The New Imperium Peace With A Price Story by Greg Schutz Day Nine Typeria Temporary New Imperium Command Building Mattan Balao's Office Midnight Local Time An aide rushed in and delivered a simple message. "Sir, the battle has begun. It appears that the New Republic is attempting to liberate Typeria." Balao massaged his temples for a few moments. The past twenty sleepless hours had not been kind to him. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. They still hadn't found President Solo, meaning that this battle would almost certainly become a bloodbath, most likely not in the New Imperium's favor. Still, the Imperium, and Balao himself, would ultimately survive. Mattan was wise enough to understand that. "Very well. Commence the evacuation." Typeria Same Time The plan was beginning to unfold. Fast-moving New Republic frigates and corvettes had attacked the New Imperium's outer ring of spacecraft, not launching their fighters until the last moment. Now the Republican fighters swarmed throughout the battlefield, blasting away at Imperium corvettes and keeping enemy starfighters away from friendly capital ships. One hundred and fifty kilometers away from the beginnings of the battle and closing, the main fist of the New Republic charged headlong at the battle. A dozen seventy-two ship wings of A- and E-Wings in a giant three-dimensional wedge formation were flying at top speed in front of nearly a thousand heavily laden B- and K-Wing bombers. The K- Wings would deliver T-33 plasma torpedoes, known to pilots as "shield- busters" or "rotten eggs," blasting the Imperium ships with them. The immense radiation from the small thermonuclear blast of a T-33 was usually more than enough to incapacitate the shields of a capital ship. The B-Wings would then roar in and deliver inertial bombs and heavy rockets against the unshielded hulls of the enemy ships. This would peel away the Imperium's outer defenses and allow Third Fleet capital ships to drive a spear into the heart of the Imperium fleet and hopefully reach Typeria. It was, Rale Erkholm knew, the largest single formation of New Republic starfighters to fly into battle since the Battle of Endor. Fortunately, there was no Death Star here, only a capable and numerous opponent who seemed more than willing to fight. Which was, actually, quite a bit like Endor. And the slate-gray sphere of Typeria could pass for a Death Star. It was supposed to be bristling with weaponry. "One hundred twenty kilometers to initial contact," Rale said. "All wings, report in." More than two dozen leaders began to report in, each one the head of six squadrons of starfighters. Rale finished off the roll call. "This is Command Blue, standing by. One hundred kilometers and closing." One hundred kilometers ahead, a wall of Imperium fighters raced at the New Republic formation. Rale glanced at his sensor display. The Imperium's fighters appeared on it as an amorphous blob of angry red, while the New Republic's fighters were an equally large blob of a neutral shade of green. He knew that the initial giant dogfight between the two blobs would be, for the thirty seconds it would last, quite intense. A lot of good kids were not going to live to see the end of the dogfight, and fewer still would witness the battle's completion. Rale's heart began to beat faster. He'd fought in dozens upon dozens of battles in space, but only one before of this magnitude. And that had been Endor, the battle he considered to be the defining hour of his entire life. He was at the very head of the formation. Usually a quite undesirable spot for pilots, Rale believed in leadership by example, and never missed a chance to lead his force into battle. His place was not aboard a starship, but in an agile fighter, of that he was sure. It was why he had turned down promotions several times. "Thirty seconds, people," Rale said. "If you have concussion missiles, use 'em. If you're carrying anything heavier, save 'em for the cap ships." At least two hundred "yessirs" echoed over the radio in response to this, followed by wing leaders' demands for radio discipline. Rale gave a few last-second orders. "Start recharging shields and lasers, put your shields double-front." This time, only the wing leaders affirmed the order. Then, red streaks appeared in the void between the two formations as both sides began to launch concussion missiles. As expected, both sides' carefully planned flying arrangements dissolved to chaos as pilots tried