The New Imperium Peace With a Price Story by Greg Schutz (arvel@rocketmail.com) Day Eight Typeria 0005 hours local Coming to, Leia remembered the screaming, shooting, and running. The memories were hazy and blurred, but she remembered the sounds distinctly. The cracks of Gauss rifles, the zaps of blasters, the cacophony of people shouting at one another, and the constant sound of her own feet carrying her at a run away from the battle were imprinted in Leia's mind. Her eyes half-open, her face resting on cold metal, Leia recalled seeing Siric Rendala die. His sacrifice was one of the few events of the past day that she remembered clearly. She saw him leaping onto the A9 and shooting its commander, but getting hit full in the chest by an E-Web and hurled to the ground as well. Somehow, Rendala had survived the blast, but a group of Imperium troopers had immediately crowded around him. Leia would never know whether Siric Rendala had simply been shot, or had been brutally beaten to death, but something inside her told her that the latter was true. Leia made the effort to and succeeded at fully opening her eyes and focusing her gaze upon something. After a few moments, she ascertained that she was lying on the floor of a narrow metal corridor. A strong draft told her that it was probably an air duct of some sort. She saw a large steel fan spinning slowly several feet away, sucking air towards it and throwing dancing shadows throughout the corridor. Her head hurt. The ache was strongest in the bridge of her nose, but it had spread throughout the front of her skull, making each small movement of head or face a painful task. Ignoring the throbbing pain, Leia lifted herself up off the floor. Her body wasn't quite up to the task, though, and she would've collapsed again if someone hadn't caught her. "Careful," Han Solo's voice said as a pair of hands, presumably his, maneuvered Leia to a sitting position, her back leaning against the wall of the duct, "you're still hurt." "Han?" Leia said groggily. She reached out to touch him, and her hands found his shirt. Slowly and painfully, she turned her head until she could see her husband, crouching across from her. "Han!" She tried to lean forward and hug him, but couldn't find the strength in her limbs to move off of the wall. Instead, Han leaned forward and administered the hug himself. "Don't try to move. You might loosen the bandages." "Bandages?" Han nodded and touched Leia's forehead. His fingers never reached skin, instead landing on a specially-designed bandage that had been soaked in bacta and would retain the fluid for a good time. "You banged up you head. Once we got here, Merry snuck out and stole a first aid kit. Kaj knows a bit about medicine, he bandaged you up. Focusing slightly beyond Han, Leia could see Kaj Lisra leaning against the opposite wall of the duct, and Myrs "Merry" Spooler lying asleep on the ground. Lisra nodded at her before going back to cleaning his pistol. Leia summoned up a bit of saliva to coat her dry tongue and spoke her first full sentence since waking up. "Where are we?" Han lowered himself to the floor, a bit of pain manifesting itself both on his face and in his lethargic movements. "Typeria has special greenhouses to grow its vegetables. They're flooded with the carbon dioxide that the plants breathe, and the waste gas given off from the plants' respiration is oxygen. We're in a duct leading out from a greenhouse, so we'll have plenty of oxygen. There's a refresher station for the greenhouse maintenance crew nearby, but you'll have to be careful, and under guard, if you want to use it." "Don't need to now." Han smiled. "Good. We're all too tired to do much guarding, anyway." "Do you think they'll find us?" "Here? I doubt it. They're probably combing the cities for a safehouse right now, not searching the air ducts." "The New Republic, I mean, not the Imperium. Do you think the Republic will find us?" Han's smile dissipated quickly. That was a tougher question. After thinking for a few moments, her simply shook his head negatively. "This wasn't our planned hiding position. I doubt anyone knows where we are. Or that we're even alive, for that matter." Leia closed her eyes tightly, holding back a few stray tears. She heard and felt Han lay down next to her, and a few moments later, she was asleep, too. Temporary Imperium Command Building Mattan Balao's Office 0715 hours local Balao thought to himself angrily. Fortunately for the New Imperium, Mattan