Eleyanos Confederacy: Of Light and Darkness

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Mand'alor
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Eleyanos Confederacy: Of Light and Darkness

Post by Cadden »

OOC: Yes, this is going by everything posted thus far. Viva la... err... Boards! :? :P

Anyhoo... Brief summary for the still-lost. Daror's been withdrawn from the MBT (for those of you who don't look at the map ;)), leaving Eleyanos by its "lonesome" self. *Looks at the other UR gov'ts* We could have only hoped, eh?

That said, stuff will be changed a bit, but just take my word for it all and you'll be fine. :D

IC:

(CADDEN)

As the ancient prophecies have predicted, we have come forth from a time of great chaos. A time when we will have faced many perils, and by the grace of the Force alone, would we rise up and defeat those greatest enemies.

And from the ashes of a fallen nation, the rebirth of the Old Ways would follow. And the once prosperous boundaries of the Eleyanos Confederacy would arise from those ashes, and begin again.

Over a decade has gone by since the Civil War. The Empire had withdrawn out of our sector a generation ago, and now we live in the mausoleum of history. We inherit the legacy of ghosts who haunt these ruins. The elders call us the lost generation.

Eleyanos has become deeper, more evident than we had ever thought. When we had begun to rebuild our glorious nation, trouble arose, and we faced it without fear - but foolishly. We had not seen the last of our Ancient Enemies. They came again, and, with assistance, we had defeated them again.

Now, after the Uprisings, we are shattered, torn apart. Yet, still, unified. Eleyanos is now two - the New Eleyanos Imperium, and the Rimworld Alliance. Tyranny versus Justice... evil versus good. This is what is has come down to.

And so, now, we have forged a new alliance to push back against the aggressors of our way of life, and to find within the sector's cold expanse the salvation of our people. For now we are left with our prophecy to fulfill... our legacy. The Resh'tkans were only the beginning, and we have yet to see the end....


Kiltrath

The ancient halls of the Kiltrath Palace were redecorated. A dark and gloomy look replaced its bright and prosperous one, making a cold welcome to any guest, friend or foe. It portrayed the new ruler of the once-called Confederacy well. The Eleyanos Confederacy. Its named was wiped away when the Revolution took place. The figurehead using dark and cruel means of warfare to succeed. Not even the wisest of the Council could have seen it coming. Those who opposed the Revolution, died.

This, believe it or not, was still a part of the prophecy. The hero had arisen, only be put to the grave days later. The hero's lover had fled, and never been seen again. As far as the New Regime was concerned, there was no prophecy. No great coming that would wipe away the darkness and bring forth a new age of promise to the Confederacy.

And so, he thought, there was no need to worry about the fall of the New Eleyanos Imperium. He would not die - he could not die. After all, since his ascendancy from Guardianship, he was practically a living god. Resting atop a blackened - and warped, with dark powers - throne, he watched, and observed. The Force served him well. He believed he had risen above the Force, and did not require it to be his master. He knew of every politician's motives, and had carefully weeded out the weak from the strong.

There were many executions, in the name of the new "Lord Regent." A title that the Rimworld Alliance would never allow him to have. He couldn't care less - aside from the outer nine systems of Eleyanos, he had the entire sector under his command.

The Jukkons, they conspire against you, he listened, his meditative trance going deep into the Unknown. They plot your removal from the Throne. But it is of no concern... they'd no sooner plot against any other that sat upon the highest chain of command in the sector. They are a violent species, perfect for your cause.

The large, black-robed and hooded figure frowned. They still pose a threat to my rule... my regime.

He could feel the other's laugh. Your regime does not even belong in your place. This caused his anger to stir. You must allow things to play out.

The figure opened his eyes, allowing himself to break contact with the Unknown. He looked on, down the throne room to its very entrance, his white, glowing eyes piercing at the newcomer. "What is it?" he demanded.

The single man strode toward him, not giving way to hesitation. "My Lord, we have found the nav buoy into the Kintarn Nebula," he announced proudly, stopping at the steps to the throne and kneeling, until summoned to arise. "Shall I have my fleet enter, and crush the Kintarn Research Yards?"

The thought of the Alliance's most valuable research station being crippled under the Imperium's might was most pleasing, but it did not falter his better judgement. He spoke with a hiss. "No...." He could see, and feel, the surprise on the other's face. And smiled. "No... they would have the advantage. The Alliance may be small, but they are not stupid. They have retreated this far... do not expect them to retreat even further."

The man bowed. “Yes, my lord,” he responded, “but the Alliance is small. They are weak, and this would be a chance to strike at their heart. Do you not recall how the Confederacy managed to kill Warlord Tyfus at the tail-end of the Civil War?”

This caused the Lord to growl with anger. “You dare judge my authority?” he said, slowly arising from the dark, warped throne. This caused the other to take a small step back – he had not been excused, yet. “Do not enter Kintarn. Not now. This would cause the Alliance to be able to trap our forces inside the nebula. There is only one navigable way out of the nebula. With the buoys. All they have to do is deactivate, or destroy, one of them. Without the ship-faring transportation within, the nebula would, indeed, dissipate over time.” He smiled. “Besides… I still have my plans for Kintarn. They will remain in the picture as long as I see fit. Your proposal moves the plans too quickly, admiral. Things must play out.”

