"Apology accepted, Captain Needa." - Darth Vader

Blackness, stars, and shafts of dazzling green energy. That was all he could see from the starport windows. The outline of his Star Destroyer Gray Fist was discernible, blotting out the perpetual starshine of space. However this normally breathtaking vista did not provide the usual comfort to the Captain. They chased the Millennium Falcon, and the gray-haired Captain stood resplendent in his ashen uniform, sharp green eyes scanning space, watching his best starfighters disappear from the monitor.

Captain Irtha thought about the safety of launching more TIE-Interceptors to pursue the Corellian; he had already lost four, including his Wing Commander. Unconscionable losses. In is most crushing defeats he had not lost more. Gray Fist had served with great distinction in the Imperial Navy, successfully extending the will of the Emperor further along the galactic spiral arm. Irtha personally had overseen the annexation of thirteen new systems. He wore the Emperor's Shield. But times were changing in the Empire and he didn't look forward
to his report to Admiral Piett, a report of failure which would throw an ugly stain on his reputation with the high command, or worse. Of prime concern was his standing with the Dark Lord.

On patrol through a little used shipping lane, thier sensors had picked up the infamous Milleneum Falcon orbiting a dead planet, ostesibly effecting repairs. Irtha knew that standing orders, from very high up, were to commandeer the vessel and all aboard, or (less preferable) destroy it outright. He could not believe his luck, until the Falcon bolted from a dead stop to a one parsec lead.

The reports were correct, this is no ordinary Corellian Transport. No, she would be in our hangar already. Excuses. Irtha became angry, and a little bit frightened. Damn, they're still pulling away. If they make it to light speed this thing will be over.

The bridge was quiet except for the hum of computers and technicians, an R2 unit beeped instructions somewhere out of view. It must be done, Irtha thought.

"Commander, give the order. Beta wing, launch."
"Sir,"the first officer snapped and the order was relayed. Short moments later he saw five glittering, tiny engines pulling ahead. Their target was out of visual range.
"Captain, Alpha Five destroyed. Beta wing Time to Intercept two minutes."
Irtha cursed. "Divert all energy from the shields to the thrusters and go to one hundred and fifteen percent. I want to be within tractor beam range in two minutes. They won't get away this time."
"One fifteen percent, aye!"

The great ship pushed forward in the chase.

The second wing of TIE-Interceptors was within visual tracking range, and were re-diverting power from their engines to their guns when a hail of fire strafed through their line. The dagger wing starfighters split and took different vectors of attack. Beta One maintained pursuit and squeezed off three shots. He landed two on the Falcon's aft shield, which fluttered, before punching blaster fire on his titanium hull forced him bank and evade.

Beta One held back. Wing commander, Major Quan Shien, was a veteran, so he knew not to pursue the attack too vigorously in his unshielded craft. Instead he gave orders to his wingmen and they burned ahead to carry them out. Through his starboard-view screen he glimpsed the fireball as Beta Three was annihilated, following a vector that brought it fatally close to the Falcon's underside laser turret.
Debris pelted his hull. But the turret had been occupied for enough crucial seconds. From behind the plasma flames and smoldering metal, Beta Four bravely pulled in firing and scored four more hits on the aft shield. It was down. The smuggler ship rolled and was forced to come about. Beta One and Two landed nine shots on the ship's front shields. Shien smiled behind his helmet, similar to a stormtrooper's but black as suited the strategic nature of his profession. According to plan, the Falcon was now heading directly for the waiting Star Destroyer. Child's play. As he swung in behind the Falcon his sensors showed the tractor beam locking on.

Instinct said to blast the ship now, as it was running before him, unshielded. Shien stroked the twin triggers. But the order was containment and capture and as the Falcon drew nearer to the Star Destroyer he knew his wing would have to fall back, or else take damage from the many turbolasers that would be pointed their way. Beta-One gave the order to fan out and cut off any retreat. He sighed as he did
so.

Either way, the battle was theirs, and soon the Millennium Falcon would be captured. Shien looked forward to dinner with his pilots and the stories they would share about the mission and the men lost. Victory is the sweetest of spices. He waited for the word. The sensors chimed.

Quan Shien frowned; his display showed some anomalous readings from the Falcon, readings that should not have been there.

From the bridge, Captain Irtha watched the battle draw nearer. He was dreaming, in his mind a picture of himself bringing Calrissian and the Wookie Chewbacca before Darth Vader, an admiralty. How could they overlook the savings in bounties alone? An overdue admiralty. No oversight that. Had I come from a core system, I would have been a flag officer three tours ago.

"Do we have a lock?"he asked impatiently.
"We are acquiring, sir,"his first officer responded.
"Excellent, engage when ready."

The Star Destroyer's turbolaser's fired in earnest as the Falcon came into range. Irtha waited for his information.

An alarm sounded. "Captain! Torpedo Launch, from the Falcon! Two torpedoes. Acquiring, they've locked on."

Irtha grabbed a railing as he felt his legs go weak. A second passed.

"What? How? All forward batteries target those incomings! Maximum forward firepower!"
"Commencing target acquisition, activating Zeta batteries."

The Star Destroyer's lasers shifted fire into the surrounding night, aiming for two tiny, speeding projectiles amidst eternity. The Captain thought for a second,

what am I forgetting?

The lasers continued to fire away but there were no secondary explosions. Torpedoes. How did they install those on a Corellian? But then the Millennium Falcon was supposed to be a very special ship. She's full of surprises.

What's wrong, fool?

The shields are down.

