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| - The Imperial officer strode down the deck of the bridge until he reached the viewport. He looked out towards the stars. It was out there and he smiled. There was nothing going on in the area they were in. Perfect. Meant they had a possibility of slipping in unnoticed. He turned to face a tall man, standing three feet higher then everyone around him. He was Jon Geron, the Grand Moff. He was the head of the Moff Council. “Is everything ready Admiral?” he asked, staring down at the admiral. “I am ready to start at any time sir,” he reported. “I hope that for your sake your plan works,” Geron said, “I would hate for Derk Grant to spend the rest of his life alongside his precious Adam Harmon in the pysh ward on Telran Four.” Grant suppressed a sharp comment. How he despised politicians and their backstabbing. “I would suggest you spend the time down in the conference room,” he said, “It will be safer down there, and you can still see the action from down there on our holoscreens.” Geron laughed. “My dear Admiral,” he said in a quiet sneer, “I was fighting wars far before you were even conceived by your parents although I do not hold you responsible for the fact that thy weren’t even married when they decided to get to know each other. I will remain here and watch.” Grant felt his hand to his side clenching in a fist. And how he hated the meticulous memory of Geron. He remembered every detail of those under his command. Why did he have to drag his parents into this. “You may proceed when ready,” Geron said. Grant turned to the navigation crew and ordered, “Move us to Hyperspace 1 Drive and prepare our Stealth shield.” “I didn’t realize stealth shields had even been tested yet,” Geron said, raising an eyebrow. “They haven’t.” “Everything is quiet in sector Gamma One-dash-Two,” the surveillance officer called out from his screen. “Good,” the commanding officer said. He was by no means small in stature, and he was a major, as indicated by the red star-burst rank piece on his color. The major pushing a small lever on his chair which swung it to the right, towards the greeish skinned petty officer, “Continue on to Gamma One-dash-Three.” “Right away sir,” the officer said, returning to the console, then said in a side murmur to the soldier at the controls, “Not that it is going to do any good.” “Aye,” the silver-golden skinned Diosk said, pushing a button to send the scanner over to the sector in question. “If you need me,” the major said, standing from his chair, “I'll be in my quarters. I'll be catching up on those letters my family sent me yesterday.” “Very good sir,” the petty officer said, then he waited until he was gone to voice his other piece of mind, “You know, we are on one of the most boring posts in the Galaxy. This Alderaan Shards hasn't seen action in five years, since Thrawn's incursion. We are merely five light-years from Coruscant, the most heavily armed place in the galaxy. Why should we stay here? We should be helping mop up the Empire.” “You have never fought the Imperials,” the Diosk said, his voice going quiet, “Nor have you seen the destruction of your homeworld. Diosk was a peaceful place. We had never even harmed one another ever since the awakening seven centuries ago. Then came the Empire. I am one of only three survivors, and the only reason we survived was we were seventy-five light-years away on Corellia, doing transaction with the House of Iblis.” “I am sorry that I can't fully comprehend your loss,” the petty officer said, looking at the screen, “but, why are you fighting in this war? Don't you want to live out your life in peace and repopulate your species? Sounds logical even to my unenlightened mind.” “It would have been possible had not all the women of my race died out,” Diosk sighed. “Can you not breed with other species?” his comrade asked, to which he received a shake from the Diosks' head. “I shudder at the thought,” he replied, “and even if I didn't, we are not genetically compatible with other races. So, we are all dead men anyways.” Even as he turned away from the unpleasant thought, there was a suddenly bleep on the scanners. At first the Diosk did not realize it, but the second bleep brought him to his senses. He looked really closely at it, and saw a third bleep, and for half a second, he saw a red narrow triangular shape on the scanners. Then, it vanished entirely. “Hmm,” he muttered to himself, “That's odd.” The petty officer, sitting now on the back of the swivel chair behind him, called out, “What's up?” “For a couple seconds I saw a ship on our radar,” he said, tapping on the radar screen, “then suddenly it vanished.” “It's probably nothing,” the man said. “I swear it was there,” the alien said, holding the palms of his hands up in exasperation. “It might have been a sensor ghost,” the petty officer replied, “Stuff like that happens, especially so close to the hyperspace