Solomahal takes a drag from his flask. Things were slotting into place as the months ticked by. The passage of time was both agonizingly slow and far too fast. Gentis had finished digging his claws into the first generation of Coruscanti trained Imperial cadets. They were pretty much fanatically loyal to the Army General. They’d follow his orders even if they involved the killing of Palpatine and his lapdog Vader.

  The various Army units would be a more difficult thing to manage, the Coruscanti Shock Troopers and the Royal Guard would likely remain loyal to Palpatine, but more than half of the Volunteer and Garrison forces around the Imperial Palace, Senate District and various military headquarters were loyal to the plan, another quarter would simply follow their superiors’ orders, superiors who would disappear when the coup began. That would have to be good enough for now.

  Zsinj had managed to get control over the Senate district’s orbit for the day of graduation and the coup. Her men were seemingly loyal to her first and the Republic second, which would have to do. At least it wasn’t her first and the Empire second, Solomahal didn’t have the time to start untangling that kind of loyalty now. Her ships were ready to rapidly deploy strikecraft and arms-men at any given moment. Simply awaiting the order to support the coup below and threaten the Senate if they refused to comply.

  Jerjerrod meanwhile had managed to redirect supplies to friendly faces in almost staggering amounts. That which could not be easily placed within friendly hands on and near Coruscant were shipped far away to erstwhile allies in the Outer Rim. It was a coup d’etat on par, if not beyond, the one being planned. It went so far that the majority of the Home Guard would find themselves suspiciously low on munitions, repair material, fuel and medicine while having more than enough rations to feed them for half a decade. Meanwhile hidden depots, classified to all but the local Moffs and Marshal Administrators, spread across dozens upon dozens of Outer Rim and Mid Rim Sectors were filled to the brim, their coordinates wiped from all terminals outside of those of those in the know. It was rather impressive all things said.

  Gerra was only a couple jumps away at Alsakan, his loyalist men prepared to reinforce the coup and help secure the orbit of Coruscant once chaos erupted throughout the Home Guard. He and his men would ensure the enemy didn’t get orbital supremacy until Bush and Hornblower’s veterans from the south and south west, Dericote and his Slice Hussars from the Outer Rim and Benoni and his Cordon fleet from the Sith Worlds arrived with the killing blow.

  And yet there were a few … wildcards which were making the old Lutrillian nervous. What if Palpatine and his lapdog survived? What if Honor got control of her confused men and retook orbit? What if some Imperial Colonel rallied support from the non-secured ground forces and holed up somewhere important? What if Tarkin rallied the Empire from his hidey hole in the Expansion Region and returned to enact the wrath of the, hopefully, dead Emperor. What if suspicious Benoni didn’t act when he received the signal? What if cunning Hornblower decided it was lost and waited? What if the so practically minded Dericote decided a billion lives were worth the death of a Tyrant and his presumed successors?

  The Lutrillian shivers at that thought. Too much could go wrong … and yet, the plan was already in motion. The Lutrillian takes another swig from his flask as the hour ticked over. A new day, a new week, a new month. Time would tell soon enough.

  Elix taps his foot impatiently as the clerk was carefully going over every single item on his manifest. He had been here an hour already, waiting. Ever since the Empire started placing higher punishments on incompetence the decent clerks were being more pushy and taking much longer. Honestly at this rate Elix was half a mind of simply outbribing the punishments, it would at least be quicker.

  “You’re ship’s been weighed as heavier than what your manifest would indicate.” The bureaucrat says.

  “It’s been modified to all nine hells and back, plus my manifest doesn’t include my personal affects and private purchases.” Elix replies easily.

  “Imperial regulations don’t permit the level of modifications you’ve implied.”

  “She should’ve been grandfathered in through the Wartime Merchantmen Act that passed two years ago.” Elix says, brows furrowing.

  “Suppose so.” The man mutters.

  “How much longer will this take? I’ve got rations and a container of live Nuna that need to be handed out.” Elix says.

  “You got your permit for live animal transportation?” The deskjockey asks.

  “Copy of it is on the fifth page after the cargo manifest.” Elix says with an eyeroll.

  “Alright. Looks like everything checks out.” The man nods to himself, then hands the datapad back, “Have a nice day.”

  “I’ll certainly try.” Elix says with a sigh. Damn Imperial boarder control.