The admiral bowed deep. “Yes, my lord,” he said. “I shall do as you wish, then.”

“Then prepare an attack on Delta Serpentis,” he responded. The man was taken aback. “Delta Serpentis is the only system outside the sector under Eleyanos control. We must not allow the Alliance to continue its operations there. Just as we had to take Verashin in order to halt their Advanced Weapons Research.” Which was a terrible loss for the Imperium, as well, for the Alliance was successful in destroying the primary research facility on their way out of the system.

The coup d'etat the Imperium had executed those months back had been carefully planned and carried out. Using the name of Special Forces personnel, members of the Imperium had infiltrated into every Confederate base in the sector. With the nation expanded to such a bloated bureaucracy, Confederacy bases and outposts quickly lost control of the situation, helping to create a devastating chaos.

No one could really tell what was going on, until it was too late. With no Blackthornes to help the situation, as they had been the Chosen Ones from the prophecies, nearly every Guardian had been wiped out. Only few remained, and those few were careful to keep their secrets from the Imperium.

“If I may ask, My Lord,” the man said, “would not Delta Serpentis be heavily guarded, being one of the Alliance’s only remaining strongholds?”

The large, shrouded figure did as best a smile his species could, and advanced down the steps. “Indeed, it would be, admiral,” he responded, more of his birdlike features becoming visible underneath the hood. “That is the whole point. The Alliance will counter-attack, and you will sandwich them from their only logical escape route. Then the Special Forces will enter… and assist in finishing them off. A simple plan… but the Alliance could not hope to counter it.”

Delta Serpentis, though a part of the much weaker Rimworlds Alliance, was still heavily guarded, despite the fact that the Alliance could not afford to waste such resources on areas outside its influence. To their credit, the Alliance had a vast starfighter navy, surpassing the Imperium’s own. For the time being, that is.

“Upon your will, Lord Regent,” the man said with a bow, “it shall be done.” He was motioned away by a black, scaly hand. Now, all he had to do was wait.

Altorax

The onslaught of the New Eleyanos Imperium had brought about a total call to arms by the remaining loyalists to the Confederacy. Having retreated east of the Kintarn Nebula, the Confederacy had nothing in its possession to be called such. As a result, a general meeting was made on Altorax to address the situation at hand. The Rimworld Alliance was born.

Comprised of key officials in each ranking system, the Alliance had to make best use of what was little to offer. Finally, seeing no other alternative, Admiral Tarson Mantell, a long-time supporter of the Confederacy’s cause, regrettably accepted the position offered to him as Supreme Commander of the Alliance’s forces. He was the last capable man to do the job, Supreme Commander Koff losing his life in a desperate effort to save the research station Obsidian from Imperium forces.

The Liaison of the ground forces had been carefully selected out of a virtually equal rank of Pirogen survivors in the Revolution. Atkom Morsted was given the title after careful examination of his records as a field commander, compared to other Pirogens. It was clear, however, that the race would have to be used more carefully, for Talmohkt had been taken, despite the fact that all records of Pirogens had been kept from Imperium eyes and hands.

Norrik Asterr, another long-time suporter of the Confederacy’s cause, continued his role as Director of Intelligence, keeping sure that the Imperium did not advance, despite the breach in security prior to the Revolution. Special Operations Command was, virtually, non-existent, but those that still remained were titled the elite.

With these three great names combined, the Alliance High Command had come to be. The structure was barely in Eleyanos tradition, but the times of chaos had called for such haste. And the people were still awaiting the Prophecy’s fulfillment.

The Alliance knew that, regardless of such a drastic change in policy, their history of tactics alone would not subdue the Imperium threat. Further action had to be made, should the Imperium gain the upper hand and drive Allied forces right back to Altorax, the residing home of their command center. And so, with a unanimous vote, Allied High Command had issued authorization to Kintarn Nebula Yards to devise a new starfighter that could change the tides of war, and shift the balance of power in Eleyanos’ favor. The project was nicknamed Relman, in respect for the first leader of the true Eleyanos Confederacy. Relman Blackthorne, the man who brought an old Empire up from a corrupted monarchy, to a flourishing authoritarian democracy. Relman Blackthorne, the man who brought an end to the eleven-year-long war between the humans and Bezmaks.

Truthfully, few knew what Project: Relman was. It was, supposedly, a secret weapon under strict guard, in a completely undisclosed region of space. Not even the commanders of Eleyanos forces were allowed to know its location. In fact, very few outside Allied High Command knew of its location, and even fewer of its true purpose. Project: Relman was not even out of its drawing board stages, yet. However, High Command was confident it would, indeed, tip the balance of power.

“We cannot institute such a declaration on the Imperium,” Norrik declared, looking at Tsemerald, a Glukos delegate. “They have us outmanned, outgunned, and overpowered. How could we possibly declare all-out, unrestricted warfare without the means?”

“That, good Asterr, is not our problem,” the man responded. His placed his fingertips together, his hand creating a pyramid as he hid his mouth behind them, as if to shield out his lies. “The Imperium advancement upon our star system, however, is.”

