The New Imperium Part One: Peace With A Price Day One Coruscant 0800 hours In the broad expanses of a seemingly endless universe, in the upper end of the second arm of an unspectacular spiral galaxy, the fourth planet in its system, with a stable orbit around a C-class yellow star: the custodian of a decidedly troubled galaxy. Coruscant: the center for business and trade for an entire galaxy of hundreds of thousands of inhabited solar systems. A transparisteel and duraplast monster; the most populated planet in its galaxy. From its poles capped with ice, to its equator ringed with aqueducts, Coruscant was a single city, tower after skyscraping tower-more than just a few of the metallic giants offered views that looked down upon puffy cumulus clouds. And the largest of these towers was the Imperial Palace. Its base alone took up dozens of square kilometers of ground area. It was arguably the single most impressive show of the Emperor's vast, dark power. With its blue-black paint job, the Imperial Palace was a glowering mountain during the day, and an near-invisible titan at night. It was widely rumored that an entire swoop gang had been killed when they ran into the unlighted base of the Imperial Palace on a particularly dark night. But Imperial Palace was not an Imperial palace any longer. It was the property of the New Republic, and had been so for sixteen years. It took nearly two minutes for the Lambda-Class Shuttle TYPERIAN HORIZONS to to rise on its repulsorlift field past the the utmost towers of the Imperial Palace. Whether that considerable period of time was due to the shuttle's weak repulsorlift drive or the height of the Palace, Tjelk Klise couldn't have cared less. He was going home. Tjelk thought bitterly. When Typeria had come under control of the Empire over twenty years ago, it had seen no use for the beautiful jungle planet. Instead, through an extensive modernization program, the Empire had turned Typeria into a floating fortress, bristling with missile launchers and laser cannons. The only nature left on the planet were the jungles in the few skyhooks that were anchored along the equator of the planet. With the fall of the Empire sixteen years ago, Typeria, still reeling from its mechanical transformation, had needed stability and trust if it didn't want to fall apart into total anarchy. For sixteen years, that stability had been found in the New Republic. For sixteen years, Typeria's first and only senator had been he, Tjelk Klise. He had went from a brown-haired, bright-eyed young man to a grey haired, wrinkled, wise sixty-year-old. Those sixteen years had simply been a learning experience for the rest of his life, though. For last week, Typeria had respectfully seceded from the New Republic, forming the Republic of Typeria. Tjelk Kline was the population's majority vote for President. He had accepted. The TYPERIAN HORIZONS cleared the planetary shields of Coruscant and, traveling on a preset course, accelerated to hyperspace. 1130 hours Quaternis On a silent command, the flies detached from the metallic web. The one hundred and eighty-seven ships of the the New Republic Third Fleet loosed their grip on the spacedock that surrounded Quaternis. Looking like an inflated salmon-colored blimp, the famous Mc80 cruiser HOME ONE ignited its tremendous sublight engine assembly and paced off seventy kilometers from the spacedock before the next ships to leave restarted their engines after six months of dormancy. Heavily armed, self-sufficient ships left next. At one-point-six kilometers in length, the handful of Imperial Star Destroyers belonging to the Third were the symbol of the offensive power inherited by the New Republic from the Empire. Next to accelerate to top sublight speed were Hapan Battle Dragons and Hapes Nova Battle Cruisers. Bristling with turbolasers, the ships that were the prize of the Hapanese forces would bear the brunt of offensive actions in planetary assaults. Nebulon-B and B2 frigates disembarked next. The powerful ships were perfect for guarding the container transports and freighters that would supply the fleet for the six months in which it would be sailing the sky's sea. At one hundred fifty and three hundred meters long, respectively, the Corellian Corvettes and Carrack Cruisers were perfect quick hit-and-run slashes against enemy capital ships. Last to detach from the Quaternis spacedock were a potpourri of escort and assault carriers, flanked by Lancer Frigates and Corellian Gunships. The final formation of ships was slow to group up, as the escort carrier NOR'EASTER lost power to its port thruster bank, causing it to drift lazily out of formation with the other warships. From the bridge of the mighty Mc91 battleship SCIMITAR, General Kenlamb Sha'hazar watched as Third Fleet slowly