Balao was a man who had an emergency contingency plan for nearly every possible turn of events. He'd never thought that he'd have to use this one, but even the best-laid plans would sometimes go awry. Balao picked the long-range comlink up off his desk and punched in a short code. After a few moments of static on the screen, the face of Admiral Syett Markims, commander of the entire New Imperium Navy, appeared. "Yes, sir?" Markims said, running a hand through his short-cropped grey hair. "Admiral Markims, I believe you're aware of the fact that certain events have not gone as planned, aren't you?" Markims nodded gravely. "Yes, sir. Perfectly aware." Balao smiled, just a little. Syett Markims used to be the Imperial Navy's best battlegroup commander, and though his name was unknown to the New Republic, they had encountered his forces before. Markims had actually inflicted any numbers of losses that the New Republic attributed to Zsinj, or Isard, or Thrawn or Daala, or even the Yevethens. "Fortunately, Admiral," Balao said, continuing to smile, "I have formulated a plan involving you and your hidden forces, and will implement it almost immediately. You will finds the plans in your file under the name 'Hornet.'" "Understood, sir," Markims said. "I'll implement the plans immediately." "Good," Balao said. "Once you're aboard the BALAO at Barhazza, send word to me. I will confirm the operation. Then you will begin." Markims barely hid his surprise. "I'm going to the BALAO?" Mattan Balao nodded. "Admiral Markims, until this situation stabilizes, and maybe beyond that, I am giving you complete control over the Imperium fleet, to do what you wish." "And how long will it be before the situation stabilizes?" Markims asked. "Several weeks, Syett. During that time I will be in hiding, formulating a plan of my own while you execute yours. Understood?" "Yes, sir!" Markims said enthusiastically. Balao cut the connection, knowing he'd just made the Admiral's day. Imperium-class Star Destroyer SEBRING 0745 hours The reports flooded in to Admiral Syett Markims as he made ready to execute Hornet. "Battlegroup Three at Krynin reports ready with one Interdictor Cruiser, four ISDs, six Imperium frigates, fighters, and tenders," stated a recent report, which came from the group which Markims had ready to intercept any and all brand-new Republican ships coming from the shipyards at Fondor. "Command Fleet Alpha at Barhazza reports ready with the BALAO, three VSDs, six Imperium frigates, fighters, and tenders," came the report from Markims's command group. "Battlegroup Fifty-Six reports ready in deep space with one ISD, four strike cruisers, four VSDs, twelve Imperium corvettes, and two Escort Carriers," the final report, from the group which would be sent to unite many of disparate warlords fighting in the Galactic Core, read. With all fifty-seven reports in, Markims felt ready to move. The New Republic would be kept so busy that it would never be able to properly exert any force on any one of his groups. Within a few weeks, a weakened New Republic would then have to face the wrath of the New Imperium on a full offensive. And then, with Mattan Balao's plan enacted, whatever the plan might be, the New Republic would collapse in upon itself, and the Imperium would rise to fill the void. Syett Markims smiled as he prepared to go meet his shuttle, which would take him to Barhazza and the BALAO. It would all be over within two standard months. Coruscant SLIPS Command 15 minutes later Bilks' head shot up. "Sir! New unveries from Typeria!" Barth Lomaw jogged over. "What are they?" Bilks turned a dial and began to listen to the first contact. "Tie Fighter, but modified, which is why the computer didn't recognize it. I think this fighter's carrying a concussion missile launcher, or something like that," he pronounced nearly instantaneously. The next few contacts were verified just as easily. "Three more of the same, and..." the young man lapsed into silence, listening intently. Lomaw was puzzled. "What is it?" Bilks flipped a few more dials, and listened for a longer time to a different ship, then flipped back to the unverified anomaly. Finally, he pulled the headphones off, smiling. "You know that shuttle that left Typeria for the SEBRING yesterday?" Bilks asked. Lomaw nodded. "Yeah. The one we thought might be carrying Admiral Markims, right?" "Correct, sir." "What about it?" Bilks smiled for a moment, then spun around to look at his console when a