"The shields, Lieutenant, raise the--"

But the shaking of the ship told him it was too late and he fell to the floor. Alarm klaxons sounded and there was panic on the bridge. Irtha began screaming orders, remembering protocol.

"Launch all remaining squadrons to protect the ship. Take the engines off-line and charge up all remaining shield batteries."
"Sir, we're listing,"the helmsman screamed. There was terror in his youthful voice. "The defensive net has gone off-line!"
"Carry out my orders!"Irtha roared.

The starscape was swinging by wildly outside the viewport. He could see the running lights of the Millennium Falcon and those of the fighters in pursuit who had resumed their attack. Then a blur and the Falcon sped across the bow of the Gray Fist and into hyperspace.

No.

Though Irtha would have preferred to obsess about his upcoming report to Lord Vader more pressing matters were at hand. He had to assure the safety of his ship. As he worried about his own skin, his crew now looked to him to save theirs. The torpedoes, which the Corellian wasn't even supposed to have, had rendered heavy damage. Navigation, reported problems and the sensors were inoperable.
Other reports were coming in. While the TIE squadrons would provide a short range sensor net and limited protection, if the Falcon had reinforcements waiting on the other end of their run, the Gray Fist would have to be elsewhere when they arrived. He ordered his officers to direct repairs and then paced the shaking bridge, occasionally barking for reports, all the while postponing his own..

"Captain,"the voice was that of Irtha's first officer, Commander Illon, "if I may have a word with you."
"Report, Commander."
"We have suffered losses in our forward defense cluster, five hundred minimum. Nearly half our targeting net is off-line. Sensors report slight damage and will be available shortly, as will astro-nav. But we have a problem."
"Yes?"
"Our hyperdrive has been moderately damaged. Engineering is confident they can get it running, an hour maximum. But sir, I don't think our problems end with our equipment."

Irtha, who had glazed over after hearing about the hyperdrive, snapped his eyes back to his first officer. "What do you mean?"he asked, unnecessarily.
The two men walked to the starport. "Captain, do you realize who is going to be inquiring shortly as to our progress?"

Irtha imagined he could hear mechanical breathing. "Well aware, Caelus."

He was well aware of the fate of those who disappointed Darth Vader. Around the fleet, officers spoke of the Dark Lord's penchant for dispatching failures. He would require a meeting, and you would go, because you were an officer and you followed orders. Then he would raise his black gloved hand and magically constrict your windpipe. The power to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the
Force. His metallic voice would be the last thing you heard, "You will not fail me again."

Captain Needa, with whom Irtha had graduated from the Imperial Academy, had lost the Millennium Falcon in a similar chase, during the Rebel's flight from Hoth. The whole fleet still talked about it. That the Falcon had been found and captured shortly later on Bespin hadn't mattered to Vader. Needa's "incompetence"was made into a harsh example for the fleet.

"There may be a another alternative,"Illon said.

Irtha sighed. As his ship returned to its proper alignment, he rested his head against the viewport.

"Captain, incoming message from Star Destroyer Executioner. Admiral Piett wishes to know our progress."

Piett, Irtha thought bitterly, was a recruit when I was commanding frigates. Now he is the human voice of Darth Vader. In the right place at the right time, that's all.

"Tell him that the chase is in progress and we will contact Executioner when we have more information,"Irtha said.

There was silence about the bridge.

"Carry out my orders."

He heard the communications officer relaying the message. What does insubordination matter now? Illon looked sideways at his Captain and nodded.

Collir Irtha's father had risen to first officer; most of his time serving aboard the great Man-O-War Peleon of the Tyrad Third Fleet. The Tyrad Third Fleet, and the rest of the Tyrad navy, sailed the Aquanis Ocean. This ocean, dotted with remote island cities, spanned nearly two-thirds the surface of Jhryss. T.N.S. Peleon and her sisters had served many hard fought years, mostly skirmishing with neighboring fleets, all remote from the policies of the Imperial Senate.

On Collir's homeworld, covered with oceans, the only commerce available was by sea. Humans, who had migrated to the planet in a time before remembering, lived on thin ribbons of land and to travel their world the Jhryssians had so concentrated on mastering the seas, the wind and tide, that little thought was spared for the heavens, other than as a navigational tool. At least that had been the case before the arrival of the SkyShips, the Empire.

They had arrived without the least attempt at stealth; swooping out of the sky like proud birds from huge invisible nests in the branches of the cosmos. In glittering white battle armor, Stormtroopers bled into their society, and supplanted the law. The Jhryssians abhorred ground fighting, preferring to settle their battles on the sea. The Tyrad navy was decimated, along with every other fleet, not because they posed a threat, but as a statement of dominance. After a few bloody weeks the Empire had allowed a cease-fire and initiated Jhryss into a Commonwealth of Systems, each with provincial rights, but each under the authority of the Empire. In exchange, a number of the citizenry were put to work, in all manner of needed positions. Promised that their status would not change, the people of Jhryss, like those of nearly a hundred worlds, acquiesced their planet. Flag Admiral Jikol departed with the strange Ambassadors as Jhryss' first Imperial Senator, never to be seen again.