alligned in Parade Right formation. The NOR'EASTER still hung out of position, a single imperfection in an otherwise flawless piece of art. The blue-haired Omwati frowned as he surveyed his fleet, deep in thought. "Get me Colonel Aleance from the HOME ONE," he said finally. The main holoprojector resolved into an image of a red-haired women with her back turned to the camera as Kenlamb settled into his chair and cleared his throat. "Ahh, General," Colonel Aleance turned around. "Good to see you." "I'm sure," Kenlamb told her, his frown lessening. "And how is the deployment going so far from your vantage point?" "Hmph," Aleance shook her head. "We're barely two hours into it. It takes me a day to form any opinions, and a week if you're asking about prejudices." She smiled, trying to persuade Kenlamb to drop his characteristic frown. The frown only deepened, causing furrows to appear on the Omwati's brow. "Yes, two hours and already we have been delayed. Have you talked with the NOR'EASTER yet?" "Its nothing serious, General, but I'm afraid that your precious schedule may be delayed another couple hours yet." "Doesn't anyone care that we have a rondezvous at Pilthari to make?" Kenlamb shook his head sadly. "I'm afraid that we shall have to finish this conversation at a later date, Colonel. I must persuade the techs aboard the NOR'EASTER to work a little faster." "All right," Aleance sketched a salute and turned back towards the bridge. "And one more thing..." Kenlamb waited as Aleance turned towards him again. "Yes?" A smile tugged at the corners of Aleance's mouth. Kenlamb thought as he adjusted the General's bars on his uniform. "You should be glad I'm not a stickler for rank, Colonel. But I would appreciate a 'sir' now and then, eh?" The smile on Aleance's lips slowly faded as she offered a far crisper salute than she had before. She was also discreet enough with the wink she flashed him as her image faded that no one but him noticed it. Kenlamb rubbed his temples. The rare smile that broke out on Kenlamb Sha'hazar's face then was totally spontaneous and heartfelt. 1300 hours Typeria In leaving the gray sphere that was Typeria in the wake of its realspace thrusters, the C-5 Passenger Liner HEADSTRONG TRAVELER was doing something that citizens of the old, jungle Typeria had never dreamed of and that the citizens of the new, fortress Typeria always wanted to. At four hundred meters in length, the TRAVELER was a fairly small spacebound resort, but served well as Typeria's first. Currently, thirty-odd members of the Typerian Senate and Council were celebrating Typeria's independence aboard the ship. Tomorrow morning they would be joined by the elected President of Typeria, Tjelk Klise. Another care-free week of introductions, followed by celebration, was promised to the senators and councilors. But, as the government officials enjoyed their vacation, the bridge crew was struggling with an unexpected problem. "This is the liner HEADSTRONG TRAVELER, hailing Typerian Space Traffic Control. Do you read us, Control?" The captain waited a few seconds for response, but was greeted only with the muted throbbing of a nearby pulsar. "Dammit!" he growled, shooting an icy stare down at the planet visible through the bridge windows. "Planetary traffic control systems don't just go off-line for no reason!" "Yet that's what seems to have happened," the first officer, a much calmer man, observed. "The only question is why." The captain turned back to the hypercom unit. "Control, why aren't you answering us? I want a reply, Control!" Again, the next few seconds were passed in silence. The captain sighed in exasperation before speaking into the hypercom unit yet again. "Does anyone hear me?" "Look!" the first officer pointed. "The flashes are starting again!" "What in the hell is that?!" the captain murmured as he squinted out the bridge windows. Off in the distance, almost beyond the curvature of Typeria, a string of flashes winked in and out of existance, followed by a final, larger flash. "Captain!" a deck officer called out. "The jamming is increasing! It is now blanketing communication as well as sensor bands...Our sensors can no longer even pick up Typeria!" "That's military-level jamming," the captain shook his head. "And it must be nearby, too." The star that lit Typeria winked out of existance as it was ecclipsed by the planet's mass. The TRAVELER was bathed in total darkness, except, of course, for the lights inside the ship itself. The jamming stopped. "What the-" the captain was cut off as a tremendous ship became visible off the liner's bow. "They must've been waiting for us with their running lights off!" the captain yelled. "All about!" "What is that?" the first officer stood open-mouthed as the ship grew impossibly big as distance