“Perhaps you do not recognize the delegate situation we are placed under,” Supreme Commander Mantell said. “You see, delegate, we have a restricted means of warfare. What you are asking would require us to withdraw all our forces from Delta Serpentis which, as you know, is an important forward outpost for when we can finally launch a frontal assault on the Imperium. This would leave Delta Serpentis vulnerable to Imperium counter-attack, totally devastating any chance we have in regaining a foothold on our front. The Imperium has pushed us back this far… we have no intention of being pushed back further. And we cannot return the push unless we have the manpower behind it.”

Liaison Morsted nodded in response, his black-and-red uniform demanding the utmost respect as he looked on from a corner, averting his gaze from the courtyard in front of the command center. “Not even my people could provide such strength,” he added. “After Talmohkt’s fall, the Pirogens are even more sparse than before.” The Pirogens had been recalled from their guard duties in Confederate ranks and re-trained to be fierce warriors. Yet, to the Alliance’s surprise, they were not much needed. Not yet, at any rate. “Tactics alone, delegate, will not win this war.”

The bald, slightly heavy-set man humphed in disgust. “So, what you’re telling me, is I should sit on my rear and wait for the Imperium to come to my doorstep? You’re asking me to betray my people by not providing them protection.”

“And you’re asking us to betray our people by losing another battle in this war because of your wishes,” Mantell argued. “Besides, I do not think the Imperium has Glukos in mind. Not yet.”

Norrik raised an eyebrow in interest. “Oh, Commander? Then what do you believe their target is?”

“I’m unsure,” he admitted, “but they seem to be arching around Kintarn. As if… to go straight to our heart. I have a suspicion they will be lashing somewhere south. Perhaps even as far as Delta Serpentis?”

A nod came from the Director. “I shall have scouts check it out. In the meanwhile,” he looked at Tsemerald, “we cannot have such foolishness like this catch us off-guard. Return home, delegate. This is not the time to plan Glukos’ defense. We will do that, when there is something to defend from.”

The man nodded and, with that, took his leave. Norrik watched him go, with a hard look. Have we all become so blind? he thought. The Confederacy has fallen, and from it two separate factions… we are the only thing that stand between whoever is at the head of the Imperium, and that individual’s total domination of Eleyanos. He narrowed his eyes.

“Is there something wrong, Director?” asked Tarson. He looked at Asterr, a look that could have set off a wildfire.

“No.” Norrik got up. “Just disgusted with our people. What’s left of them, anyway.” He did not wait for a response. “They are too arrogant… they do not see what is headed our way. If we do not make our stand here… well… the Imperium will succeed.” He shook his head. “If only Blackthorne would return to us.”

“You still believe he is alive?” Norrik nodded. “Blackthorne has been gone for nearly eighteen years, Director. With no contact from him, everyone has come to believe he is dead.”

“Not everyone.” Norrik looked out the transparisteel, up at the dusk sky. “Not everyone.”

(SIGMA)

A light breeze rolled through the surprisingly sturdy wooden building, leaving small swirls of dust in its wake, which danced and fluttered on the draft. Glimmering rays of light penetrated into the building through numerous windows, and where light met dust, a faerie's ball ensued as the motes waltzed across updrafts through lighted tunnels. Soon though, the breeze came to an end, as did the festivities of the motes who settled back in their places with satisfaction, ready to resume their quiet and uneventful life. The openings and closing of doors did not interest them, nor did the new presence that now occupied a place in the store that they called their home.

"Punctual as ever, Treysh," came the grizzled voice of the equally grizzled old man who stood behind the same counter he had manned for close to fifty years.

"You know best Roan, the harvest and weather waits for no being, and the best we can do is try to be prepared for it," was the reply of the tall leathery being that had just entered the store. The Lith'tar and the old man shared a grin, and the man returned to his paper with a chuckle, as Treysh started browsing the shelves for what he needed.

Any man who met the Lith'tar for the first time would have most likely been intimidated by the large being, who stood close to seven feet tall and had the shoulder width to match. They would have also found strange the creature's features, which seemed decidedly snake-like at times, yet had ears and other features that were certainly cat-like. Most impressive though would have been the being's powerfully muscled form, which was clearly in peak shape. Any man who met the Lith'tar for the first time would have most likely been intimated, but Roan was most certainly not seeing the Lith'tar for the first time. In fact, Treysh had been making his regular appearances at this store at the same time every two weeks for nearly a decade now, and the Lith'tar was a common and welcome sight in Roan's farm store.

In a sector now ravaged by war, Treysh had been one of the first refugees to come seeking peace for himself and his family among the rolling fields of Glukos. In his wake came hundreds of others, beings of all races who fervantly hoped beyond hope that the unmilitaristic planet of Glukos would avoid notice in the conflict that had already drastically altered the course of their lives.

Treysh had come with his family and barely enough money to purchase a plot of land from some hard-luck farmer who had been fed up with it all. In the ensuing years, through hard work and a sturdy dilligence, Treysh had become a somewhat prosperous and favorably accepted farmer in the area. The Lith'tar was always generous with his good fortune and similarly always happy to lend a helping hand to anyone who needed one. In the decade or so that Treysh had been coming to his store, Roan had had a chance to see the Lith'tar's family grow and even thrive on this out-of-the-way planet. Now, Treysh's children happily played with those of the other farmers, and those of the refugees, who had been accepted into the community as long as they had a willingness to work and accept their lot in life. Many had, and the small towns of Glukos had grown in the past years, yet as always, the war weighed heavily on the minds of natives and refugees alike.