Jolanir Irtha, Collir's father, survived the dark times. He cherished and remembered his world without the Empire and their edicts. Jolanir had neither the ability or desire to change his ways. The tradewinds did not stop blowing on Jhryss with the coming of technology, nor did the salt of the sea disappear from the blood of the Jhryssians. Though most agreed that the Empire had brought a dark cloud over their planet, after a while, resigned, the constant buzzing became accepted. The technical knowledge they gave off like candy could do no harm, and things had seemed to have changed little for 'regular' people since their arrival. Some however, like Jolanir, wished the Empire away. Collir remembered his father once setting him down, telling him:

"These gray suits are nothing to take lightly, son. They will promise everything and when they are done giving, you are left with nothing. They
offer you that which you already have, but on their terms." He had sighed then, not an eloquent man, he wanted to say more. "They don't know the sea."

They don't know the sea. An old Jhryssian curse. Jolanir set sail five days before his son's sixth birthday and the news of his death arrived just before the celebration. The message was delivered by a droid.

He died at sea. That was all.

The image of Jolanir, tall, braving shellfire and blasters, standing by his Captain in high seas, would never fade from his mind, though the meaning of the man's words faded like a name etched into a beach.

In a world of seafarers, Collir grew up with the promise of the stars, dreaming of one day riding into the heavens with the Imperials. He appreciated the power they held, how the people of his town fled from Stormtroopers, how the Empire buzzed through the sky effortlessly while shipmasters struggled to find the right wind for travel. Collir's mother, Poran, had begged her son to find some landlocked fixation, but none of it reached the boy, who followed Stormtroopers and pestered off-duty officers for stories and advice. While his schoolmates practiced sailor's knots and astro-navigation, Collir studied technical manuals and omnidimensional tactics. Collir wanted everything the Empire had to offer and they could have all of Jhryss in trade. Approaching manhood he managed to impress a provincial governor and won the right to take the Imperial Academy admission test. The day he ditched school to take the test, he had never felt more terrified or exhilarated. Though he had no problem with their written questions, Collir was daunted by the combat and flight simulators. They represented environments and situations completely alien to Collir's being. But, through sheer will to succeed, and a desire to experience these new spectacular environs outside a computer, he mastered all of their simulations. Within a week, a squad arrived at the Irtha dwelling to inform Collir that he had been accepted and Poran that her only son was going away.

Collir had smiled wide and dropped to his knees. When he had packed his belongings and headed to the door he stopped to kiss his two younger sisters and his mother. His sisters had cried and wished him well. His mother, who had no tears left to shed, had turned from him.

"Your father would have disowned you. Can I do any less?"

When he first saw the Star Destroyer, awesome, terrible, and spewing TIE- Fighters in seemingly endless supply, hanging in orbit above Jhryss, he knew that he would never return. That hadn't bothered him then. They didn't know the sea, but instead they knew the stars. Collir Irtha would know both. Poran Irtha's words echoed out of memory, replaced by a rush of anticipation as the shadows around Collir, those from the Star Destroyer blotting out his sun, and the gazes of the officers around him, lengthened enough to become a new home.

That had been fifteen cycles ago, and now Captain Irtha saw the fatal fulfillment of his meteoric career at the other end of a comlink. Outside the bridge viewport his starfighter squadrons buzzed about like so many angry hornets protecting their damaged nest. Irtha lost himself in admiring their maneuvers. Every second's indecision took the Captain farther over the line. Failure and insubordination.

He summoned his first officer. "Commander."

Caelus Illon, as usual, was quickly at hand. "Captain. Our hyperdrive unit has been damaged by the torpedo attack. The comlink--"
"I know about the comlink. Caelus,"Irtha drew the man close, "what is your alternative."

Irtha waved off an approaching Ensign. They both turned and looked through the viewport as Illon spoke with quiet urgency:

"I am concerned about the safety of my commanding officer in saying this, and I realize that I may be open to disciplinary action. Captain, though this will sound rash, I believe we may want to consider, as a last option, which we are quickly approaching, defection. Before you react,"he stopped Irtha's open mouth, "hear me out. We have no idea what ill Vader has in store for us. In fact, I feel we are all now in very grave danger. I have one or two--ah- -acquaintances in the Rebel Alliance who may be able to help us."

Both men stood in silence as the bridge crew hustled to affect repair on the limping Star Destroyer. Acquaintances? Illon has taken a huge risk telling me this, Irtha thought, he is either scared,stupid, or crazy. No, he's not stupid. Irtha now gave no outward reaction to Illon's explosive statement. Instead he looked towards space where nearly forty ships now patrolled, once in place to defend against the rebels. Now that was almost secondary. He heard the tone signaling an incoming transmission.

"Vader."Illon spoke the name.

Irtha was frightened and could almost feel his throat constricting under a phantom grasp. What is he thinking? Always Caelus Illon has been a faithful officer, but this is madness. Madness, but who is more mad? The communications officer called for the Captain.

"Executioner demands our report."
"How long before we are at full defensive capability,"Irtha whispered to his first officer.
"The repairs to the computer system will take at least an hour. The problem is the hyperdrive. Trickier. Even if we allocate resources from other divisions, it should still take longer than it takes for the Imperial High Command to arrive on the scene due to our silence. We have a good crew. . ."
"Captain."The communications officer was sweating.

The two senior officers exchanged glances. If we do it together, we might be able to pull this off.

"Radio silence, that is my order."

Illon spoke quietly. "Collir,"he said. "Think of the orders we have been made to carry out in our tours aboard this ship, aboard others. Recall the countless lives that were little more than energy readings to us when we extinguished them. Has mercy ever been an option? Can you remember a mission that has not resulted in bloodshed? Can you pretend that you we are not all at risk from our 'high command' ? Any of the officers? The crew?"