decreased. "Its like a Star Destroyer, only...only different." The seconds ticked by as the HEADSTRONG TRAVELER came around and fired up its thrusters at full throttle. Then: "Fire in the hole!" a deck officer cried. "Incoming missiles! I'm counting nine-eleven-no, fifteen! Fifteen inbounds!" From the view of the cockpit of the freighter VERICIO, a series of flashes winked in and out of existance on the horizon... Same Time SLIPS Outpost 31-19 Ninety-nine percent of the people in the galaxy didn't know that SLIPS existed. That was what made it so effective. The seven thousand-odd Strategic Listening - Integrated Post System outpost that were scattered across the galaxy still provided New Republic Intelligence with some of its most valued information on starship deployments, though. Of course, sound as is does not exist in space, making the "listening" in the SLIPS acronym a falsehood. Those who would believe that, though, would not understand that things other than sound can be listened to. Like subspace ripples. The partially hidden sensor dish welded to the asteroid that housed SLIPS Outpost 31-19 could detect the minuscule waves created in the space-time fabric a a ship's realspace thrusters, whether that ship be a Super Star Destroyer, a TIE Fighter, or any other of the myriad of other ships that might travel within the maximum range of seventeen light-years. One week ago, the planet Typeria had seceded from the New Republic in a totally unforseen move. A move that had left the Olzero Stellar Cluster totally untouched by either Republican or Imperial governments. That created a power vacuum-one that would have to be filled by something. It was large, dangerous vacuums like that in which the New Republic was worried about. So worried, in fact that SLIPS outpost 31-19's attention had been diverted from tracking the realspace routes and haunts of spice smugglers in the Olzero Cluster to monitoring the arrival and departure of starships at Typeria. And it seemed that outpost 31-19 had discovered something quite interesting... 1545 hours SLIPS Command, above Coruscant The information from 31-19 finally reached Coruscant after nearly two hours of travel. Not a surprising final destination for classified government information. What was surprising, though, was the exact location on Coruscant where the recording arrived: a small, civilian-looking skyhook hovering over thirty-five hundred miles from the Imperial Palace. It was, in fact, a civilian skyhook. Restaurants, businesses, and apartments all floated above the cityscape of Coruscant. Only one room in the whole skyhook, nestled between the repulsorlift engine array and a long-abandoned pub, was of any importance to the New Republic. Only that room could decode 31-19's message. Only that room was SLIPS Command. General Barth Lomaw had commanded SLIPS for nearly four years, which wasn't bad considering that SLIPS was only six years old. Holding the same position in the intelligence business for any significant amount of time was a compliment of the highest order, and General Lomaw treated each day he had with SLIPS under his command as a gift. It was far better than any previous position he had ever held. The pub next door had been refurbished to become the official off-duty hangout for SLIPS workers. Having every officer in the command center sleep in the same room, in bunks bolted to the walls, also created a strange sense of family between total strangers. Of course the part that Barth liked best about his job was the anomalies. Every day, New Republic Intelligence would record SLIPS data from the previous day, combine it with ships' sensor logs, and pick out contacts that did not conform with any known type of ship. Hundreds of anomalies were instantly identified automatically by Command's central processor, but dozens invariably had to be manually identified by nothing but sharp ears. No problem, those. It was the unverified anomalies that really made the job interesting. Unverified anomalies were anomalous contacts made by outposts' sensors and sent directly to Command without being reviewed by the NRI. Suddenly, Command had thirty-three new unverified anomalies to sort through. "Bilks-I want you working on unveries two-nine through six-two," Lomaw addressed one of his best officers. "Thirty-one nineteen seems to think they're urgent." "Yessir," Bilks swung around in the swivel chair. Bilks, the only good human "static searcher", as they anomaly identifiers were called, was also the best one, because of a tremendous guessing ability. If Bilks wasn't sure of what class of ship he was listening to, he would look at any number of tiny variables and hypothesize on just what that ship was. Ninety-five percent of the time, he was right. Lomaw watched as the stocky young man