  I look over the datapad as I walk to the docking hatch. Honor had come through for me, the 587th Battlegroup had officially been re-activated after some three thousand years of being inactive, now comprised of the 222nd Colonies Cruiser Squadron, better known as the 3rd Fondorian Defense Force Squadron, the 223rd Colonies Cruiser Squadron, now made up of the Ghorman 1st Defense Section, the 2nd and 7th Combined Tapani Sections, and the 1443rd Rapid Response Squadron, made up of 1043rd Light Core, 4210th and 4211th Logistic Sections.

  It was a proper battle line, though it genuinely lacked in appropriate strikecraft coverage. I’ll probably replace most of the twenty two or so strikecraft squadrons’ fighters. Cloakshapes may work when properly upgraded, but they were too individualized for a solid logistical chain. Better replace them with new Starchasers and move them to the reserve or rear-echelon duty, though at least I could rely on the Y-Wings in the formation to do solid work.

  Now was the hard part. I had diverted my Little Revenge and her corvette escorts to personally appeal to Sykes for the final negotiations and affirmations to get myself the Fleet I … had ended up with. I let out a sigh as I hear the hiss of the docking hatches locking together. I hand my datapad to R4 who happily takes it to compare it to her usual records.

  “Um, sir?” The annoyingly high pitched voice of a B1 says, tearing me form my musings.

  I glance up at the droid, its body, legs and arms now sporting the Imperial Navy gray instead of their previous tan coloring, though some engineer had also decided to give it an officer’s cap and paint the rank plaque of an ensign on the droid on top of that. If the droids weren’t such useful porters, busybodies and grunts we’d have probably scrapped the lot by now, especially with the outlawing of Battle droids. Luckily or unluckily depending on how you wanted to look at it, removing their combat programming was surprisingly easy and relatively quick. It also kept the various techs and mechanics busy with their maintenance now that we weren’t busy repairing the ship for the next engagement every other week.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “We’re about to open the docking hatch, sir.”

  “Very good. Return to your duties post haste.”

  “Roger roger.” The droid replies before saluting and marching off.

  I roll my eyes, the damn droids may be useful to ensure crew loyalty, but they always seemed to rub me precisely the wrong way. Maybe I simply needed more exposure to them? Most of my contact with them so far involved them shooting at me after all. I was also spending more time away from my crew than I usually would, I’ll need to fix that sooner than later.

  The hatch opens to reveal a slightly nervous looking Adjutant Captain and an escort of arms-men. I give the man a nod: “Permission aboard?”

  “Of course, sir.” The man replies, training taking over.

  I take my step over the border of the two ships before exchanging a salute and handshake with the man. We quickly begin moving along to the chosen meeting room as I inspect the ship. Clean hallways, pleased looking crew, bored arms-men. Good. I nod to myself in appreciation of a well run ship.

  We reach the doors to the chosen meeting room after a brisk walk, the doors opening as we finish our approach to reveal Vice Admiral Sykes.

  “Fleet Admiral Dericote.” The man grumbles.

  “Vice Admiral Sykes, a pleasure to see you.” I reply easily before offering my hand, which he takes.

  We both enter the meeting room, our entourages waiting outside to ensure a modicum of privacy for this … matter worthy of negotiations. We make it to the round table and sit opposite one another, a carafe of water equally distant, yet to the side of us with two glasses beside each of its sides. It might make a pretty picture.

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  “I’d like to start these talks by thanking you for allowing me aboard.” I begin.

  Sykes rolls his eyes before he speaks: “Whatever you’re doing, I’m interested.”

  “Pardon?” I ask.

  “The disappearing supply depots, the new ships, the Fleet. The supplies coming in from the Core. Whatever it’s leading up to, I want in.” Sykes says.

  “Well … let’s just start with the Fleet and go from there?” I request.

  “Fine. I’ll take the promotion to Admiral and the second in command post of the Fleet, as long as it’s as decentralized as you promised. I can hardly do all the admin and security work I’m doing for your Tionese worlds if I’m joined at the hip to your 120th.” Sykes begins

  “Which I fully understand and willingly offered for a reason.” I reply, “Then that is agreed. We’ll see about getting your promotion finalized within the month.”

  “And?” Sykes needles.