Irtha's eyes narrowed. Anything was possible where Darth Vader was concerned..The Commander continued, "Why should Vader spare any of us, when there are plenty of young officers dreaming of our command. The Academy, remember the academy."

His predicament fully set in. The Imperial Academy had been a notorious den of cut-throatedness and deathwishing, each cadet praying for attrition to further their careers.

"Yes, I remember well the dreams of the Academy. I agree that the situation seems desperate and I will brief the senior staff as their time becomes available. I see no reason yet for the crew to know any of this."

Irtha didn't want to give full committment to Illon's suggestion, but his agreement was implicit.

"What's your plan?""
"I thought we would--" But he did not finish his sentence. The sensor post was screaming.
"Captain! Sensors show a Calmari class MC80 coming out of hyperspace off the starboard sensor tower, 30 clicks."

Caelus Illon, the youngest of five brothers, was the first in his family to directly serve in the military. His father, his brothers, his mother all worked building weapons, turbolasers specifically, at an Imperial arms factory on Ghoris, where the Qulon nebula dominated the horizon day and night. This factory, in fact all of Ghoris, had been privately owned before representatives of the Empire made their bid known.
Unopposed. To hear the stories his mother would tell, the transition had been dark and bloody. But Caelus couldn't believe the stories, which had all taken place before he had been born. "Show me the graves momma,"he would say. But there were none to visit.

At an early age Illon was enamored of the crisp professionalism of the Imperials who would then visit his family's factory. Horban Illon ran a tight operation, formerly Illon Weaponworks, now a division of Bak Systems, and his workers never questioned the orders of management. Work was speciallized so no one technician knew everything about the product he or she was building, a luxury of high technology. Horban would have it no other way, and reveled in delusions of omniscience. When the Imperials came, however, a startling change would come
over Caelus' father. His face would blanch impotent and he would walk as if collared by an invisible chain, moving without taking his gaze from intently studying the floor.

To Caelus, this was a refreshing change from his father's usual domineering. His spirits lifted watching his father deflated in front of the world. At sixteen he left Ghoris, left the cuffs on the head from his father, the barbs from his older brothers, and the powerless work of building weapons for others to use. Using his knowledge of turbolaser design as a marketing point, Caelus Illon managed admission to the Imperial Academy. His adolescent dream was to return to Ghoris someday and pound it from orbit with Bak-Illon turbolasers.

Those dreams kept him going through the tedious simulation work at the Academy, where he majored in Strategic (Orbital) Assault. It seemed simple enough; program the proper coordinates into the computer, set rates of fire and impact density. This method spares the bloody and wasteful work of ground combat, keeping the Empire strong for future unknowns. His instructors prepared him for the
mathematical dispensation of death, Illon already knew the hardware. His first assignment was aboard a Victory class Star Destroyer.

Caelus lost count of the destruction he had caused with his light pen and the push of a button, and he never questioned or knew why he had to push his buttons so many times. It mattered little; each new world was simply a new set of coordinates to correlate, variables to be fed into time-honored infallible equations. Caelus, however, was determined to succeed and he did his job well, though he worked secluded from the universe on ships built to span it. His instructors had prepared him well, taught him to allow only numbers inside his head.
What they didn't, couldn't prepare him for was his first bridge assignment, serving under Captain Collir Irtha. Grey Fist and two other Star Destroyers had just completed four hours of continuous attack, all in the name of acquiring natural resources for the Empire. The Star Destroyers had sat safely in orbit, raining laser energy upon a nearly defenseless world. Illon had, at first, been fascinated with his first personal glimpse of battle. The planetary vista itself was astounding. Hours passed. As night fell over their targets, fires could be seen in the darkness, expanding, glittering over continents. The planet was burning before the Star Destroyers ceased fire to recharge their laser energy, and at that point Caelus understood why there were no graves to be found on Ghoris. No ultimatums were given.

He had wanted it to stop, wanted to beg Irtha to have mercy on the planet, wanted to do something, but there was no time for any of that and no place on an Imperial Star Destroyer for pity. Sickened, he followed orders. Many other worlds were set ablaze in this manner, with frequency enough to give Caelus a permanent pain in his soul. It throbbed like the very first time and wouldn't stop. It was to quell this pain that he had listened when he should have shot to kill. At a tavern on Coruscant, a windy cold night, in the shadow of his Emperor's palace,
he listened as an unlikely friend offered him a private peace, and redemption. The price: to remain aboard the Grey Fist serving as usual, but report via secure channels to the Rebel High Command.

Caelus Illon accepted the offer. He continued to do his duty, reporting information to the Rebellion when it wasn't too dangerous to do so. Always, though, he harbored a secret desire to disappear from the Universe, if only to be away from the Empire.

There was a moment's dread, then calm. This was inevitable, Irtha reasoned. He knew the bulbous Rebel cruiser was a threat, even more so in their present condition. His training told him to send his squadrons to head off that threat, but Illon nudged him. Irtha, too, then sensed the opportunity. He thought quickly and then spoke:

"Bring the ship about to a defensive position and signal Major Shien to create a picket. I don't want aggression, not now."
"Captain?"the young communications officer blinked at him.
Illon stood forward and barked, "You heard the Captain, Ensign, signal the wings."

Irtha turned and looked out the viewport. In the starry distance he could just make out the engine glow of the Rebel Cruiser. "What is the posture of the MC80?"
"She is holding steady and we can detect no starfighter launches,"the sensor port reported. "She's on an intercept course, point oh-two-five sub-light."

Not attacking speed at all, perhaps we are saved.