listened to the recording of Unverified Anomaly 29 with a puzzled expression on his face. "Its not reverberating right..." he mumbled. "But it can't be anything else. General, I'm calling two-nine a Star Destroyer with a damaged hull." "Its your call, kid," Lomaw had long ago learned not to ask Bilks why he decided on a certain type of ship instead of another. The explanation alone could take hours. "I'll send Intel that one." Bilks flipped a switch, jumping the recording ahead to anomaly thirty. The sound that emanated from the headphones on Bilks's ears was loud enough that Lomaw could hear it eight feet away. "Oooooh, that's close-up," was all the young man said at first. Then: "Three main ion drives-sounds like Gemon-sevens. Those are mounted only on Imperial ships. The ripple-breakup indicates a spear-like hull...Victory Star-no, no, no. That's all wrong-this ship is smaller than a Vic." He looked up at Lomaw. "I think this may be a previously undocumented class of ship." "Intel'll love that," Lomaw said, shaking his head. "Try number thirty-one." After a few moments, Bilks looked up again. "Same thing. Intel's gonna have a field day if this continues." 1815 hours Coruscant "Out with it." President Leia Organa Solo didn't even look up from her paperwork when Terrick came into the room. Obviously another one of his "day-in-review" reports. "How are we?" By saying `we', she was referring to the New Republic. "Well madame President, good and bad," Terrick cleared his throat before continuing. "Which would you like first." Leia considered for a second or two. "Let's live for the moment. What went right today?" Terrick flipped open a folder, glancing down to make sure he was on the right page. "Here we are. Hmmmmmm...that worrisome uprising in the Fenob system has been diffused; a final peace accord seems likely for the near future..." he studied the paper for more news of the same welcome calibre. "Third Fleet has safely detached from the spacedock at Quaternis. There was a slight problem with an escort carrier, but repairs are currently under way and, at the last report, going smoothly." Terrick's finger traced down the page a few more lines before he continued. "We're getting those nice, calm `all-quiet' reports from just about every system in the Republic. All the recent troublemakers-Corellia, Datron, Kelso, even the Koornacht Cluster- they're all silent." "What a refreshing change from the expected," Leia allowed a smile, albeit a small one. "All systems are quiet..." Terrick was building to something. "Quiet-except for one. Which brings me to the bad news." Leia rubbed her temples. "Who do we have to worry about today?" "Typeria." Leia raised her eyes, a puzzled look on her face. "But they seceeded-didn't they?" "Well, according to the New Republic Charter no," Terrick shrugged. "According to them yes. But since their secession was not legal, we still must-" "I know, I know," Leia cut him off. "We still must treat them as members of the New Republic. But what's the problem with Typeria?" "Ah, I believe that there's someone waiting in the anteroom who could answer that question far better than I." Terrick turned to the partially open door. "Admiral? If you would be so kind as to come in and be seated, sir, we may begin." "Who's here?" Leia asked, watching the door. No answer from Terrick. A tall, dome-headed Mon Calamarian in a conservative admiral's dress uniform stepped through the doorway. Leia rose from her seat. "Admiral Ackbar! What a pleasant surprise. I thought you were visiting your homeworld." Ackbar accepted the proffered hand. "I was, but duty has called, it would seem." Leia scowled. "You should of had your husband throw your comlink into the sea, like Han invariably does as soon as I get a business call." Ackbar chuckled good naturedly. "I'm afraid that I have no one to remedy my situation. I'm as tied to my business as a tigerfish to hook and line." Leia shook her head. "Politics isn't a business; I find it to be more like a race. But tell me more about the Typerian situation...although I do concede that I'm getting a very bad feeling about this." "Well, then, you won't be disappointed." Ackbar's face contorted into the Calamarian equivelant of a grimace. "As you know, Typeria seceeded from the New Republic about two or three days ago-" "Yes, yes," Leia interrupted. But what has just happened that is so important it could pull you away from one of the most striking vistas in the galaxy?" "I trust you know about SLIPS..." Admiral Ackbar began. "Of course. Every day Alole or Terrick gives me some vital tidbit of information that reminds of what a great idea General Rieekan did have six years ago." "Well it seems that SLIPS Outpost 31-19 found another one of those `vital tidbits' earlier today. Listen to