small alarm went off. A few seconds later, he relaxed and spoke again. "She just left Typeria for hyperspace, escorted by four heavily-modified Tie Fighters." Lomaw's jaw dropped. "Syett Markims left Typeria?" Bilks nodded. "Why would he do a thing like that?" Barth's mind put two and two together. He spoke very quickly as he ran over to a comlink that was always connected to General Rieekan's. "I have a few ideas, but I'll let someone else decide just what's going on. Let's just say that this could be something very, very big. And I think General Rieekan will be very interested in all this." Imperial Palace Five minutes later Kube Madre put his signature on the official New Republican request to the shipyards of Mon Calamari for twenty-four more scout corvettes like the MIRAGON under Domann Beruss's. He was just about to call in his secretary to transmit the request to Mon Calamari when his official comlink started to beep. Madre looked up in surprise. No one ever called him on the official comlink unless something important was happening militarily. He picked up the small device at flipped it open. The face of General Rieekan appeared, looking somewhat worried. "What is it, General?" Kube said, all business. Rieekan spoke. "SLIPS has picked up some interesting information from Typeria, sir." Madre was instantly interested. "And what's that?" "There's no way to verify it for sure, sir," Rieekan said, "but we think that Admiral Markims just left Typeria, gone to hyperspace." "You're kidding, right?" "Kube, I wouldn't kid you about something like this. I think the Imperium contamination is not relegated to Typeria alone. In fact, I'm not even sure that Typeria is the largest concentration of Imperium equipment." "Exactly," Madre said. "Why would Markims, an experienced naval commander, be leaving Typeria unless there was a larger concentration of ships elsewhere for him to command?" Rieekan nodded. "Right." A pause, then: "Permission to speak freely, sir." "Granted." The General cleared his throat, then spoke. "I believe, sir, that the New Imperium is readying for the offensive. We must strike before they're ready." Madre smiled. "Believe it or not, General, I'm one step ahead of you. President Beruss and I have already agreed on a plan of action involving Typeria. The Provisional Council was going to vote on it tomorrow, but I think this is sufficient reason to vote today, so that we can go into action tomorrow." Rieekan brightened. "I sincerely hope that no fools on the Council think that action is a poor idea." "Not even Fey'lya is that deluded, General. I'm sure this course of action will pass." "That's good, sir." "Very. Is there anything else?" "Nothing at all, sir. Or, rather, nothing that doesn't pale in comparison to this." "Good." Kube cut the connection, then immediately dialed Domann Beruss's private number. "Hello?" Domann said as her face appeared in the comlink's screen. "Madame President," Kube said, trying to keep his voice even. "This is Kube Madre." Beruss smiled. "Hello, Kube. Why do you call?" "Domann, I wish to request an emergency meeting of the Provisional Council to decide on a course of action for Typeria. Immediately, if at all possible." Beruss looked surprised. "What's happened?" "I'll explain it to the entire Council at once," Madre said. "If you can organize an emergency meeting, that is." Beruss nodded. "I'll do that right away." The connection was cut. Imperial Palace Provisional Council Room 1410 hours local Borsk Fey'lya's fur rippled in anger. "And when were you planning on telling the rest of us this plan, Madame President?" "At the Council meeting tomorrow, Councilor Fey'lya, you and the other Councilors were to hear all about Councilor Madre's plan," Domann Beruss said. "Unfortunately, recent happenings at Typeria have persuaded me to consider putting this plan into action early." "And those happenings might be?" Beruss gestured towards Kube Madre. "I shall let Councilor Madre handle that question." Madre pushed his chair out from the table and stood ramrod straight. He was dressed in a formal military uniform, dozens of medals and battle pins glittering, including the Republican Star of Valor, which hung from his neck. The highest citation that could be awarded to a soldier who was still living (the Crynyd Award, the highest citation of all, being awarded only posthumously), Madre had earned his Star of Valor on the ground at Endor, as his team of commandos had taken 75% casualties