The outlook was bleaker aboard Beta One. Major Shien relayed the absurd orders to the wingleaders. Since the destruction of Alpha One, piloted by the crack Colonel Navar, Shien had assumed command of Gray Fist's starfighter squadrons. It was an opportunity he knew would come sooner than later, given the war with the Rebellion. While he regretted the loss of Navar, a capable pilot, he shrugged off all
thoughts of mourning or reflection for now. He was angry. Why aren't we attacking? Why aren't they attacking? He could think of no reason. Surely the Gray Fist was damaged. But his squadrons contained two wings of TIE-Bombers, loaded with enough armament to, if not obliterate the Rebel cruiser outright, at least have her limping when reinforcements arrived. Something's going on.

He manipluated his atmopsheric controls, setting all levels to minimum to prolong his flight time. Immediately the cold of space flooded the TIE's tiny cockpit. Before thermal recyclers in Shien's flight suit compensated for this fatal change in temperature, he felt the bitterness of his environment, the staid nothing in which he had spent most his life.

Shien wheeled his craft across Gray Fist's bow and, looking quickly, saw the lights from the bridge viewports. What were they thinking? Parley? Parley was not an option. The only course of action was attack, the order had come from the Emperor himself.

As a member of the Emperor's Secret Order, Shien was entrusted with personal directives from the Emperor when he felt his chain of command was corrupt. My greater service is to the Empire and my Emperor, but Irtha, why? As he watched the two ships slowly closing distance, Shien thought he felt the scolding will of the Emperor filling his mind. Act.

He scrambled his comlink and began transmitting orders to those he could trust amongst the many starfighters screaming silently through the vacuum of space.

Quan Shien was born on Coruscant, capital of the Old Republic and, now, of the Empire. His earliest memories were of starships and space travel, his father's steady hand at the ship controls, and learning what was needed to master the vacuum.

His father was a starfighter pilot for the Old Republic, but had sided with Senator Palpatine in the Clone Wars. This fortunate career choice, and his flawless skills, gained him a post in the Emperor's new order. But Dharan Shien never gave up being a pilot, and as the Emperor's Advisor on Starfighter affairs he took young Quan on many of his missions throughout the galaxy. It was while away on one such mission that a raid on Coruscant killed Quan's mother. He was six at the time, and her death, short of filling him with grief, instead filled him with simmering rage. While his mother had been a kind woman, in later years Quan barely remembered her, only the anger at her death.

Quan and his father only became closer after the raid. Along with his rigorous schoolwork, he learned to master the newest technology while others his age fooled around in the city. On one outing he was helping his father fly an Imperial Shuttle when they ran into two pirate Z-95 Headhunters, prequel to the X-Wing's so favored by the Rebel Alliance. A chance meeting. Shien would never forget his father's calm has he took the controls from his terrified son. With laser blasts rocking the shuttle's shielding, Dharan skillfully brought the shuttles twin cannons to bear on one of the starfighters. For every hit Shien scored, the Z-95 on their tail scored two but it wasn't long before the unsheilded craft was destroyed. Dharan then, mercilessly, hunted down the survivor.

"Quan,"his father had said when he relinquished the controls once more, "In space there is no such thing as mercy, nor pity, for it is only in the thin alloy of your hull; the separation of life from death. In that minuscule thickness there is no room for remorse, barely room for thought, only strength. Strength, and a little wit, that will keep you alive."

He remebered sitting before the Emperor as a child, listening to stories of the Force and the mastery of fear. He remembered the power he gave off like a cold draft. Quan learned to conquer his own fears, and proceeded to the goal of mastering the fears of others in the military.

At the earliest possible age, Quan Shien was rushed into the Imperial Academy, where he showed prodigal skill in the art of starpiloting. It was at the Academy, possibly through the influence of his father, that he again attracted the notice of the Emperor.

Palpatine, to ensure the security of the Empire, had gathered his trusted advisors, generals, admirals, pilots and soldiers into a secret order with senses that spanned the galaxy. Those close to the Emperor had ways of communicating freely through the chain of command with those who had the proper access. In a darkened hangar bay over the hum of ion engines, a cloaked figure had offered Shien admittance to the order, and the numerous benefits that came with it, provided he obey the commands of the Emperor over those of his commanding
officer. For Shien there could be no other way.

His career after the Academy was one success after another, and his talent with successive starfighter models, along with certain opportune casualties, pushed him quickly up through the ranks. Always he heeded the words of the Emperor's Hands, the closest of Palpatine's clandestine operatives, and his performance gained him extra privilege of being a member of the Secret Order.

So his eyes were now always searching, for the Alliance especially, but also for traces of rebellion in those who served around him. This had been his latest directive, as he had been dispatched to I.S.D. Gray Fist. Be wary, he had been told, even aboard your own ship there is cause for concern. Quan Shien was determined to be vigilant.

In the officer's strategic center, they were free from sight of the crew. Irtha, Illon and the senior officers stood around the holographic tactical display. Their ship was represented by a red triangle floating in the electrified mist, the blue triangle showing the Rebel was inching closer.

Irtha scanned the faces around him, each dimly reflecting the light from the display, each deeply lined with concern. Illon had done his job well.

"Why do we just sit here then?"one of the men asked. "If they are not going to attack, and it looks as if they have had infinite opportunity, should we try and establish contact?".
"A Parley?" another officer shook his head. "We were sworn to fight the enemies of the Empire. Those are our orders. And so, why should they be so quick to accept us? I'm sure the name Gray Fist is not completely unheard of.
"It doesn't matter,"a young officer spoke up, "for whatever reason, they have not yet attacked."
"Then why haven't they contacted us? We are wasting precious time. It looks as if we are both feeling each other out, both afraid to take the first step, one way or the other. And while we wait, the fleet is probably en route."