"What's the news from the front?" Treysh asked as he picked out some supplies and brought them over to the front counter.

This question of Treysh's was as regular as clockwork also, but as usual, Roan had little to give the Lith'tar as far as information. "They say the Imperium has the Alliance on the run. They say that maybe things don't look so good for the Alliance. I don't know any specifics though, but I could always call offworld to find out if you really want to know..."

Roan made that suggestion every time as well, but every time Treysh refused. If he hadn't, Roan would probably have though that something was wrong.

"See you in two weeks," said the large Treysh as he opened the door, sending more dust into a flurry of activity.

"Of course," replied Roan, barely looking up from his paper, and barely registering the swish of the door as it closed shut behind the Lith'tar.

*******************************

The shades of the sun were growing long as Treysh approached the farm on which he lived with his wife and four children, and Treysh hoped that Ta'lienn had left some food warm for him. His bi-weekly trips were as customary as celebrating the New Year, whether they were necessary or not, but sometimes the journey back took a bit longer than expected. This time, Treysh had met one of his neighbors in the town and had had a long conversation about the weather patterns. He hoped that Gregios was wrong, because too much rain now could ruin the newly planted crop, but he knew that Gregios was as shrewed as a weather measuring station, and that he should prepare for the worst. As a result, a second trip to Roan's store had been necessary, making Treysh undoubtedly late for dinner.

As the old landspeeder that he took to town came to a slow halt in front of Treysh's house, the Lith'tar felt himself getting annoyed. The children had left their toys in the front yard again, and they had even forgotten to shut the door all the way on their way in. He would need to have a strict talk with them about respect for their things and taking care of the house. After all, an open door could result in rodents or small birds coming in, and that was most definately to be avoided at all costs. Hopping out of the landspeeder and grabbing the supplies from out of the back of the vehicle, Treysh nudged his front door open with a toe and stepped in.

It took two steps for him to realize something was wrong, but by then it was too late. The butt of the heavy rifle smashed into the back of Treysh's neck and he felt his limbs going slack as a wave of dizziness overcame him and he dropped to the ground like a sack of margonats. Now facedown on the floor of his own home, Treysh ignored the pain and let the dizziness pass as he concentrated on the voices he heard behind him. Reverting to superb training created especially for these kinds of situations, Treysh evened his breathing and kept his eyes closed, for all intents and purposes perfectly mimicing an unconscious body.

"...re we sure it's him?" Voice One, moderate tone, male, above Treysh.

"Cut him a bit so we can check the blood DNA match." Voice Two, deeper tone, male, to the left.

"How about we kill him first, then run tests." Voice Three, moderate tone, male, also to the left.

"Don't worry, he's dead in either case, but it's easier to run tests if he's alive, especially if he's had any genetic disguising done to him, or any cosmetic surgery. Plus, he's out cold, nothing to worry about." Voice Two again.

Now, a shift in air currents told Treysh that the one he had pegged as Voice One was moving towards him.

"His hand?" Voice One.

"Yeah, fine, just get on with it." Voice Two.

Treysh felt a knife make contact with his skin.

He moved.

His right arm that had been touched by the knife suddenly flashed out, gripping the owner of Voice One by the wrist. At the same time, Treysh's whole body shifted into a sideways roll and then kicked itself up as Treysh rolled to his right and came up behind One, still holding his right hand at an awkward angle behind him.

A scream of pain erupted from deep within One's throat as Treysh used brute strength to pop One's shoulder out of it's socket. Luckily for One, the pain didn't last long as his blade fell into Treysh's left hand and was soon inserted through his heart from behind.

All this motion had taken about a second, and now Treysh could clearly see his opponents; two human males of about twenty-five to thirty years of age as near as Treysh could tell, one with black hair, the other with red. He didn't know which one was Two and which was Three, but at this point Treysh didn't care. As soon as One was dead, his body was flying through the air at the dark-haired man as Treysh's newly acquired knife flew at the red-haired man and blossomed into a flower of blood in his throat. The dark-haired man moved quickly, ducking the flung body and bringing his rifle up to bear at Treysh, but Treysh was faster. He had started moving as soon as he had thrown the body, and as dark-hair's rifle came up to track Treysh, Treysh grabbed the barrel with his right hand and twisted up, slamming the barrel into dark-hair's face.

A reach-around with his left arm to close dark-hair's head in a lover's embrace ended with a snap as Treysh cracked the man's neck. As dark-hair fell, Treysh twisted the carbine he had had out of his hand and spun to face the newcomer he had heard coming into the reception room of Treysh's household.

"Drop the gun," said the masked man who had Ta'lienn by the neck with a blaster pressed firmly against her skull.

Treysh had no choice but to comply as the man circled around Treysh towards the doorway, leaving his back to the open door. Clearly the man meant to shoot Treysh and make a dash for freedom. A nudge of each of his companions with a boot as he passed him showed him that he would be the only one leaving this place alive.

"Les'kor, I presume?" the man said, his voice now smug. "Frell, if we weren't sure it was you before, the fact that three of my men are dead and you're alive seems to prove that it's you."