  “How did you realize depots were disappearing?” I ask as I continue typing out the updated draft to request Sykes’s promotion and his formation’s integration into a new fleet.

  Sykes rolls his eyes: “I’m not an idiot, sir. I kept track of every depot and stockpile I ever supplied my men from in case I had to tear them open and loot them during a campaign.”

  I frown: “A private datapad then?”

  “Got it in one.” Sykes acknowledges.

  I frown, at least it wasn’t Imperial Intelligence or the ISB: “I doubt you’d willingly delete said information.”

  “Damn right about that.” Sykes confirms.

  “Annoying.” I mutter, “To answer your questions … I would ask my own.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Wasn’t the Republic far more efficient?”

  “In certain ways it was, less efficient in others. Definitely less overbearing though and I know you’ve been running some kind of interference to spare us from the worst of the Empire’s oversights thanks to your Intelligence friends. It’s been difficult keeping my buddies from back home out of trouble with all the new checks we need to have done. Stifling trade and merchant activity it is.”

  “You can say that again. My brother’s average time at customs has quadruppled over the last couple months.” I agree.

  “And to think that’s with having a father as the leader of the planetary security force.”

  “That ain’t always a benefit.” I complain mildly, “Fondor’s been hit hard by merchant and production supervision.”

  “So your Fondorians will be loyal?”

  “As loyal as a mudpuppy.”

  “I don’t know what that is.” Sykes complains.

  “They’re as loyal as a Spook.” I clarify.

  “Well that’s something good about Spooks, they’re loyal if nothing else.”

  “Aren’t you and Green friendly?”

  “Guy freaks me out something awful whenever he gets invested into his intel. So what, you’re gonna try and fight the Empire? You’re more insane than I thought.” Sykes says.

  I hesitate, he seemed eager: “Didn’t you say you were interested?”

  “I sure am.” Sykes acknowledges, “Doesn’t mean I don’t think your mad for it. How long have you been preparing for this?”

  “Since the Empire was declared, maybe even before that.” I admit, “We will probably be called on in less than a month.”

  “That quick? You work fast.”

  “Who ever said I worked alone?” I reply with an evil grin.

  “You’re crazy, but I guess this is a crazy galaxy we live in. You’ll have me and mine if you call for us.” Sykes says.

  “Maker bless us scoundrels at heart.” I reply as I pull out my breast flask and pull over the two glasses, pouring the flask’s contents evenly into the glasses, sliding one over to Sykes and raising a toast.

  “To us scoundrels.” Sykes replies to the toast with an evil grin. The glasses clink and the amber liquid splashes from both glasses before returning to their origins.

  I look out into the void as the first ships are spat out of hyperspace. One by one, first the Dreadnoughts, the command model of the Tapani taking point, then the Hammerheads, then the Carracks and Nebulons, then the various corvettes and Peltas. I take an offered pair of macrobinoculars to get a better look at the ships.

  I frown once I zero in, they were all modern, but clearly the last months hadn’t been particularly kind. The Ghorman ships needed repairs, likely from fighting off pirates, and the Tapani ships needed new paintjobs. I could make out the sigils painted onto them from miles away, The goat skull over the fires of an orange sun of the Reena, the hand gripping a flaming sword over a black sun with that weird caricature of a harpy of the Cadriaan, and finally the over-complicated mess focusing on an icebird flying over a yellow sun that was the Pelagia.

  Yeah I don’t care if they’ll throw a fit, those will need some repainting, maybe I can meet them halfway by allowing the centerpieces of their house sigils to remain. I turn to an exasperatedly expectant looking Mi-Kus with my orders: “Prepare the hangar bay to welcome the various busy bodies we’re about to add to the Fleet. Rally my Commodores and get Sykes and his get on the line. It’s a pity we won’t have everyone in person, but at least Mon Cala herself can bare witness to her defenders growing in number.”

  “Understood, sir.” Mi-Kus replies easily.

  “I’ll keep watch for a bit longer. Hursk, you’ll have the bridge while the Adjunct Captain and I gather the officers for the official activation of the Fleet.” I order.

  “Roger that, sir.” The Adjutant Commander replies.

  I return to watching the ships assemble into a half decent formation. It needed work. I frown. Looks like I’ll be drilling everyone with live fire exercises and formation flying. Maker knows the newcomers might be good section of squadron fighters, but larger formations require more coordination.