crazily to avoid the projectiles. Despite all the alarms going off in the cockpit, Rale didn't dodge. He had to lead this formation straight and level. The concussion missile that had locked onto him flew straight into his shields, which were set at 200% to the front. When the fire dissipated, the shields were at 172% front. The little gray dots that were enemy starfighters slowly began to grow. Rale centered his crosshairs on one and locked it up. His astromech droid chittered quietly, signifying this to be a confirmed enemy Tie Interceptor. The little gray and black sphere began to form into a definite shape at two kilometers, just outside effective laser range. Five hundred meters and a fraction of a second later, Rale opened up. His instincts honed by over twenty years of piloting, Rale's long-range snapshot didn't miss. The laser blasts hit the Interceptor dead on, splitting it into a dozen fiery pieces. Laser blasts began to hit Rale's fore shield. He locked up the closest enemy, another Tie Interceptor, set his sights on it, and opened up at barely two hundred meters. The Interceptor simply disintegrated. And then they entered the thick of the enemy formation. Rale banked hard to the right, inverted his E-Wing, and pulled up, just barely managing to avoid a collision with a Tie Advanced. And there were more where that came from. Rale pulled in behind a slow-turning Assault Gunboat and opened up, blasting away the ship's rear shielding in seconds, then pounding on the unshielded engine banks until the ship was forced to eject the overloaded reactor core into space. That one was out of action. Three kills for the Colonel. The radio was filled with chatter. "Raider Three, splash four!" "This is Cyclone Eight, I've got one on me, can't shake - " "Break starboard, Wizard Two! You've got one on your tail!" Rale joined the shouting. "This is Command Blue, splash three. Continuing with mission." The simple statement eliminated a lot of the excess talking, as pilots were reminded that they simply had to keep the bombers safe, not dogfight with every Tie that came across their path. Checking his six, Rale saw the sky thick with swirling fighters. Up ahead, the air was clear for another twenty kilometers, all the way up to the Imperium's outer wall of capital ships. Analyzing the situation, Rale gave another order. "All fighters, keep these Imps occupied for as long as possible. Bombers, your path is clear. Good luck!" "Roger, Command Blue," said Gold Lead, the man responsible for every bomber in Third Fleet. As Rale spun his E-Wing around to re-enter the swirling maelstrom of fighters, K-Wings began to appear on the near side of the dogfight, followed closely by B-Wings. Seeing a Tie Interceptor moving to engage the lead K-Wing, Rale fired three blasts of ruby red laser. The Tie's port solar panel split into three pieces, and the spacecraft went into an uncontrolled spin. "Command Blue, splash four. All fighters, hold 'em off for another two minutes, then we'll rush in and bloody the Imperium cap ships. Got it?" Rale interpreted all the noise on the other end of the radio to be an affirmative. Time passes in slow motion when one is in a twisting, banking dogfight that is swirling through dozens of other twisting, banking dogfights. Rale focused on his targets, ignoring the wreckage of Ties and assorted Republican fighters that bounced harmlessly off his shields. The unshielded Ties were taking a horrible beating, but they were dishing it out as well. Rale saw Jess Elwyn form up on his wing in the middle of a dogfight and salute. At least she was still alive. Rale returned the salute. Looking around, he saw seven other E-Wings, all in blue, in the sky around him. Blue Squadron had taken two more losses, but was still holding together. Rale punched through the shields on a Tie Defender and turned it into a raging fireball. Then: "This is Gold Lead, plasma torpedo runs completed." Rale's reply was instantaneous. "All fighters, disengage and begin attack runs on the unshielded ships!" Turning to view the New Imperium's ships, Rale saw a thousand tiny bombers racing in a firing their weapons. The Imperium ships were slowly being pounded down to nothing. At six kilometers, Rale got a positive lock on the New Imperium Frigate 44B. His R7 droid transmitted the targeting data to all the other E-Wings of Blue Squadron. Shieldless, the frigate would probably fall easily to the Blues' torpedoes. Rale fired a quick double torpedo