At this point in time, the former bodyguard and advisor to both Tl'Ajan-aat, the former president of the Eleyanos Confederacy, and Cadden Blackthorne, saw no point in further hiding his identity.

"Yes, it's me. Ta'lienn, are the kids alive?" Les'kor said, directing the last to his wife.

"Yes, they're tied up, but alive. They're scared Les'kor, they're scared." His wife replied, stoically keeping her own expression neutral despite the fact that she was sure that both she and her husband were dead.

"Don't worry Ta'lienn, it'll be alright," Les'kor said, looking for a way out of this situation with his carbine on the ground. He could use the modifications to his natural abilites, but that would hurt Ta'lienn as well, and he couldn't allow that. Suddenly, in the fields behind the masked assassin, a green light blinked once, and then again. A few more quick blinks followed as the light did a slow tap-dance beat out in the fields, where the assassin couldn't see it.

"I don't see how it'll be alright," the assassin sneered, raising his blaster towards Les'kor's head. Another green blink followed. A blaster bolt rang through the air. Les'kor dropped to the ground. The assassin just stood there for a second, supported by his former hold on Ta'lienn, until the man whose face no longer existed due to the long range sniper blast that had hit him from behind finally collapsed on the floor. On the wall behind Les'kor was the burn mark from where the sniper bolt had hit after passing straight through the assassin, and narrowly missing Les'kor as he dropped to the ground to avoid it.

Now slowly rising and moving to comfort his wife, Les'kor grabbed the carbine he had dropped as he walked out towards his door.

"Untie the kids, I'll be in in a minute." The large Lith'tar told his now sobbing wife, whose fear had finally shattered her resolve. Still, sensing the steel in his voice, Ta'lienn obeyed, and Les'kor closed the door after him as he started walking into the field. He still held the carbine in his hand, yet he knew it was useless with a sniper in the area. He walked out to show good faith to his savior, but he still didn't want to be unarmed.

"Les'kor!" Called the young sniper who stood from the tall grass of Les'kor's geitt field. Soon joined by three other young men, the sniper approached the Lith'tar.

"Boy am I glad we found you," the youth said to Les'kor, barely hiding his enthusiasm. "I'm Eyerin Yane, and it's an honor to meet you sir."

All four saluted, despite clearly being well-trained commandos.

"Thanks for your help Eyerin, but could I ask what it is you're doing out here?"

"Well sir, Norrik Asterr has had us tracking your for over a year now, and we took over for a previous team that got called into battle duty. As far as I know, he's been looking for you for a long time."

"Well, it seems that he's not the only one. Were those Imperium assassins?"

"It would seem so, sir." Eyerin replied grimly.

"And I assume Norrik's been searching so hard because he wants me back in service?" Les'kor asked.

"Yes, sir."

"And we're losing the war?" Les'kor asked again. This time, the youth hesitated a second before answering, but finally, he gave a dejected nod.

"What are the terms?"

Another of the youths stepped forward, "Full protection for your family, night and day, and reinstatement as an advisor to the High Command at a post which will be discussed between the two of you when you meet in person."

"And that is..?"

"As soon as you can manage it, sir."

Les'kor sighed. Ta'lienn wouldn't like it, but he had been avoiding his duty for too long. It was time to go back to work, especially if Norik Asterr promised to keep his family safe. If Norik promised it, Les'kor had faith that it would be taken care of. And after all, next time, there might not have been Alliance men there to save Les'kor in the nick of time.

"Fine, I'm in. Let me finish up some things here, and then you can take me to my old friend, Norrik Asterr."

Four voices rang out in unison in response to the Eleyanos legend, "Yes, sir!"

(CADDEN)

“To lessen battlefield losses of pilots and craft, High Command has decreed that all active pilots should engage in a weekly regiment of simulated battles,” Colonel Leron, of the Delta Serpentis Starfighter Defenses, said to the assembled pilots. These were hard times for the Confederacy, now renamed as the Rimworld Alliance due to the widespread of Imperium control over the sector. As a result, High Command had instructed strict training in all pilots, old and new, in this new form of combat. She was no exception, and was rumored to be the only commander in the Fleet that held such high expectations for every one of her pilots.

“In this particular simulation, you will battle wave upon wave of Imperium forces.” Technically speaking, there was no difference in Imperium forces and Allied forces. Save for the fact that the Imperium had more, and was willing to spend more. The Imperium had started as the Shadow Council, infiltrating the Confederacy from within. Much like Palpatine did during the fall of the Old Republic. From those ashes arose the foundation of the New Eleyanos Imperium. In mere months of fighting, the Imperium had pushed back the rightful Confederacy to the originating nine systems. The first nine systems that forged the Republic of Eleyanos, and later the Eleyanos Confederacy.

Colonel Leron took out a small holo device and pressed a button, the tactical display in front of the pilots changing to what would be considered the battlefield they would fly in. “These will eventually include one or more warships, so you may wish to include a bomber in your wing.

“It is not expected all of you will survive this simulated battle,” she continued truthfully. “Your goal is to rack up as many kills as possible while staying alive as long as you can. It is expected that you improve your performance every time you try this simulation, however. With practice, you should be able to complete it.” She looked at every one of them, studying their facial expressions for a moment. “Good luck, pilots.”