There was silence.

Another spoke up: "Why would the rebels have any reason to trust us? Especially after what we did to their fleet at Denab."
"Gentlemen, the Captain will explain all,"Illon said.
"We have reached a crisis point,"Irtha said, beginning to pace the borders of the room. "The unexpected defeat we absorbed from the Corellian has left us in a dangerous position. The Emperor, in this time of, uncertainty, has little use for failures. He will not eliminate the entire crew, though that is within his power. No, the Emperor, and his arm, Darth Vader, will seek out those directly responsible. As you
all know, Vader grows more erratic and deadly with every Rebel victory. By all indications, the fleet is already on its way. As terrible as this sounds: Our only hope for survival is the Rebellion."

There was silence. On the display, the two triangles moved closer. Before the Gray Fist were smaller red X's marking the TIE squadrons.

"Captain,"a voice came over the intercom. "Communication from the Rebel."
"In the Strategy Center,"Irtha responded.

He localized the channel to the room and opened it. "This is Captain Irtha of the I.S.D. Gray Fist." He swallowed. "I hereby request a truce and parley."

The voice over the com channel was covered with static and emotionless.

"This is Commander Bronn of the Rebel Alliance. Captain, this goes against standard Imperial protocol, yet our intelligence tells us, reliably I believe, that you have caused a great deal of concern within the Empire. If your motives are for truce, then we accept. Our terms are this: recall your starfighter forces. As soon as you are hyperspace capable, you will accompany us. You will be a welcome addition to our fleet."

Collir Irtha was stunned. In that instant the full implications of his acts swelled over him and numbed his mind. I am going to give up my command to the enemy, run, under armed 'escort', to the heart of the enemy. Throw away everything I have fought for, everything I have killed for. I will fight for the enemy, and possibly die fighting under their colors. And join the Rebellion against the Empire. What do I have to rebel against? The Emperor commissioned me, a nobody from a nowhere world, to fight for him. A massive trust. To me he entrusted this
great ship, and the power that comes with it. To me he entrusted the dreadful missions that only this ship could complete. He stopped. Irtha realized that his officers were looking at him and that the static filled line was still open. What could he say? The words of his father, unbidden, suddenly returned to him. The empire promises everything, and when they are done giving, you are left with nothing. It was true, the empire was done giving, and now Collir Irtha was left with nothing. Nothing, that is, except a terrible decision, and a powerful starship.
There he found his spark, his will to turn defeat into victory. He spoke proudly now.

"Commander Bronn, I agree to your terms. As soon as we are able to get underway, the capabilities of the Imperial Star Destroyer Gray Fist will be at the disposal of the Rebel Alliance. I ask for leniency for my crew. My officers and I are
willing to--

"That's fine, Captain," the dry static voice of Commander Bronn cut him off. "Our first concern is everybody staying alive until that point. As you can see, we have company."

A clearer voice from the bridge cut in. "Captain, new signals, bearing point zero six nine mark one. Distance twenty clicks. Sir, its the Executioner. She has the Hammer and the Vengeance in formation." The bridge officer seemed relieved, but it seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the Strategy Center.
Two Star Destroyers and a Super Star Destroyer, a bad situation come worse.

"Helm, increase our speed by the safest of increments towards the Calmari. Defensive posture.

"Sir? Confirm, towards the Calmari?"
"Those are my orders." He clicked off the channel, and the silence in the room was heavy. "Lieutenants,"he addressed the officers assembled, "take your posts.

The men hustled from the room. Irtha frowned: This will be the tricky part. The crew requires stability, they need to see their officers. If their commanders are watching, they will do anything.

The few senior officers gathered waited and watched the display. If the order to increase speed and approach the Rebel had been obeyed, they would know. Irtha had to hope that he had been convincing enough. First, the bridge crew had to believe they were in peril. If they gave the orders to their appropriate stations, the right orders, the station chiefs would mostly follow suit. If they went along, it would trickle down nicely. The process would take a few minutes.

They watched as starfighters launched from the Executioner. Their sensor blips outpaced the larger triangle, on an intercept course with Gray Fist.

"Communication from Lord Vader,"the bridge piped in, "no stopping it."

The holographic tactical image was replaced by that of the dark lord, fluttering, floating in nothing. His disembodied voice rumbled, filling the room.

"Captain Irtha, your lack of communication is most distressing. Almost as distressing as your failure to capture the Millennium Falcon. But your actions since this failure have hinted at some new, personal agenda. Tell me this is not so."

Irtha summoned his pride and courage:

"Lord Vader, it is no secret amongst the fleet that your tolerance of failure has reached fatal proportions. Ozzel, Needa, how many more? We know what happens to those who fail the Dark Lord of the Sith. All to well we know, and we have decided that the price is too high.

"My assurances, Captain, I have no such plans for you." Vader opened his arms, "The Gray Fist is far too valuable a ship."

Irtha had doubted it was possible, and still had his doubts, but it almost seemed as if the metallic wheezing of Darth Vader sounded kind.

Major Shein, in his TIE-Interceptor, peeled away from his flight group, allowing them to continue the picket. He slowly made his way across the formation his starfighters had created. This wedge now proceeded the ailing Star Destroyer as it made to rendezvous with a Rebel Starcruiser.