burst, as did the other eight starfighters. The eighteen torpedoes crashed against the frigate's hull all at the same spot: what Rale's targeting computer had shown to be the bridge. The winged spear that was a starship began to drift lazily in space, out of control and out of action. "So far, so good, everyone," Rale said. "Let's just open up a hole for our big boys." Mc91 Battlecruiser SCIMITAR One Minute Later "Captain," a sensor officer said, "the fighters have opened up a significant hole in the Imperium's outer formation." General Sha'hazar quickly checked the sensor screen, and found this to be true. Moving quickly, he opened up a channel with General Kalmeen In'uiy's flagship, the Victory-class Star Destroyer VALIANT. The image of a calm Bothan sitting in the center of the Star Destroyer's bridge came up. The Bothan, a relative of Borsk Fey'lya, walked towards the holoscreen and lowered himself into the seat in front of it. "General?" "General In'uiy, you may lead Task Force Aster through the hole in the Imperium's formation immediately. I will be leading Task Force Bulldog, and we'll be right behind you." "I understand, General." The connection was cut. Nothing more needed to be said. Kenlamb strode over to the intercom, and tweaked the controls so that it would broadcast his voice to every capital ship in Third Fleet. "Task Force Aster, depart for Typeria immediately. Task Force Bulldog, prepare to pull in right behind Aster." Task Force Aster, comprised of the twenty-one Victory-class Star Destroyers and Hapanese ships detached from Fourth Fleet and under the command of General In'uiy, began to pull forward, immediately taking fire from tiny starfighters. Task Force Bulldog, consisting of several notable New Republic ships, including the SCIMITAR, HOME ONE, and the DRAGOON, fell into line behind Aster. Sha'hazar smiled. It was the beginning of the end for the New Imperium on Typeria. Typeria Temporary Imperium Command Building Special Shuttle Bay Same Time Mattan Balao was sitting comfortably in his modified Incom Y-4 Raptor transport when a young Lieutenant rushed in, looking rather intimidated. "Yes?" Balao asked impatiently. Time was of the essence now. "Sir," the lieutenant said, "the spy in Third Fleet has alerted us that a powerful task force is approaching the planet to try and knock down our shields." "Does this force contain Target Alpha?" "Yes, sir, but Alpha is near the back of the formation." "Very well. Wait until our planetary defenses have a good lock on Alpha, then drop the shields and commence the full-scale bombardment." "As ordered, sir." The lieutenant rushed away. Smiling, Balao rested his head against the back of the plush seat. Target Alpha: the HOME ONE. If they destroyed it, the Third Fleet's morale would be shattered, the fleet's commanding officer, General Sha'hazar, would cease to be an effective leader, and their spy would have access to even more information. If they destroyed no other Republican ship today, and he still escaped Typeria, the day would be a resounding success for the New Imperium. Mc80 Cruiser HOME ONE Ten Minutes Later "Ma'am, shield integrity is at ninety-two percent and dropping slowly," the young officer called out. Colonel Marin Aleance gave no definite sign of having heard the report, but she had. Another starfighter-launched heavy rocket impacted against the HOME ONE's shields, dropping them to eighty-eight percent integrity. Marin swore and lifted the radio handset again. "General, this is Aleance. It seems like they're gunning for us. Shields are at - " she checked the small instrument panel by her captain's chair - "eighty-six percent and falling slowly." Looking out the forward viewscreen, Marin saw the giant gray SCIMITAR hanging in space in front of her, so large and close that it obscured her view of the northern hemisphere of Typeria, which was very near now. The reply was a few seconds in coming. General Sha'hazar was probably very busy at the moment, coordinating a dual task force assault while still keeping track of the rest of fleet's dispositions. Finally, a harried Omwati voice replied. "Hang in there, Marin. Thirty seconds and we'll begin bombardment of Typeria. Just hang in there." "I'll try." She wasn't too sure of herself at the moment. An Imperium corvette appeared seemingly from nowhere, coming into the HOME ONE's starboard arc of fire. Blasts of harsh laser fire reached out from the corvette and stabbed into the cruiser's shields. In