this." Ackbar flipped a switch on his datapad, and a thousand dull roars emanated from the speakers, intermingling and jumping tones in so many random patterns. "What is that?" Leia made to cover her ears, but Admiral Ackbar silenced the recording before her hands reached their destination. "That, dear Leia, is the source of all my worries." Ackbar paused for a moment. Leia knew that his next statement would be of utmost importance. "There are dozens of ships orbiting Typeria. And those ships are not affiliated with the New Republic." "What? How?" Leia stammered, the wave of outright shock washing over her. "Tell the War Department to stand by." 2130 hours Quaternis "Finally," Colonel Rale Erkholm muttered as the Escort Carrier NOR'EASTER began to ease itself back into formation. He looked back along the spine of his E-Wing to watch the other three starfighters in formation with him. "Keep it tight, Blue boys. And start charging up those hyperdrives. It shouldn't be long now." The smooth, sing-song voice of General Sha'hazar emanated from the comm unit. "Prepare for hyperspace. We leave for Pilthari in two minutes and counting." Simultaneous with the end of the general's message, Erkholm's R2 unit posted a `00:02:00' on the small digital chronometer down near his left knee. Rale punched his thrust up to full and enjoyed the sensation of smooth acceleration for a few moments. "Follow me, Blues. We take the right flank on this jump." The four E-Wings quickly accelerated past 110 MGLT, falling in alongside three A-Wings from the Red Raiders squadron. From his perspective, Rale saw the fleet as a tremendous arrow stretching across dozens and dozens of kilometers, with the command ship SCIMITAR as the point, and the line of Star Destroyers and Calamari Cruisers as the razor-sharp cutting edge. He was the barb, the hook of metal that would make the arrow bite into flesh and refuse to let go. And with three laser cannons and sixteen proton torpedoes, his E-Wing would be a rather painful barb in the side of whoever might be bold enough to challenge a New Republic fleet. Rale had fought with the Fifth Fleet during the Yevethan Crisis as a part of Glory Squadron, which then flew mainly Expanded B-Wings. He had become somewhat famous in that conflict, being only the second pilot ever to destroy an Armadia Thrustship, and the first pilot in the Star Destroyer TREMENDOUS' entire battlegroup of 21 ships to do so. "All right, Blues. Ten seconds and counting." Rale let a long breath out through his nose and secured himself in the flight seat. "Let's go." The giant arrow that was the Third Fleet accelerated to, and then beyond the speed of light, finally completely disappearing into hyperspace a thousand kilometers out from the spacedocks at Quaternis. 2345 hours Typeria Tjelk Klise stirred momentarily in the midst of a deep sleep as the Lambda-class shuttle TYPERIAN HORIZONS entered realspace above the ecliptic of its namesake planet. His eyelids fluttered open for just an instant as his weary mind sought to remember where he was. The answer was found almost instantaneously, and the melatonin in his body slowly began to lull the President of Typeria back into slumber. A scream shattered the silence of space directly outside the window that Klise lay facing. The man was wide awake in an instant; on his feet before he knew he was awake; falling back onto the couch from the rush of blood to his brain. Still, all the disorientation he felt did not prevent Tjelk Klise from recognizing the deadly silhouette. An Imperial Tie Interceptor. And beyond that one fighter were more, many more. Ships in shapes that were beyond recognition by Klise. But there was no mistaking the symbol on the hull of each of the ships: the symbol of the Galactic Empire. Tjelk Klise's thumb jabbed at the button that would verbally link him with the pilot of his shuttle. He was still talking only to himself, though, when he muttered: "Those aren't New Republic ships...What has happened here?" ===================================================================== THE NEW IMPERIUM: PART ONE: PEACE WITH A PRICE story by Greg Schutz send questions\comments to: crazy8@wnclink.com This is only DAY ONE of this story. It's not over yet -- this story will have ten days. Feel free to post this story wherever you so desire, as long as it is posted in its entirety. ===================================================================== DISCLAIMER: I, Greg Schutz, hereby state this: that my work, The New Imperium: Peace With A Price, is not breaking any current copyright laws; that I am not collecting money for possession; and that I recognize that this work is based on characters and\or situations that are copyright protected by Lucasfilm, LTD. This story is for entertainment purposes only.