Queen&Marquesa, Executioner&Cataphract

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 9: Pains of the Past, Portents of the Present, part II

She suddenly felt a tender touch upon her shoulder as someone spoke, the voice...familiar...

"Hold on, Il'liyanav..." She felt a quick pinch below her ribs and the sound of compressed gasses slid through the air.  D'Aylanna gasped as relief bloomed from her ribs, the pain slowly receding like heat in a cool summer shower.

At least for a moment.

The burning agony reasserted itself but not quite to its previous intensity.  Opening her eyes, D'Aylanna looked straight into the dark, worried eyes of the man who was her father.  Glancing down, she saw that he'd injected her with a hypospray of potent poly-bacta.  Smiling tightly, tears slid down her brown cheeks.  "...thank...you..."  Suddenly she inhaled.  "...A'Nyikka...need to...go after..." Her eyes darted around frantically.

He glanced over her head.  "Do not worry about her, Il'liyanav.  You need to get to the med-bay secreted in your royal apartments.  Now."  He gestured to his hand, one of D'Aylanna's vibroblades held firmly.  "I've a plan: I will take care of A'Nyikka and meet you in your rooms.  Then we can take my ship and escape from all...this."  He then stared directly into her eyes, an odd look on his face.  He pressed something in her hand.  "Take one of my comms, just in case.  As soon as you've recovered enough in the med-bay, unlock the biometric lock using some of your epithelial cells."

Nodding, D'Aylanna steeled herself, willing her body to rise, her legs to walk, V'vako's arms wrapped around her protectively.  A large pool of blood stained the once-green lawn at her feet, her once golden slippers now red.  She kept her left hand balled up and pressed against her stomach to staunch not only the flowing blood but also to keep the viscera from falling out.  ...Don't think about it... She told herself, bile rising in the back of her throat.  She looked up at the only person she trusted implicitly.  "...Thank you...Father..." She whispered.

For the first time in his long life, V'vako's face was absent any mask.  Smiling, he gently kissed D'Aylanna's forehead.  "Be safe...Daughter." A note of finality hung within the air between them, a fact that D'Aylanna only later recognized. 

Without so much as a backwards glance, he ran after A'Nyikka deep within the Fountain Palace, D'Aylanna's vibroblade gripped tightly in his fist.

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Inasmuch that the entire Fountain Palace was celebrating, there were actually very few people in the many hallways themselves.  Serendipitous for the lone shadowed figure that half-glided, half-trudged across the marble floors and columns silently in soft, blood-soaked slippers.  And if anyone saw, they would just assume that it was just someone else who'd drank to excess celebrating Deliverance Day.

As the door opened to admit the lone person in the hall, drops of blood began to pool on the floor as the teenage girl leaned heavily upon the wall.  Even as her head rested upon her forearm, her eyes kept constant vigil along both sides of the hallway.  It was blessedly empty.  Her breathing faltering, she stumbled into her private chambers, almost colliding with the ornate Zsajhira table as she tried to get to her bed.

Or rather, what lay behind it.

Touching a button that only she knew to be there, the bed slid silently from the wall, exposing a darkened passage which led to a secure room.  Incongruous with the ornate antique furniture of her bedchambers, the saferoom was ultramodern: it had emergency rations, several blasters with primed battery packs, numerous edged weapons, and—most importantly (at least for the moment)—a fully functional med-bay.

Slapping the button to close the door, she sealed herself into the room as she fell to her knees.  Gritting her teeth, she pressed her closed fist against her abdomen to staunch the flowing blood.  Simultaneously, she coerced the Force into Healing weaves by pure strength of will.  And slowly she crawled the rest of the way to the medical pod, rising to her knees and with a final push, falling onto the table.  

Immediately activated by the tactile contact of her olive skin, the med-pod began administering triage, injecting several syringes of poly-bacta, adrenaline, and amino-chains, all with the intent to fortify the body.  The arms of the table carefully removed the blood-drenched clothes that clung to the wicked laceration that had opened her belly from hip-to-hip.  Finally, the med-pod’s droid surgeon began its work, making micro-sutures joining capillaries, nerves, and stem tissues.  She soon learned that there were limits even to anesthesia.