_____

“This exercise will begin in five… four… three… two… one,” the sound of Command’s tactical commander, Commodore Teskmar, came over the comm frequency. “Pilots, prepare yourselves for the first wave.”

Surely enough, the first wave of ships came in. It turned out to be a convoy of a half a dozen freighters, guarded by four wing trios – a squadron of fighters. The freighters were, obviously, Paradise-class, nothing too big to worry about, but still posed a threat.

“Okay, Alpha Wing,” Colonel Leron said, “let’s draw those Erinyes fighters away from the freighters. Beta, start your bombing runs. Watch out for incoming flak from those cargo ships.” The two groups of fighters, each holding two wing trios, shifted course according to the colonel’s instructions. The objective was simple. It was a standard cargo run, where the computer had to get the freighters through the area before the raiders could destroy them. With no anti-gravity devices, it was a race against the clock.

“Beta Wing, here,” a male voice sounded, “targets acquired, and closing in.” The six Bakhas, their cockpit layout redesigned in the mission simulator to adapt to humans, raced toward the transports and their escorts. The Erinyes seemed to be just waiting, as though they were pulling a trap. With three Erinyes and three Ghosts to worry about, however, that was not likely. But still…

Things were silent for a few short moments as the Allied craft advanced toward the Imperium convoy. Then, the pattern broke loose. The fighters departed from the Paradise-class freighters, and the freighters opened their own, built-in docking bays, releasing no less than two wing trios each. Two more squadrons of Erinyes.

“Command, we’ve got a problem here,” Colonel Leron said. She looked over her sensors at the total. Three squadrons of fighters.

“What’s the situation, Alpha?” Leron explained the maneuver that had just been performed.

“Should we abort our attack, Command?” she asked.

“Negative. Destroy the transports… intercept any fighters that get in the way. The priority here is to not let the transports escape the blockade.”

“Roger that, Command, we’ll take them down.” Leron adjusted some controls. “Okay, pilots stay focused. We’ve got an objective here, let’s not forget what it is.”

The fighting intensified as the two groups clashed. Despite the minor setback from the Imperium forces’ surprise, the Allied craft fought well. They flew in groups of two, making three groups each, totaling to six. This was intended so no one pilot could get killed with a sneak-attack, a tactic Allied Command had devised since the downfall of the Confederacy.

One of the Paradises fell to the Bakha onslaught, while the fighters continued their advance. The Ghosts, being the superior craft, held out fine, ripping through the Imperium line nearly effortlessly. The Erinyes, however, were not doing so well. Losing one in the first half-minute, the group was facing their toughest challenge yet.

“Command, we need more firepower, here!” Alpha Six stated. Another craft down, but thanks to the Ghosts’ involvement, he battle remained smooth and even. But it wouldn’t keep up at that rate. Two of the three Erinyes were knocked out, with but half a squadron of the other fighters taken care of, as well. The Bakhas continued to mercilessly stick it to the transports, knocking the second one down. By now, half the task force was nearly out of warheads.

“Negative, pilot,” Command responded. “This exercise is but a taste of what the battlefield will really be like.” There was no lie in that. The Alliance was outnumbered, outgunned, and poorly equipped for a full-scale war against the Imperium. But High Command assured the Rimworld Alliance that there was still one card they had not played against the Imperium yet. When it was ready, the tides of the war would be changed drastically.

The battle ensued. In the duration of the engagement, two more transports were knocked down, with one wing trio of Bakhas destroyed and the wing trio of Erinyes fighters. The Imperium fighters were still strong two squadrons of fighters, but the tide was about to turn. With but one transport remaining, the Ghosts easily stuck it to the enemy Erinyes, using their molecular plating to absorb enemy laser fire and power their own guns. Essentially, the Erinyes were the cause of their own deaths. Within mere moments, only one Ghost was down, with two Bakhas left in the battle.

“New target, pilots,” Command sounded over the comm, “a Freedom-class Dreadnaught, designation Warsong.” Data on the incoming ship appeared on the display. “Looks like our friends in Kilmadore hit them pretty hard… let’s finish the job.” The NIDr Warsong was down to but two fighters, and seventy-five percent hull integrity, yet its shields were charging back up, from thirteen percent.

“We copy that, Command,” Colonel Leron responded. “We’re on it. Alpha Three, you help Beta Five take out that dreadnaught… I’ll deal with the fighters.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The Ghost broke formation, following the Bakha in for the kill on the Warsong. The exercise proved a little more difficult, but not by too much. The Freedom-class Dreadnaught put up a decent resistance, but it simply did not last long, as soon as Leron had taken down the two Erinyes which guarded it. It had become easy pickings. The two Ghosts and the Bakha took down the Warsong in a matter of a couple of minutes, leaving the space clear of enemy war craft.

“Area secure, ma’am,” Beta Five reported. “Standing by for further orders.”

“I’m calling in a support ship,” Leron said. “We have… three minutes to rearm and repair, if we need to, before the next objective.”

