cannot trust that a peaceful solution will be found simply because it is convenient, however loath I am to face that family in battle. The Grand Moff and I intend to proffer a peace with honor, when the moment is right—neither of us wants to fight a war where we no longer have anything to gain and have a great deal yet to lose. Grand Moff Kaine's attempt to end the war was a worthy one. But first we must get our own house in order."
Asori Rogriss glanced at her father and all the other men around her and could not help but think of her academy days and all the classmates who were no longer there to age into this kind of cadre.