seconds, shield integrity was at seventy-eight percent and falling at a moderate rate. Marin reacted quickly. "All starboard weaponry, hit that corvette." Imperium corvettes were reputed to be tough, powerful ships, and supposedly quite dangerous, but in no way can a corvette, under most any circumstances, trade blows with a Mon Calamari Cruiser. The corvette's shields were breached in moments by the torrent of turbolaser and ion cannon blasts coming from the HOME ONE. The sheer heat of this rain of energy upon the ship's hull melted sections of the corvette's armor and shattered every transparisteel viewplate on its port side. Moments later, the corvette was little more than a floating hunk of scrap metal, every sentient aboard it dead. But the HOME ONE's shields were at sixty-seven percent. "Aster and Bulldog, place your starboard sides towards Typeria," General Sha'hazar ordered. "Come port ninety-two degrees," Marin ordered instants later. The ponderous HOME ONE began to slowly wheel around to the left, as did every other ship in the two Task Forces. Considering the huge size and remarkably poor maneuverability of capital ships, it was no surprise that this synchronized turning took nearly a minute to complete. By that time, the HOME ONE's shields were at fifty-six percent and, finally, holding. "All stop," came the General's voice. "Concentrate your bombardment at shield coordinates 251, 4157, 7. Begin bombardment on my mark. "Three." Marin tensed up in her chair, knowing that every turbolaser on her ship's heavily armed starboard side was pointing at a single three-dimensional grid coordinate. "Two." "One." This was it. They could - no, they would - breach the shields in seconds, and then thousands of Marines, armed to the teeth, would pour through the hole and pay Mattan Balao back personally. And they would have achieved the sense of victory so sorely missed after the Battle of Fenob. "Mark." "Fire!" Colonel Aleance shouted. Almost immediately, the HOME ONE began to vibrate. The immense amount of fire pouring off its starboard side was actually jarring the ship. Thousands of turbolaser lances from Task Forces Aster and Bulldog onto a single spot on Typeria's planetary shield. The shields began to glow bright red, with jagged bolts of bluish-white lightning leaping across their surface. The vibration worsened as many of the laser banks lost their rhythm, leading to very asynchronous fire. Marin strapped herself into her seat with the heavy crash restraints. The planetary shields held for a surprisingly long time - nearly twelve seconds. Then, layer by layer, they began to peel back. Colonel Aleance had the HOME ONE shift its fire to keep the perimeter of the shield hole from shrinking, as did many of that captains in the two task forces. Soon, they had a giant hole nearly six kilometers in diameter. "All Marines," General Sha'hazar said, "prepare for your combat drop." Seconds later, some anonymous officer turned to Marin. "Ma'am, there's heavy fire coming up from the planet. It seems to be directed at us." "Long range heavy missiles?" Marin asked quickly. "Yes, ma'am." "Okay, everyone, we have inbound hyper-velocity rockets. Weapons, launch a Quail." "As ordered, ma'am," came the reply from Weapons. Marin checked the sensor screen to see that they had forty seconds before the Hyper-Velocity Anti- Spacecraft Missiles, or HVASM, would reach the HOME ONE. There were over two dozen missiles coming in, more than enough to breach the HOME ONE's shields and pound its hull into an unrecognizable melted mess. And maybe destroy the cruiser. Marin opened a channel with the SCIMITAR. "General, we've got a big group of hypers inbound." "I see it, Colonel. Do what you have to." "Captain, Weapons reports Quail Decoy launched." The Qual decoy was really only a modified proton torpedo. The QAL-4 "Quail" decoy, though, was no normal weapon. Packed with noisemakers, the Quail would simulate the presence of a large, powerful ship, hopefully drawing off the HVASMs. Unfortunately, newer missiles were smart enough to usually pick out the real ship. Marin knew this, and she had a plan. "Engines, all ahead full. Lieutenant, maneuver us in front of the Quail's false signature. Make it look like we're guarding it." "Ma'am?" It was an unusual order to say the least. Fired up by the tension of the moment, the usually calm Marin exploded. "Do it, people! I don't have time for a question-and-answer conference on this one, damn it! Just