from Imperial forces within three minutes. The survivors had split up, each one still a formidable fighting force. Madre had performed an act of bravery there that had saved many lives, but he never spoke about it, no matter to whom or why. As the former commando strode to the front of the room, Fey'lya leaned over and whispered to Rattagagech. The words were too low to be heard, but the annoyed look on the Bothan's face indicated what he might've said. Kube Madre kept his military bearing as he began a short, succinct speech. "Ladies and Gentlemen, as you have been told, the President and I have formulated a plan for dealing with the New Imperium at Typeria. Though I originally didn't want to put this plan into motion for several more days, I believe that, due to recent events, we may have to execute this plan as soon as tomorrow." "Tomorrow?" Rattagagech said. "Don't our forces at Typeria need more warning than that?" Madre held a hand up. "We'll get to that, Councilor. But first, I have a few more things to explain." "Such as just what these 'recent events' are, I should hope," Fey'lya interjected. "Let me finish, Borsk," Madre said slightly louder than was necessary. The Bothan fell silent, leaning back in his chair and gazing up at the general. "Thank you," Kube Madre said. "Now, I'll start with the basics. As you all probably know, we have one hundred and eighty-seven capital-level ships around Typeria, all from the Navy's Third Fleet. As far as our best intelligence can determine, there are approximately one hundred and ten New Imperium ships between the Third Fleet and Typeria, and another two dozen that are in position to move in behind our ships. "The odds are in our favor, this time. We could've struck and won at any time, but we didn't have a reason to. Until now, that is. "Only a few hours ago, one of our reconnaissance systems detected a shuttle leaving an Imperium flagship for hyperspace, escorted by several heavily-modified Tie Fighters. We have good reason to believe that this shuttle was carrying the Imperium's fleet commander, Admiral Syett Markims. "Now, Councilors, I pose to you this question: why would the Imperium be sending away its most accomplished naval commander?" Kube let the silence hang for a few moments before continuing. "Because there's a bigger concentration of Imperium ships elsewhere for him to command." It looked for a moment as if Fey'lya was going to object, but the Bothan remained silent, to the surprise of all. Madre continued. "Our fleet is ready. Without authorization, I've been regularly contacting General Sha'hazar, the commander of the Third Fleet. He's brought his forces up to maximum readiness. Within two hours of authorization from us, he can begin the attack." Madre went on to explain the attack plan. It took several minutes, and only Madre and Admiral Ackbar actually understood all of what was being said, but the confidence that Kube Madre put behind every word swayed several of the councilors. After Madre was finished, Admiral Ackbar spoke. "And you believe the time is ripe to strike?" Madre nodded. "Yes, I do. In fact, we're going to vote on it. Right now." Five minutes later, a unanimous decision was reached. For the first time in years, the New Republic was going to do battle with the Empire. Mc91 Battlecruiser SCIMITAR Ten Minutes Later "It's a good plan," General Kenlamb Sha'hazar conceded to the listeners on the other side of the comlink connection. "I doubt I could've come up with a better one myself, sirs, ma'am." Fey'lya spoke to him. "What do you estimate your losses to be?" "Under twenty percent, if this is done right, sir," Sha'hazar told the Bothan. "If the Imperium proves as capable as the Empire was, we may be facing up to forty percent losses." "Forty percent?" Rattagagech said incredulously. "Third Fleet would be out of commission for a year!" Sha'hazar shrugged. In private, earlier, Sha'hazar had voiced the same objection to Kube Madre. Madre had convinced him, though. Now Sha'hazar would convince the Elomin. "That could be," the General said. "But none of the deaths will be in vain, and Typeria will be ours. We will not fail, I promise it." Rattagagech said nothing. "You know the plan," Madre said. "I do, sir," answered Sha'hazar. "The briefing will begin immediately." Domann Beruss spoke. "May God protect you and your men tonight, General." "Thank you, my President. The gods are watching tonight, of that I am sure." The councilors on the other end of