  The first shuttle leaves the slowly approaching formation, then another and another. After a moment I counted four shuttles racing towards my formation. One for the Tapani, one for the Ghormans, one for the Herglic and one for my fellow countrymen. I was surprised the Tapani nobles decided to share, the stuckup bastards usually were rather sore about their ships being commanded by a rival house. I guess the war made those three at least play nice.

  “Alright, Hursk, you’ve got the bridge. Mi-Kus, if you’d follow me.”

  “My pleasure.” My Adjunct Captain says.

  “Understood, my bridge.” My Adjutant Commander adds.

  It’s a leisurely enough march through my ship, Luis joining us along the way with a yawn and Faxe, Miller and Hugh joining just us just before the elevator while quietly discussing something. Everyone shuts up rather quickly after the usual informal greetings as we ride down the elevator to the hangar bay.

  The first shuttle begins its landing procedures as we exit, chosen sailors, arms-men, techs, pilots and engineers already standing at attention to greet the new officers and for the ceremony soon to begin. Colonel Solo greets us with a snap salute before falling in, her Starfigther Corps black uniform standing out quite well when compared to the rest of us in Navy gray of the flag officers.

  The shuttle lands, her ramp lowering for two dozen arms-men and sailors to descend, all dressed in Navy grays or the black of a navy arms-man, the only distinguishing features on their uniforms being the various house sigils stitched onto their arms below the Imperial cog. I suppress a sigh as the first of three officers descends the ramp, those patches would need to be removed too, last thing a military needs is arbitrary divisions.

  The first officer, a woman wearing her curly hair in a bun stops at the edge of the ramp before turning to Mi-Kus: “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Granted.” Mi-Kus replies.

  The officer and her associates finish their descent, the lead officer now having a smile plastered onto her face as she salutes me, which I return easily, her counterparts doing much the same as I continue to return their salutes.

  “I would be Commodore Quinn Tavitz, Baroness of House Reena, third cousin once removed to our High Lord Galen Panos and Captain of the Bellicose.” She introduces herself.

  “Fleet Admiral Dericote, of the Dericote, Brevet Junior Moff of the Greater Tion and North East Slice Regional Commands. It is a pleasure.” I reply with a nod.

  The officer to her right speaks up next, a beanstalk of a man: “I would be Senior Captain Atreus Paddox, of House Pelagia, second in line to the Lordship of the world Obellia, cousin of High Lord Theus Paddox.”

  “A pleasure.” I reply easily.

  The final officer speaks then, a healthy man with a fine mustache and his hair slicked back into a pony tail: “And I would be Captain Ajax Wennel, Knight of House Cadriaan.”

  “A pleasure.” I repeat as their shuttle is replaced by the next, “Would you perhaps stand to my right so I may greet the next group of officers?”

  “Our pleasure, sir.” The Baroness replies before the three and their entourage slot themselves into one of the planned gaps. That was some quick thinking from Luis there, it would have gotten crowded up front rather quickly, especially as the second shuttle’s hangar door lowers to reveal a purposefully meandering Herglic.

  “Permission aboard, sir?” The lumbering sea-mammal requests slowly.

  “Permission granted,” Mi-Kus says.

  The Herglic continues the charade of slowly walking down the ramp before saluting me: “Commodore Knuloch, at your service, master of these stars.”

  “I thank you, master of ye ships.” I fall easily into the traditional greetings of an old neighbor of mine.

  “I see your progenitor did not lie.” The Herglic continues slowly as his four fellow Herglic and two Humans follow their commanding officer down the ramp at a more expectant pace. Three of the Herglic were engineers, the other was an arms-man, one of the men was another arms-man and the final sailor under Knuloch’s command was a young faced Lieutenant in Navy grays.

  I openly roll my eyes as I smile: “I am glad I do him justice. I would ask your party takes postings to my party’s left so we may allow the next party to descend their ramps.

  “Of course, master of these stars.”

  “I am glad to see your people here, master of ye ships, their absence has made an impression on my soul these last years.”

  “Then may the absence be lifted.” The Herglic replies before slotting himself and his party beside us.

  “Always nice to see them about.” I hear Luis mutter as the next shuttle lands.

  “It is impressive that you see so few of them outside of the Rimma.” I reply as the shuttle’s ramp descends to reveal a jovial looking Ghorman man, a well groomed beard and a Ghorman silk sash making his people more obvious than the Herglic beside me.