Altorax

“As we speak, Allied forces are battling the New Eleyanos Imperium for control of the planet Jomus Prime,” Supreme Commander Tarson Mantell announced. As he spoke, the planetary system of Jomus, not far from Hrish’natt, became the focus of the holovid behind him. It developed from its yellow highlight, which signaled a hostile region, to a close-in on the system itself. Jomus Prime was the sixth planet in the system, a relatively unimportant world, save for the fact that it was a prime location for much of the sector’s mining for weaponry, such as missile cases. “Allied troops are encountering heavy resistance on the surface, and our fighterss are engaged in a fierce struggle with Imperium craft beyond the planet’s orbit.

“Our sensors have detected an Imperium fighter wing, designated Scorpion, entering the system from Kiteras. We suspect this wing is running interference for Imperium reinforcements. However, because of heavy fighting in the Jomus system, we do not anticipate a major incursion.

“Your mission is to destroy the Imperium fighter wing and patrol the Kiteras jump buoy. Intercept any incoming hostiles and destroy as many as possible before they can jump to Jomus Prime.” The holovid flickered off and the lights brightened, revealing the assembled pilots in the briefing room. A whole squadron’s worth. “Unfortunately, we can spare no reinforcements for this mission. May the Force be with you, pilots.”

At that queue, the pilots got out of their seats and departed from the briefing room in an orderly fashion, leaving Mantell to his work inside. It wasn’t long until he was interrupted by Norrik Asterr. “What news do we have from behind the enemy lines?” he asked the Director, not bothering to look up.

Norrik smiled. “You’re getting good at predicting who enters, Commander. I must commend you.” He strode over to the desk Mantell was working at, going over the recent battles that had taken place. The Alliance was, unfortunately, being pushed back before the daring attack on Jomus Prime two weeks ago. With fighter-to-fighter battles in orbit, both sides not willing to risk capital-scale craft in such a trivial battle, the stalemate in the Jomus System was nearly unbearable.

“As for my news,” he announced, “there is none. I have not heard from our operatives since they checked in from Meltadimn and Keraph.” Nearly two weeks ago, shortly after the Battle for Jomus started. “That is not why I am here, however.” Tarson looked up at Norrik, his face saying all that his mouth didn’t have to say. This cause Norrik to grin again, yet the reasoning Tarson was not too quick to discover. “No, this has to do with a certain event that has happened within our lines.”

“Espionage?” Tarson asked, and Norrik shook his head. “Sabotage?” Another shake. “Then what?”

“I see you’re anxious enough with this scenario in Jomus, so I’ll be brief.” Norrik walked around to the other side of the desk, no longer able to see what was on the monitor in front of Tarson. “My agents here have found Les’kor, Commander.”

The Supreme Commander looked up at Norrik, a look of surprise having exploded across his face. “You mean…” Norrik nodded. “This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Tarson muttered, and looked up at Norrik again. “When is he due here on Altorax? I’m assuming you sent him here, correct?”

“Yes, I did,” Norrik said. “He’ll be on active duty the second he steps off that transport. Which will be any day now. He just left yesterday.” Mantell nodded. This was good news, indeed. With Les’kor back in the service, they were sure to turn the tide of the war in their favor. Eleyanos desperately needed a hero, and Les’kor was nothing short of such. “How are things going in Jomus?”

“Not too good,” Tarson admitted. “We’re at a standstill… I just sent out the 139th to blockade the entrance from Kiteras. Hopefully, we’ll be able to gain a decisive victory in Jomus by the end of the month.” He was talking Altorax terms, of course, and the end of the month was coming up. Less than two weeks away.

“Let’s hope this works, then.” Norrik thought for a minute. “Tell me, Commander… do you believe in miracles?”

“Project: Relman is a miracle, is it not?” Tarson asked, not looking up from the monitor.

Norrik shook his head. “No, I mean things not influenced by living beings’ direct involvement. Project: Relman may be what is classified as a ‘miracle,’ but it is also a manmade miracle.”

“So you mean a miracle that we would never foresee happening.” It was not a question. He finally looked up. “You still going on about Blackthorne?”

“Call it a gut feeling,” he admitted.

Tarson smiled. “If he is still alive, friend, then he better ‘miraculously’ appear soon… we need all the help we can get.”

He had no idea how much truth he was speaking.
'And So it Goes'
Posts: 214
Joined: Sun Feb 16, 2003 1:07 pm

Post by Jack_Sigma »

Altorax...

Memories...

As much as it pained the great Lith'tar, Les'kor couldn't tear his eyes away from Altorax, the great planet now hanging in space outside his viewport like a multicolored gem in a great black ocean. Even now, the ocean of darkness seemed ready to swallow the gem whole, but somehow, like it always had, Altorax resisted and ignored its oppressive state. Against all odds, against all possible hope of salvation, this planet remained strong and succeeded in its ultimate mission: survival. In reality, it wasn't Altorax itself that had this obsessive drive to live and thrive, but rather the being living on it, and using it as their base. Really, it was the leaders, troops, and members of the Eleyanos Confederacy that kept hope alive, but Les'kor couldn't picture them right now.

All he saw was the magnificent planet that had meant so much to him in his life. There was a time, while he was sowing and plowing the fields of Glukos, that Les'kor had been sure that he would never see Altorax again. There was a time that he had been sure that it would be swallowed by its enemies, never to be seen again. Granted it would still be the same planet, but its soul would be dead. Reasoning through his own train of thought, Les'kor realized that it was much simpler than that. For Les'kor, the faithful Lith'tar who had spent so many years serving the Confederacy that he believed in, it came down to him.