the line all nodded gravely, and the connection was cut. Sha'hazar reset the comlink and dialed in Colonel Erkholm's number. It was time for the pilots to be briefed. Fifteen Minutes Later While General Sha'hazar was briefing all Third Fleet ship CO's and XO's from the bridge of the Scimitar, Colonel Rale Erkholm was preparing to brief all squadron leaders, either in person or via Fleet Holonet. The door opened, and the Colonel strode out, tall and lean, the dusty brown hair impeccably combed into place on his head. He wore every medal and commendation he had earned in a lifetime of service first to the Rebel Alliance, then to the New Republic. Stretching from his left shoulder to his right hip, his neat rows of battle patches covered the white sash over the blue uniform. The patches began with one that only a select few wore: the silhouette of a corvette, three Z-95s, and an X-Wing against a fiery explosion - Marin Aleance wore the same patch, and no one else in the fleet knew what it stood for. The patches ended at the hip with one that many pilots in Third Fleet had: a mottled blue and green sphere, with a few flealike starfighters flying at it - the patch for the Fenob Uprising. In between, Erkholm had patches for the Battles of Yavin (he had flown a diversionary mission against the Death Star's capital ship escorts), Hoth, Endor, Coruscant, Bilbringi, and Yevetha, among many others. Around Erkholm's neck hung both the Kalidor Crescent, won at the Battle of Endor, and the Republican Star of Valor, awarded to him for reasons unknown to most everyone. Rows of smaller decorations were placed below the shiny silver nametag on the left side of his chest, and the gleaming gold eagle on his shoulderboards that certified him as a Colonel seemed positively tiny next to it all. All who saw him were suddenly reminded that this Colonel had put enough years in with the Rebellion and the New Republic to be a General, and had the medals to show that all those years had been of valorous service. Many wondered what Rale Erkholm was doing at Colonel, when he by all rights should've been at the same position as General Sha'hazar. Indeed, the two were about the same age. Why was Colonel Erkholm just a Colonel? The question went unanswered as Rale took the stage in front of several dozen pilots. He saw the lenses of the holocams, which were broadcasting his image to every squadron ready room in the fleet. He straightened up and set his shoulders in position. All the young faces stared nervously up at him. They were obviously wondering whether this was the real thing or not. Rale sought out Jess Elwyn's face in the crowd. Her eyes silently asked him the question. Rale nodded slightly in return and watched Jess' nervous look settle into a resolute one. "Ladies and gentlemen," Rale began, before stopping when he realized how formal he sounded. He decided to try again, deviating from the planned briefing for a few moments. "Everyone, we've been here around Typeria for a couple days now, and the situation has rapidly degraded despite all our efforts. The New Imperium has proven to be against the peaceful settlement of this dispute, and has went to great lengths to show that to us. "It took a horrible action to prove that to the folks on Coruscant. Now, President Leia Organa Solo is either dead or kidnapped. This, friends, is the last straw! Our orders have come from on high, and we're going in." Rale was interrupted by lots of nervous conversation between pilots and a few shouts of rejoice, mostly from people who had lost friends already. Rale began to speak again, and everyone quieted down. "I am not going to pretend that we are all going to survive this mission. The New Imperium has proven to be a capable opponent, and their equipment is excellent. Some of us - no, a lot of us - are not going to land back in our hangars after this one." That shut everyone up. Rale continued. "Those who die will not have died in vain, though. I can assure you of that. Typeria is our planet, and we're going to go in and take it back. And after today, if Mattan Balao is still alive, he'll realize that the New Republic will not listen to his threats and stand idly by! Not after today!" Rale's voice, which had risen to a shout, now dropped to a normal conversation level, though his voice was still laced with bitterness and anger. There was something else to it, though, which might have been called hope. "Today, fellow warriors, is the day we fight back." Cheers