  “May I enter this fine vessel?” The Ghorman asks.

  “With pleasure.” Mi-Kus replies, the Ghorman quickly stepping down, his escort following quickly.

  “I have the honor of being Senior Captain Jean of Ghorman’s fine citizenry and her 1st Defense Section and may I say it is a pleasure to make your honored acquaintance.”

  “You may say so, and may I return the favor in extolling my pleasure at making your acquaintance?” I ask in turn.

  “It would make me overjoyed for the honored Fleet Admiral to do so.” The man replies with a small bow.

  “Wonderful, wonderful. I am Fleet Admiral Dericote of Fondor’s first people and it is a great pleasure to know you, Senior Captain Jean.” I reply with a small bow of my head and a quickly practiced gesture of my right hand inwards towards my chest, the Ghorman’s eyes lighting up in the process and quickly echoing the movement with far more poise. It was a good thing I brushed up on the Ghorman’s formal greetings, they were annoyingly convoluted, I’d rather try my chances of speaking Herglic drunk or trying to learn Hutteese again.

  “Wonderfully done, son of Dericote.” The Captain says.

  “Thank you, Senior Captain, though I must sadly request you and your party find yourselves slotted to my right as I greet my kinfolk.”

  “It is of no bother to me and mine, such reunions are very important we understand.” The Ghorman says with mirthful eyes and a sly smile.

  Just then the final shuttle finishes its landing procedures, thudding down gracefully. I could easily tell the damn thing had had a few pleasant trips down to Fondor as there was still a layer of sand on its landing pads. I could already the aneurysm the Hangar Commander would have at trying to get rid of Fondorian sand.

  The ramp lowers to reveal a man in new navy grays wearing a winglizard leather swordsman’s cape, a Fondorian style officer’s cap in our beloved tan and brown, and a hunting knife. The man speaks with an unapologetic Fondorian accent: “Permission to come aboard, sir?”

  “Granted.” Mi-Kus says, suppressing a sigh at another Fondorian officer he’d need to keep track of.

  The man finishes his descent as a group of Navy arms-men and sailors, all of them also wearing the Fondorian style officer’s cap join him. I quickly recognize each of their postings, the arms-men with their red bands, the techs with their black bands, a Signal Corps officer with a blue and white band, a medic with the blue of water and a Lieutenant with the sailor’s and soldier’s brown.

  “Sir, I’m High Commodore Dafavid Luxerite of Fondor’s Planetary Defense Fleet, now Rear Admiral of the Imperial Navy and, by your leave, Commanding officer of the 587th Battlegroup, 222nd Colonies Cruiser Squadron and my flagship the Gator’s Fury.” The man says easily.

  “A pleasure to hear. I welcome you to my Little Revenge and would enjoy hosting you and all the new officers today once the ceremonies have completed.”

  “I would enjoy that.” The man replies, eyes sparkling slightly at the promise of good food, free booze and decent enough company.

  “I would ask you and your men to slot yourselves into the formation.” I request.

  “With pleasure, sir.” My fellow citizen says, giving his men a quick gesture for them to fall in line.

  I take the opportunity to spin on my heels, passing through my subordinates and gesturing for the new officers to fall in line as we march towards the raised platform. I decide to take the stairs this time, easily climbing the steps one by one, officers on my heels and forming an orderly line behind me as I finish my approach to the podium.

  I clear my throat a moment as the holograms of Sykes and his Commodores appear among the line of my flag officers. Then finally I speak: “Attention. Attention. Attention. It shall from here on be known that the 120th Battlegroup, Elite formation, epithet Slice Hussars, shall be subsumed into a new fleet. It will be joined by soon to be Admiral Sykes’s 382nd Battlegroup and the recently reformed 587th Battlegroup. Together these three formations will be known as the 9th Irregular Fleet. It has been decreed that I, a Fleet Admiral of the Navy, son of Fondor and officer of our state, shall lead it. Vice Admiral Sykes, master of the 382nd, shall be appointed second of the new formation, Rear Admiral Luxerite, master of the 587th, shall be made third in command. Three cheers for the State, three for the Navy and three more for our 9th Irregular!”

  The room echoes with nine huzzahs as I salute the men.