Ever since his disappearance, thoughts of Altorax never failed to turn into thoughts of a friend long gone. Cadden Blackthorne had been a good friend, but it wasn't simply that. Les'kor had lost many close friends in the line of duty, and he had greived greatly. Through wars and espionage and unlucky happenstance, Les'kor's generation of intelligence officers and military commanders had slowly been whittled away.

Now, those that remained where the hardiest beings, upon whom the Eleyanos Confederacy relied upon as their backbone. Men like Norrik Asterr, Tarson Mantell, and a few others who had survived all this time in the volatile world.

But Cadden...Cadden had been more than a friend to Les'kor. When Les'kor first met Cadden and was assigned as his bodyguard, he had been an extremely competent soldier, always ready to do his part, and loyal to the point of near-fanaticism. He had been an intelligent soldier, and a valuable advisor to then-president Tl'Ajan-aat, and an excellent bodyguard. Cadden made him something more.

Whether on purpose or through the mere usual turbulence surrounding him, Cadden opened Les'kor's eyes to a universe that extended far beyond the limited confines of simple science and technology. Les'kor learned about the Force, and about other forces in the the universe with their own motives and desires that could exist outside the laws of natural physics.

Les'kor would never sense the Force, nor be a Jedi, but the knowledge gained from his time spent with Cadden, as well as their friendship, wouldn't be forgotten. Les'kor slowly shook his head and finally tore his eyes away from the shape of Altorax, which had slowly grown larger and larger in front of him. It was no longer the time to brood and the Lith'tar knew that. It was time for action, action that Les'kor should have taken long ago. He knew that now, and while he couldn't make up for time spent farming on Glukos, Les'kor would help the despairing Eleyanos Confederacy live up to the hope Cadden had once given it, and live up to the sturdy promise that Altorax made to any that saw her.

Survive.

The intercomm buzzed.

*Sir, we've been given clearance for our approach and a priority hole has been made in air traffic for us. Please strap in, and we'll be on the surface shortly.*

Les'kor made sure his restraints were tight, but only gave half an ear to the comm. He was still lost in though, that word bouncing around in his brain. Survive...

*********************************

Norrik Asterr waited somewhat impatiently at the entrance to the docking platform as he watched the shuttle he had sent after Les'kor make its descent. It had been many years since the two friends had seen each other, and both were fairly anxious to meet once more. Besides this, Norrik knew what Les'kor meant to the hopes of the Confederacy, both through an increase in morale, and through his knowledge.

Les'kor was another in that generation of Confederacy soldiers that remebered what it was like not to know defeat. All of the Confederacy soldier fought to preserve their way of life and all fought equal fervor, but Norrik realized that in the back of many of the younger troops minds, the battles left to be fought were simply a glorious curtain call on the time of the Confederacy. Les'kor knew what it was like to be up and get knocked down. He knew what it was like to get kicked hard while he was on the ground. And he knew what it was like to dust himself off and stand once more, unphazed, and undespairing.

Finally, the ramp descended. The Lith'tar walked down, a step and a half behind his honorable escort, Eyerin Yane, the bright-eyed sniper who had tracked him down and helped save him. The two men came to a halt before Norrik, and Eyerin saluted, while Norrik returned the salute. For the moment, Les'kor simply stood there, his eyes locked on Norrik's even while the other was exchanging salutes.

"Director Asterr," Eyerin began, "May I have the pleasure of presenting..."

"I know who he is." Norrik cut in, and Les'kor's marble-carved face cracked a half smile. Suddenly, the two old Confedracy troops embraced in a warm hug, as Eyerin stepped back, clearly out of place in this meeting of old friends.

The two separated, and Norrik quickly dismissed Eyerin, motioning Les'kor to follow him as he walked in the direction opposite to which Eyerin had gone in. A few minutes were spent exchanging pleasantries and some vague information about the past ten years, but both knew there would be time for that later. Norrik was the first to breach the business barrier,

"So Les'kor, you know why we need you, am I correct?" The Director of Intelligence asked.

Les'kor gave him that same half smile, "I know that you need me, but I'm curious in what capacity. I expect I'll be brought fully up to date beyond what Eyerin was able to tell me on the ride over here, but from what I understand, you're Intel, Morsted is ground-pounder lead, and Mantell is space command." Les'kor paused. "You've got your main three, and I see only one position left."

"So you'll do it?" Norrik asked, knowing the answer even as he asked the question.

"Yeah, of course I'll do it...but I have one question first..."

"What's that?" Norrik's puzzled tone echoed his expression. He had not expected Les'kor to have any questions before accepting the position, he had taken it as a given.

"Do I get some kind of snazzy title for being Special Operations Command? I mean, you've got Director, and while I guess Emperor is out of the question, can we think of something interesting for people to call me?"

Norrik Asterr laughed, a genuine good hearted laugh. And, as he walked next to one of the very few remaining members of the Eleyanos old guard and his knew Spec-Ops commander, Norrik realized he had not been able to laugh like that for some time. He hoped that that was a good sign for the future of the Eleyanos Confederacy.
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