do what I say!" "As ordered, ma'am," someone said, breaking the icy silence that followed. Marin hoped that, by placing the HOME ONE in front of the false signature, that all the missiles would think the HOME ONE to actually be the false signature, since it was acting like a Quail. It was reverse psychology at the galactic level, and it was the HOME ONE's only chance. The first eight of the twenty-four missiles fell for it completely, ignoring the HOME ONE and chasing the Quail. Unfortunately, when these missiles reported negative impacts, the other sixteen missiles immediately understood that the other large sensor contact had to be the HOME ONE. Immediately, the missiles began to turn. "Fifteen seconds to impact!" someone yelled. "They're headed for the bridge!" Marin immediately knew that the sixteen missiles, if they indeed did all impact on the bridge shields, would be more than powerful enough to allow at least one missile to get through and hit the bridge itself. A quick glance at the sensor screen showed that, yes, they would impact all in the same spot. Marin made the decision instantaneously. "Bridge crew, abandon your posts. Get to safety!" The response was quick. Instantly, people were up and running for the single route off the bridge, an elevator. Marin tried to lunge out of her seat, only to find the crash restraints still in place. She felt panic beginning to chew away at her consciousness as she struggled to unbuckle them. Looking forward, she saw the sixteen missiles, barely pinpricks of light against the dark, starry backdrop. The large "Time To Die" clock had a big "00:07" on it, meaning seven seconds to impact. 00:05. Finally the straps fell away. Marin stumbled to her feet, only to nearly fall in her panic. 00:04. A young corporal appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Marin by the arm, hauling her to her feet and helping her towards the elevator, which was packed with people. 00:03. Marin managed to regain her footing. Looking back, she saw the rapidly growing HVASMs, and noticed the number on the Time To Die clock. 00:02. Marin and the corporal leapt into the elevator, the last people to leave the bridge of the HOME ONE. 00:01. Someone jabbed a button on the elevator's control panel. The doors began to close, with agonizing slowness. 00:00. The doors closed, and the elevator began its descent. -00:03. There was the scream of twisting, ripping metal, then an incredibly bright flash, and then the world exploded in pain. Three HVASMs had managed to make their way through the bridge shielding. The first of the three had plowed into the transparisteel bridge windows and detonated, ripping a hole for the other two. They had raced inside the bridge, and one actually hit Marin's recently vacated chair before detonating. The superheated blast from the twin explosion had raced down the elevator shaft and ripped the travelling elevator open like a tin can. The corporal who had saved Marin's life before by dragging her off the bridge saved her again by pushing her to the floor and standing over her. Barely nineteen years of age, the corporal became a hero of the New Republic by taking the brunt of the blast that would've hit Marin. Most everyone standing in the elevator was incinerated, and those quick enough to drop to the floor were at least horribly burnt. The torn wreckage of the elevator fell nearly four stories before it was hung up by the emergency stop system. A rescue attempt was begun immediately. Mc91 Battlecruiser SCIMITAR Moments Later Historians would later say that, ironically, the destruction of the HOME ONE marked the exact moment when the New Imperium's defense had fallen apart. "Shit!" General Sha'hazar said, half to himself, as he watched the bridge of the HOME ONE, half-hidden behind a veil of flames. His heart sunk as a series of secondary explosions ripped through the cruiser, making the two-kilometer ship shudder visibly. The thought rocked him to his utter core. Kenlamb collapsed into his chair on the center of the bridge, his knees turned to water. His brain barely acknowledged the radio report: "This is the GAIDEN. We've taken hits, engines are out, we're falling!" The Hapanese Battle Dragon GAIDEN, its massive superstructure alive with fires, slowly, irrevocably, fell through the hole in Typeria's planetary shields. The sight of the giant, flaming meteorite falling to the ground snapped Kenlamb's mind back to the present. He began to issue orders, falling back