He could hardly believe his eyes when Gray Fist increased speed as the Executioner arrived, confirming his fear that the crew was now also in rebellion. Shien had always known that some of them were suspect, but he had never dreamed that enough could be turned so quickly. He didn't even know why these events had transpired.

Communications from Gray Fist had been few since the arrival of the Rebel. They had been told to "maintain a defensive posture"and that was all. Whatever plans were being hatched aboard the Star Destroyer, they did not seem to involve the TIE squadrons, nor require their approval. It was almost as if they had been forgotten entirely. A costly oversight, Shien grinned.

"I do not believe you. I cannot believe you, Lord Vader."
"Then you will pay the ultimate price, Captain Irtha, and your crew will pay with you," the Dark Lord's image dispersed.

Commander Bronn's unsympathetic voice came on the speaker.

"If you have a move to make, you had better make it now. We cannot wait for our new neighbors to get any closer.
"We're working on it, Commander." Irtha felt a pain in his head, throbbing, like a finger was poking around inside his mind. Irtha shook his head, trying to keep out whatever was probing him. "Bridge, ahead full. Is the hyperdrive ready?"
"Engineering is finishing up repairs now, our shields and turbolasers are only partially operative.
"Keep me up to date, as soon as the hyperdrive is active, I want to know about it. Full shields aft." A thought struck him. "Give me Major Shien."
"Beta One, standing by,"again a static filled voice filled the room.
"Major, as you know we are in dire straits. The starfighters launched from the Executioner are bound for this position and they are hostile, I repeat, hostile. Under no circumstances should they be allowed to reach this ship before we rendezvous with the Calmari, which will offer its protection until we are hyperspace capable. Until the order is given, you are to repel the attacking TIE squadrons. Understood?"

Silence, "I understand completely, Captain. Beta-One, Out.

The officers watched the display as their fate was measured out before them. Shien almost laughed. The Captain was a bigger fool than he had ever imagined. What arrogance, thinking the Emperor's squadrons would aid this fool's quest.

The voice of Darth Vader filled his helmet. "You have your orders, Colonel Shien."

He clicked on his comlink and his voice was heard throughout the flight. "All craft. Code: Vigil, secure frequency.

To some of the wing, this meant nothing. They continued along their course as select fighters sheared away from the group and formed a new fighter wing. They formed up, three TIE-Bombers, two TIE-interceptors, and Beta-one. They held formation momentarily. Major Shien then gave a brief thought to the comrades on his ship, some of which he had served with his entire career. He thought about the meal he would have shared upon return. No more. We have served well together in our time, but now the Emperor would have us take different paths. Shien saluted and was solemn when he spoke again to condemn his former friends:

"Code:Vigilant."

TIE-INTs Theta-Two and Four split and accelerated towards the Star Destroyer. The three TIE-Bombers Shien had acquired for the mission, Iota-One and Two, and Sigma-One, grouped themselves tightly. They readied their payloads.

"Commence target acquisition, Iota-One,"Shein ordered. He took position behind the bombers as their missile bays opened and they started their run.

Illon pointed to the display, frowning. "Captain, a group of our own starfighters has turned, but the rest appear to be holding steady. The group that has turned is not on an intercept course with Executioner's fighters, but rather are closing with this ship. Beta-One is in this group! They've decided against us. Suggest we divert our shields and open fire.

Captain Irtha thought about it, and he realized the magnitude of his error. "We can't make the sacrifice, our shields are shaky at best. Damn! Will someone give me a report on the hyperdrive?!"
"Engineering,"the voice over the speaker was angry, "for better or worse, the hyperdrive motivator will be in place in two minutes."
"Captain, our TIE-Bombers have locked onto us.
"Make the calculations for a jump to hyperspace, destination--anywhere.
Commander Illon--"
But Caelus Illon was no longer in the room.

Illon didn't have time for pre-flight checks, he wasn't even sure he would be able to fly. He wasn't rated for Tyderium shuttles, but he had to get away. Caelus went through the power systems and made each active as he had seen done so many times.

Out the cockpit window he could see the empty hangar bay and wheeling stars below, no other ships were visible but he could see flashes of laser fire in the distance. Something's happening, he thought as he punched up sensor coordinates for the Rebel cruiser. He heard banging on the docking hatch, and the comlink flashed. Ready or not, he hit the release switch.

The hangar bay rose up and away, replaced by a slightly shifting starfield as Illon's shuttle dropped from the Star Destroyer's underside. He saw the Executioner, dangerously close, with her two formidable escorts, and hit the throttle. Nothing happened. The autopilot light was on and he switched it off. The shuttle pushed forward and Illon turned away from the oncoming fleet. He brought the ship on a heading to intercept the Calamari.

He switched to the Rebel's emergency frequency. "This is Darkhorse, this is Darkhorse, come back."
"Darkhorse, this is Quaxal, good to hear from you. Our sensor show that your engines are not at full capacity, nor are your shields. You will need both to reach us."

The rebel told Caelus how to transfer power from his guns to he engines and shields. "We will do everything in our power to bring you home, but you must hurry, Darkhorse. We are not prepared for battle and we cannot remain in the area for long._
"I understand." Caelus saw engines of Gray Fist's TIE squadrons between him and his goal. The rebel cruiser was so far away. "I tried, you know.
"We know, come home, Darkhorse, you've earned it.

Illon switched the comlink off. A flash caught his eye to the left. Torpedoes, he shivered, they're doomed. He counted six when he had to look away. Gray Fist's squadrons were closing.