lanes into the Core. Don't worry about it. Everything will be fine.” Most of the power on the station was off, with the lights dimmed to nothing. The only things running were some wall lights that shown a very faint illumination in the darkness. The scanners were also running, showing blue in the darkness. Out of the four man garrison assigned to this post, only the Bothan remained awake. His fur seemed to block the light from the systems to any eyes that might be watching. The bothan had just come back with a mug of liquids, and he had barely sat down. He took a sip out of his steaming cup and recoiled as the heat scolded his lips and tongue. There was a thump, soft but distinct in the darkness. The Bothan didn't take much notice to it beyond calling out, “You won't scare me tonight Jartm. Your pranks won't work on me.” He was not responded to, much to his annoyance. Humans were jerks and idiots in his opinion. They cared more about a good prank then seriousness. Then, his ears picked up multiple feet, trying to walk as silent as the grave. He could pick up twelve distinct feet, which in the dark and his enhanced hearing, seemed to ricochet off the walls like the battering rams of hell. He felt his way to his blaster on his side, and slowly stood, pulling it out of the leather holster. The flep of the holster silently flopped back down, which he usually was annoyed about. But, he was a vetran of Endor and the mission to retrieve the plans for the Second Death Star. He was a soldier, of the Elite Commando Force, and these Imperials were dealing with the wrong garrison. He turned on his comlink and tapped the voice piece three times and after a second, there was two taps in return. The Diosk was also up. The major and the petty officer were themselves not part of the Elite Commandos, but, they were good people by nature. The Diosk would ensure they would wake up, indeed, it was good that Diosks had no need for sleep, but entered a meditation phase when needing to regenerate their bodies. He tapped then slid his finger across the mouthpiece, the signal that he would take out a couple of the intruders. There was a slight crackle that came from it; their comlinks were being jammed. Three persons were deviating from the main group, who were branching off in four directions. Two were heading for the garrison quarters, and the other for the generators. The last group was heading his direction, as his ears could tell. He sidestepped across the room, and backed against a closet. He opened the door quietly and closed the door behind him. Three heavy boots could now be heard, walking into the room. After a second, he could hear laughter. “Fools,” one of the Imperials said, “They left their control room abandoned. These rebels are sloppy.” “Silence!” another soldier hissed, “These rebels didn't abandon this room.” “What?” the other one asked. “They used this same tactic at Nal Shadda,” the other, probably an officer said, “They hid in plain sight, camouflaging themselves. Those blasted Bothans are good.” “You're right sir,” another voice said, “The scanners pick up traces of someone being here recently. Barely a minute ago.” There was silence now, and the three men started to quietly hunt around the room. Had they not spoken, they wouldn't have had been so easy targets. But, they were mistaken. One of them approached the closet, and he tapped on the door with the barrel of his gun. He slowly opened the door, but he had barely opened it when the Bothan struck. He fired a shot, which caught the Imperial square in the mask of his helmet, and as he fell, the other Imperials turned and began to rack the closet with laser fire. But the Bothan was already out. He grabbed the larger Imperial, held him up as a shield, and charged across the room, using the body to ward off the bolts. The Imperial he was after fired so rapidly, that he ran out of energy before the Bothan struck, and throwing the body aside, grabbed the Imperial by the head and turned his head, breaking his neck. The other Imperial had dived behind the control chair, using it to shield himself from the Bothan. He took out a thermal detonator and threw it at the Imperial. The Imperial, seeing the detonator, rolled to the floor, firing away as he rolled. But, now that he was out in the open, a single blast took him out, striking him in the back. The fool didn't even realize I didn't set the detonator, he thought, and he ran up to it, hearing laser fire now in the corridor, signaling that his comrades were awake and defending the base. He ran out of the room, shooting down two more Imperials that were huddling behind a crate. The Bothan dropped to one knee, checked his ammo, and prepared to move on down the hallway, and continue the assault from behind. But, he heard a snap-hiss of a lightsaber and the last thing he would hear was a cold voice hiss, “Long Live the Empire.”
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