erupted from throughout the crowd. Some people gave standing ovations. Rale held both his hands up, and silence immediately settled upon the watching pilots. Rale began the briefing as planned, as the holoscreen behind him showed the movements of ships as he spoke of them. It took a little under ten minutes. Then, Rale said one last thing before stepping down from the stage. "Everyone, brief your squadrons and suit up." The room began to empty as people filed out towards their own squadron ready rooms, where their pilots would hear exactly what Rale had told them. Commander Jess Elwyn pushed through the exiting crowd and fell into step with Rale. "You know, most fleet-level starfighter commanders order their fighters from the bridge," she said. Rale frowned. "Not this one. I've learned to lead by example." "Rale, this one's going to be dangerous, and the fleet needs you. I mean, I know you're still an excellent pilot and all, but you're also probably going to lead the starfighter formation into battle, and that's a dangerous position to be in." Rale grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around to face him. "Look, Jess, we've had this conversation before, and it always ends the same. I'm a pilot. It's what I do. I can't effectively command if I'm not out there, seeing what's going on. And you know that I'm as concerned for you as you are for me, but I've learned not to voice it." He paused, then: "Jess, you know how I am. Today I avenge Derri's death." Her voice was bitter. "Or go to join her." She looked at him. "Don't look so shocked, Colonel. You've not valued your life one bit ever since Arvel - ever since Endor. You like to court death, just because it makes you feel close to all the friends you've lost!" He was about to speak again, but she interrupted him. "Rale, you've got friends here! General Sha'hazar thinks you're the best damned subordinate he's ever had, Darb thinks you're God or something, and I..." she trailed off, on the verge of tears. Rale surprised both his friend and himself by pulling her into a tight hug. It was a rare thing for Colonel Erkholm to show emotion, especially affection, in public. "Jess, you don't have to say a thing. I know." He released her, and they both stood there, silently, for several seconds. Rale continued. "We'll talk about this after the mission. Go and brief the Blues. I'm sure they're all wondering what's going on." Then he left, walking away towards his room. Jess decided that she'd like to know what was going on, too. She left for Blue Squadron's briefing room. Bridge of the SCIMITAR Eight Minutes Later General Sha'hazar was considered by many to be on the fast track for four stars. He would most likely get his first star, achieving the rank of Commodore, within a few months. In fact, Kenlamb was fairly sure that this would be his last cruise with his fleet. He looked at the sensor screen, which overlaid all the sensor information brought in by any ship in Third Fleet on one screen to show the exact dispositions of the New Imperium's craft. There were a whole lot of Imperials out there. The General smiled. His last cruise would be an explosive one, and he knew it. "Pilots to their fighters," he called over the SCIMITAR's intercom system. His voice echoed throughout the halls of the Mc91 battlecruiser, the most powerful class of ship in the New Republican Navy. Hangar of the SCIMITAR Two Minutes Later It was all the old feelings, rushing back again. Every time he wore the gray, green, and black flightsuit that had been with him for over sixteen years, Rale Erkholm felt the pain. He'd worn this suit at Endor, the battle that had changed his life. Since then, it'd been with him every time someone sitting ion the seat of power, living a life of luxury and comfort, had told him to go out and kill people he didn't know. Rale told himself. The hangar was filled with activity. Mechanics rushed around, performing last-minute repairs to starfighters. Weapon Technicians were fitting out ships with proton torpedoes, concussion missiles, inertial bombs, and plasma torpedoes. Some pilots calmly scrambled into their fighters and went down their pre-mission checklists. Rale saw others talking quietly to their wingmen or co- pilots, and a few even kneeled by the nose of their craft, praying to whichever god they put their trust in. The hangar bay doors were wide open, an energy shield holding the atmosphere in. The window to the void was one hundred meters long and thirty