He took a deep breath and tried to resign himself to the fact that his destiny was out of his hands. Illon had little hope of outpiloting the experienced Imperial fighters, he could only rely on his shields and clarity of purpose. Caelus Illon flew towards his dream.

Colonel Shien watched with satisfaction as the first three proton torpedoes sailed off towards their separate targets on the Star Destroyer. They were running hot. Then his plan started to fall apart. He noticed, too late, that four TIE-Fighters had not held course, but had followed.

"Mu-One, report, you are off course,"Shien said angrily.

His computer buzzed an answer as his Warning Indicator lit up, someone was trying to lock their guns on him. Just as he was taking evasive action he saw bright green shafts of energy pelt the TIE-bomber line, Sigma-One was annihilated.

"Bombers, fire!" he screamed as he moved to intercept the TIE fighters.

Theta-Two and Theta-Four backed him up as he led Mu-One into his sights. Two squeezes on his flightstick trigger sent eight shafts of laser energy into Mu- One's hull. The unshielded fighter broke into a thousand flaming particles. His sensors showed five torpedoes heading for I.S.D. Gray Fist. That should be lesson enough. Shien swung in behind Mu-Two and connected with three hits to his left solar panel, which blew off and hurtled into space. What was left of the TIE- Fighter spun wildly out of control, and was easily lined up for the kill shot. Then his sensors showed the shuttle departing from Gray Fist. He smiled, Oh no, my friends, there is no mercy in space. Turning from the helpless TIE- Fighter, he moved to pursue.

The great turbolaser batteries of the Gray Fist fired wildly now, once again trying to intercept incoming torpedoes.

"Captain, someone has launched a shuttle without authorization. Sensors show, sir, it's Commander Illon. He's heading for the Rebel.
Irtha didn't have time to be shocked as he watched the torpedoes on the display, coming in slowly, inexorably blinking their way towards the red triangle that kept him alive. He opened a channel. "Commander Bronn, we could use some assistance here.

Static.

A great shock wave then rolled across the ship, knocking them all to the floor, followed by another, and another. The holograph disappeared and the room was plunged into darkness. All was noise and vibration. Another shockwave, another. Captain Irtha scrambled across the floor and out the hatchway to the bridge.

Outside the main viewport he gazed in horror on the fiery disaster that was his ship. Whole sections of the hull had been blown into space, plasma fires burned, and now everything was spreading. In space he saw the glittering engines of starfighters darting about, some of which were firing on his ship, some of which were engaged in dogfights. The dead surrounded him and the bridge itself was on fire.

What have I done?

Irtha stood at the helm as watched his ship come apart, as the Captains of his homeworld had done for generations.

Though chasing the fleeing shuttle, Colonel Shien found the time to smile grimly as he glimpsed the Gray Fist tumbling a blazing spiral through space. A waste, really, he thought. Reinforcements from Executioner helped clean up the remaining resistance.

The shuttle before him came within firing range and he let loose with his laser cannons. He connected two on the aft shield and port wing. Then his sensors told him he had company. A squadron of three X-Wings shot from behind the Calmari, cannons blazing. He felt the stinging cracks of laser fire on his hull. He was in danger now. But Shien, not ready to give up, scored three more hits on the shuttle craft. The shuttle tried to evade, the X-Wings closed, and Shien continued firing. His target rolled and swerved from side to side, attempting to evade, but Shien pressed the attack. With a well placed shot to the ship's unshielded engine, the shuttle disintegrated in a flameless explosion. He throttled up and turned about as two TIE- Interceptors from Executioner joined him. The X-Wings fled to the safety of their ship, which was pulling away, in defeat. He let them go, as his ship was nearly destroyed.

Before him was the blazing hull of the Gray Fist. He, briefly wondered if Lord Vader would try to retrieve the Captain from the ship, so he could personally "reward"him for his loyalty. This question, however, was answered as the Gray Fist came into range of the super Star Destroyer Executioner. It's laser barrage was short but intense and the numerous reactors aboard the Grey Fist went critical at once, expending themselves in light, which temporarily blinded Shien, and merciful heat which disintegrated the bones of all aboard and sent the ship in every possible direction at once.

The remaining fighters then formed up to attack the Calmari. Four TIE- Bombers started a missile run, but to their chagrin the Rebel cruiser went into motion, fading quickly from sight before jumping into hyperspace. A wise move. Beta-Two formed up with the remaining ships and headed for Executioner, keeping a sharp eye out for debris floating through the frozen battlefield. Then remorse hit him, he realized that he had lost his home, and many of his friends and comrades. Quan Shein pounded his fist down upon his thigh and swore. A terrible day, terrible.

On Jhryss the sea continued to slowly nibble away the land. Young people, the elders said, no longer cared about the old ways, the sea. Many were leaving for other planets, some with the Empire, some, more and more, with the Rebellion. Politics and erosion were the topics of the summer.

Poran Irtha sat on her enclosed porch working a pottery wheel, humming an old song of farewell while listening to the waves crash ashore. She was trying to concern herself with neither politics or erosion. For now, everything seemed right, and calm. It was a hot day, yet the cold clay spinning beneath her fingers cooled her as it slowly became a fine vessel. It has been too long since I have worked the clay,
she thought, why do I feel the need today? She admired her work. Her youngest daughter Klio, sat across from her, reading a history book.
A buzzing noise distracted her and she fumbled the clay. The pot was ruined. Looking up she saw before her a black droid.

© (copyright) Ryan Bliss. All Rights Reserved.