As waves of pain coursed through her, she knew that unconsciousness would fortunately take her.  Most injuries could be fixed if not completely repaired but she knew that this one would forever scar her.  And as the surgeon continued its work, tears of loss began to flow from her eyes.  The would-be assassin had not been able to fulfill her task but she’d killed a part of her.  She knew that no amount of skill, surgical or otherwise, would be able to repair her disintegrated womb.

But she was strong, stronger than anyone else knew.  She would cry later, a lamentation to the furies for the loss that she would bear forever.  But she would live.

Live…and no one would know of her plans until it was too late.

And as the oblivion of sleep took her, she smiled.  A'Nyikka and T'Enneri--none of her Sestranyas!--obviously did not know her.  But they would.  And they would say her name, either in reverence or in dread.

Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr, Marquesa ta’a Chume.

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The soft chiming of the chronometer in the med-bay gently awoke her, her dreams unremembered.

But she knew what had happened to her.

Looking down to her bare stomach, she saw that the flesh was whole, the thinnest of scars the only outward sign that she'd been injured.  Unfortunately, she now knew precisely what it was that T'Enneri had been talking about concerning her vibroblade; the report had been amongst the latest of her education: the Ministry of Eugenics had developed a poison that could be keyed to a specific individual where a single drop would cause a catastrophic cascade of death, first rewriting the victim's own DNA and later breaking down tissues at the cellular level.

If V'vako hadn't injected her with the poly-bacta when he had...she'd be dead, med-bay or no...

...V'vako... Her mind suddenly alert, she slowly arose from the med-couch, looking at the holo-chronometer, but it wasn't so much the time that surprised her but rather the date.  Several days had passed.  That in and of itself wasn't surprising; she'd been grievously injured...but V'vako should have already been here...

Trying not to give into panic, she sat up.  Besides the small clothes that she wore under her dress, she was all but naked.  Tentatively, she touched her stomach.  While it was tender there was no pain.  Deciding that doing something was better than waiting, she pushed her anxiety down and slid off of the med-couch, soft bare feet walking across the comfortably heated pristine white floor of the med-bay.

Keying open one of the hidden closets, she took out an unremarkable utilities jumpsuit, the kind present in spaceports across the galaxy along with pair of matching beige boots.  Quickly dressing, she keyed another part of the wall opening a drawer full of protein bars.  Mechanically she ate, remembering mid-chew the comm that V'vako had given her.  Kneeling where the remains of her tattered, blood-soaked golden dress lay on the floor, she rummaged through the tangled mess until she found the small, hand-held device.

That's when she saw that it was blinking.  Unnerved, she keyed the device to listen to the message.

"My daughter, I've only a short time and too much to convey so I'll be brief."  V'vako's terse voice was quiet, his breathing fast as if he were running.  "By the time you hear this, you should be recovered enough to enact my plan, one I've deliberated upon...let's just say for a long time."  She held onto ever word.  "The Queen Mother will think you dead, one more victim of assassination within House Royal, the poison having done its work.  Use that to get away from this cesspool.  Go to the visiting Jedi envoy and request asylum; no one will think of looking for you there.  Besides, I will make certain that the Queen Mother is too busy to even think about you."  For the first time in her life, she could tell from V'vako's tone that he was angry.  "I will kill A'Nyikka in front of everyone."

An icy chill ran down D'Aylanna's spine.  ...no... She pleaded, guessing what he planned.  Not only had the Queen Mother declared Deliverance Day sacrosanct but--more importantly--a man was forbidden to so much as touch a member of House Royal without her explicit permission.  To...for a man to kill a noble woman...it was...it was, well...impermissible.

Unthinkable.

But he wasn't quite finished.  "Remember everything I've taught you...and do not change from the pure spirit that not even this vile society could corrupt."  His voice became...serene.  "If I've done nothing else right in this galaxy, I die knowing that you live free."  As the message cut off, the silence that followed was deafening.