meters high, and it offered a spectacular view of Typeria, and the rest of Third Fleet. At the very front of the hangar sat Blue Squadron's E-Wings, their noses just inches from the shield. The pilots were inspecting their craft, making sure everything looked just fine. Weapon Techs had the missile compartment doors open, and each fighter was being fitted with sixteen PT-8 Proton Torpedoes. Combined with each fighter's three laser cannons, the E-Wing packed an impressive punch, and its speed and maneuverability made it absolutely deadly. The voice of General Kenlamb Sha'hazar echoed through the hangar, emanating from several dozen intercom speakers. "Launch in five minutes. Pilots, enter your craft. Clear the hangar." A Weapon Tech ran up to Rale. "Your fighters are ready, sir," she said. "Sixteen proton torps per. Just like you wanted." "Good," said Rale. The Tech smiled, and gestured at the dozens of other Techs and mechanics now filing out of the hangar. "Get one for us, sir," she said. Rale returned the smile. "I'll get one for each of you." He turned to his pilots. "This is it, Blues. Let's go do it." Rale held out his hand, and the rest of Blue Squadron's pilots crowded around in a circle, placing their hands on his. "Watch your wingman and keep him safe," Rale said. "Flame as many fighters as you can, but don't just fly around shooting and forget your mission. Stick near the bombers and make sure no one gets at them." No one spoke nor moved. Rale said just one thing more. "When this day's over, and the wreckage of the Imperium fleet litters the battlefield, Balao's gonna look at it all and say, 'Damn, Blue Squadron must've been here.'" Shouting their affirmation, the Blues climbed into their fighters. This small bit of rallying was repeated by squadron commanders throughout the hangar bays on ships throughout Third Fleet. Looking to his left, Rale saw Commander Elwyn strapping herself into her fighter. Sixteen years ago, she'd been, well, sixteen. A freelance fighter for the Rebellion, without any rank. She'd only officially joined the Armed Forces after Endor, after a year of service. And her and Rale had worked together on various positions within fighter squadrons ever since then. She looked over at him and gave him a nervous smile. She'd been in this business long enough to know the risks. So had Rale. On Rale's right was his wingman, Flight Officer Yeldarb. Rale glanced at him, and the younger man saluted, a gesture that Rale returned. Erkholm hoped that the kid would be careful. They'd had enough deaths already on this cruise. Rale's wristwatch beeped. Midnight. A new day beginning. "One minute to launch. Pilots, power up your fighters," the voice of General Sha'hazar said. Rale smiled wryly as his E-Wing began to vibrate, the two big engines spooling up to idle. His R7 droid whistled excitedly as the fighter left the hangar floor on repulsorlifts. Rale retracted the landing gear and waited. "Kick ass, everyone," he said over the radio, knowing that every single other person in Third Fleet who could hear the radio heard him. The shouted affirmation that flowed back across the radio was deafening. Everyone was cheering, shouting, screaming their support for this operation. Voices from a thousand different languages yelled battle cries. Ten thousand tongues cried out, the owner of each nearly dying of anticipation. Eventually, the voices died down. The shield went down. "Launch," said the General. "Go Blues!" Rale shouted, pushing his throttle forward. There were a few seconds of turbulence, then he was out in open space. Looking ahead, he saw green and red flashes in the distance as Third Fleet's outermost gunships and corvettes traded fire with the Imperium's craft. Rale pushed aside all extraneous thoughts and concentrated at the task at hand. A veritable wall of Imperium starfighters was coming at him, two hundred kilometers distant now and closing fast. It had begun. ===================================================================== THE NEW IMPERIUM: PEACE WITH A PRICE story by Greg Schutz send questions/comments to: arvel@rocketmail.com This is only DAY EIGHT of this story. Its 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. (And letting me know about it would be nice, but isn't mandatory.) ===================================================================== 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 using this work to collect 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.