on his training. "All Aster ships, pull back. Bulldog troop-carriers, deploy your forces." Led by the venerable DRAGOON, two dozen heavy Marine Assault Ships broke formation, rushing towards the hole in the shields. Pods of all shapes and sizes, containing vehicles, troops, and equipment fell by the hundreds from the ships, small rocket motors propelling them into Typeria's atmosphere. At that moment, the GAIDEN impacted upon the surface some four hundred miles southwest of the Typerian capital of Hirscha. The immediate effects were unbelievably disastrous. Superheated by the fall, the GAIDEN exploded with the force of three hundred and fifty megatons of TNT at the exact moment it hit the metallic earth. A crater three times the size of Hirscha and over seven miles deep was dug in seconds, hundreds of thousands of tons of twisted metal thrown for thousands of miles. The Marine drop pods were unfortunate enough to have to fall through this flaming debris, and several hundred Marines perished in the course of eight seconds, before the pods even came under ground fire. The shock wave from the GAIDEN's impact traveled in the form a metallic tsunami, twisting and crushing the metal canyons of Typeria. When it reached Hirscha, it was the most powerful earthquake recorded by geologists for more than half a century. Hirscha, not designed to stand the shaking, collapsed, entombing several million civilians in a communal coffin. In seconds, eight hundred thousand innocent people died. Two million more would perish before the clean-up procedures on Typeria would be finished. Beneath the city, in an air duct, four very scared people weathered the shaking and survived. A man named Kaj Lisra decided it was time to go to the surface. He and his group were very fortunate in that their route to the surface was not blocked. Amidst the confusion, chaos, death, and destruction, Leia Organa Solo saw a sunrise for the first time in too long. In his Y-4 Raptor shuttle, Mattan Balao, Josef Sebring, and several other high-ranking New Imperium members snuck around the curvature of Typeria, exited the atmosphere, and escaped to hyperspace undetected. The earthquake was both a curse and a blessing to the falling Marines. On one hand, it eliminated many of the enemy soldiers they would otherwise have to face on the ground. Unfortunately, it also meant they were falling onto a disaster area, and many Marines would be burnt to death or crushed by unstable debris before the day would end. Back aboard the SCIMITAR, General Sha'hazar was watching the mass exodus of New Imperium ships from Typeria. The landing of the New Republic Marines seemed to hail the end of the battle. Twenty kilometers off the SCIMITAR's starboard bow, the SEBRING and two escorting New Imperium Frigates escaped to hyperspace. Every second, more NI ships disappeared to parts unknown. Sha'hazar's eyes ran over the burning hulk that used to be the HOME ONE. The continued salvos of fire from Typeria had utterly destroyed the ship, and it now appeared that all hands would be lost to the raging internal fires that even now swept through it. A rescue attempt was to be mounted within a few minutes, but Sha'hazar knew that it was too little, too late. Somehow, he felt no deep sadness at the loss of Marin Aleance. Only exhaustion. Despite all the losses they'd taken, the battle was over, and they had won. Hirscha, Typeria 0930 Hours Local Strangely, no one ran towards the group of New Republic Marines when they came marching up. Somehow, Leia decided, showing any joy at being rescued just wasn't right. Even as the Marines marched up, screams of agony, crying of children, and the moans of the many thousands of injured echoed through the twisted metal mountains of wreckage that had once been a city. Leia simply stood there as the Marines approached, oblivious to everything except the suffering. She heard a child's plaintive voice wailing, "Mommy! Mommy? Where are you?" The despairing cry fit in quite nicely with all the other cries and shouts, as people tried to find loved ones that they had been separated from during the earthquake. The Marines marched right up. There were twenty-six of them, and they were all that now remained of a battalion that had once been made up of over five hundred men. The drop through the burning wreckage had been bad, the landing amidst towering flames and showers of wreckage was worse, and fighting the dug- in fanatics of the New Imperium had gutted the battalion until it was nothing more than this motley collection of burnt, bleeding soldiers. "Ma'am President?" an officer drawled as he marched up. "I'm First Lieutenant Walker, and this is my battalion." "A battalion?" Kaj Lisra said incredulously. "We've suffered a bit of attrition," Walker said emotionlessly. It was his first time in combat, and he would never be the same again. Formerly a bright, merry young officer, Walker was now fated never to smile again, or at least never to mean it. "President Solo?" Walker tried again. The President turned towards him. "Yes?" "I'll call a shuttle for you. There should be space aboard the medical frigate VIRTUOUS for you." "Thank you, soldier." Aboard Blue Lead Same Time It hurt, it always hurt. A lot. Blue Squadron had went into battle with eleven good pilots, and had landed aboard the SCIMITAR again with seven veterans. Four more soldiers from Blue Squadron would have empty-casket ceremonies held for them soon, as their bodies were too burnt, crushed, twisted, or torn to be worth the time it would take to recover them. The damage done to them by the traumatic nature of their deaths had probably rendered their bodies unidentifiable, even to their own families. Rale was already beginning to dread having to dial into the holonet and face the families of those in Blue Squadron who had died. Every call was different. Some parents and spouses got mad when he spoke to them, screaming and calling him every rotten, vile name they could think of. Those were the easiest to deal with. Some of them cried, just sat there racked with sobs as Rale tried to be strong for them. Others showed no reaction. They just sat there, dumbfounded, as if he didn't believe what he was saying to them. The children mostly fell into the latter column. The children were the toughest to talk to. By far the toughest. Captain Hale Whiewater was dead, and he had a wife and six children. Rale decided he would make that call first, tonight. Colonel Erkholm climbed out of his E-Wing and leapt down to the hangar deck without bothering to use the ladder. Jess was down there already, waiting for him. At least she was alive. "I told you I'd make it," Rale said to her. Crying, Jess Elwyn could do nothing in reply to her best friend except hug him with all her might. Thirty meters away, Flight Officer Darb Yeldarb stood there, staring off into space, literally, without actually seeing anything. In his mind's eye, he still saw his friends dying, their bodies probably now little more than ashes. Colonel Erkholm had once told him that war was the most horrible thing anyone could be cursed with living through. Now Darb understood. He'd killed seventeen enemy fighters, a prodigious number (and in fact, one of the highest totals for any pilot in the fleet), but now he was wishing that one of those seventeen had gotten him instead. The pain would be so much less that way. Coruscant Same Time They sat there around the table, a group of some of the most powerful people in the galaxy. The news had come in just minutes ago: Victory! Typeria was free and President Solo was alive and well. There had been cheering, initially. But then they'd heard worse news. The HOME ONE, destroyed. Colonel Marin Aleance, one of the New Republic's greatest heroes, dead of shock and massive burns after a desperate race to save her life aboard a medical frigate. Six hundred and fifty thousand dead silors from Third Fleet, and five thousand more New Republic Marines dead or dying in the streets of Hirscha. Mattan Balao and Josef Sebring, escaped. Over a million innocent civilians on Typeria dead, and the death count still rising. And the dust from the GAIDEN's impact would cause a quasi-nuclear winter, meaning that Typeria would have to be completely evacuated, the population sent to another nearby planet. "It's a great victory, and a great defeat, all rolled into one," Admiral Ackbar said finally. "Agreed," said Kuba Madre. "And it's not over yet. Today has been bad, and I believe tomorrow will be beyond imagining." Kube Madre's prediction about the tenth day of the crisis would prove to be prophetic. ===================================================================== THE NEW IMPERIUM: PEACE WITH A PRICE story by Greg Schutz send questions/comments to: arvel@rocketmail.com This is DAY NINE of this story. Stay tuned for DAY TEN, the long-awaited conclusion. Expect to see more than a few surprises! 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.