D'Aylanna thought she would break out in tears, that she would cry until her body collapsed in racking sobbing.  Instead, she felt only numbness, the inconsolable sense of irreplaceable loss something so foreign to her that she could not yet understand what it was that she was feeling.  However, it was soon supplanted by a very familiar emotion, one that utterly consumed D'Aylanna as she thought upon V'vako's sacrifice.

Rage.

To that end, she prepared.  Just as V'vako had suggested, she approached¹ the Jedi and secured passage to get the frell off of the planet and away from this accursed place. 

However, the last part was entirely of her own prerogative.  She would make certain that her Sestranyas paid.  Soon afterwards, her fury turned into something dark, something that D'Aylanna herself would've recoiled from...if she'd've taken a moment to consider.

Hate.

In between securing help from the Jedi and erasing all evidence of her survival, she wrote a particularly nasty bit of coding that would ensure that her cousins would regret ever being born.  It would effectively turn any electronic device into a trigger while any powersource would supply the detonation.  It was as brilliant as it was devious.

During the last night that she spent upon Hapes Prime, she'd used her own royal access to embed the coding virus that would spread a systems-wide infection, assuring success.

Except...

Except that it was the exact thing that V'vako himself would disapprove of.  Her finger poised over the "Enable" button, her hand wavered.  For the first time since waking in the med-bay, she really thought through what it was that she was doing.  She thought of the last thing that he had said in his message: "...Do not change from the pure spirit that not even this vile society could corrupt..."

Ringing through her ears, V'vako's words stung like an indictment instead of the praise he'd intended.  Anger--and hatred--this time at herself flooded through her mind.  Was this really what she wanted to be remembered by?  And what of those who might be like her, questioning the policies of the Monarchy and the practices of House Royal?  V'vako's face seemed to haunt her as she clamped her eyes shut, disbelieving of what she had almost done.

But it worked.

...What am I doing...?! She thought, horrified.  Yes, she was still angry, still hurting from the loss of everything that she'd considered integral in her life...but then she would think upon what V'va--what her Father, had wanted for her.

She would not betray his memory nor his sacrifice.  She did everything that she could to eliminate any trace of her enumeration, erasing everything that she could find and think about, or at least as much as her shortened time would allow.

As the Jedi envoy left, D'Aylanna secreted amongst them, she felt content that she could truly and finally leave behind the deadly machinations of House Royal, her soul intact.

However, given her time constraints, she neglected to ensure that the dangerous code she'd written was completely erased.  It would take someone with technical knowledge, a cunning mind, and no small amount of luck to stumble upon the hidden and buried coding. 

With that in hand, schemes were devised, plans put in motion, resulting in many more deaths than even the architect of such could even have guessed.

Of course, D'Aylanna knew nothing of this last part...

...At least, not yet.

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With jarring suddenness, D'Aylanna awoke, dreams remembered.  Shuddering, she could feel the weight of her past press down upon her, almost as if it were a tactile touch...

...Until she realized that something (or someone) was touching her.  Opening her both of her eyes, she received another shock: her left eye was no longer swollen nor hurting; in fact, her entire body felt better.  Looking over her shoulder (or at least as much as she could with her arms bound above her), she saw that it was T'Atyanna touching her, administering another bacta treatment.

D'Aylanna was not precisely grateful.

She knew if she was being healed it was only to ensure that she experienced that much more torture at Court.  Still, she said nothing, already knowing what to expect from her upcoming "trial."

She knew it would be nothing more than a mockery, no true justice to be found or had.  The only thing that mattered now was how well she died.

She thought of her Shakal, her daughter Jorya, her brother Rakham, her father V'vako.  The rest would be easy.

T'Atyanna paused as the ship's inertial dampers subtly shifted off, indicative of a gravity well.  Turning to face D'Aylanna, she smiled cruelly.  "We're here."  She put the last of the poly-bacta haphazardly on D'Aylanna's shoulder.  "I'm certain that the Queen Mother will want to see you as soon as possible, Sestranya."  Walking out of the empty hold, the door shut and the illumination darkened.

...How fitting... D'Aylanna mused, her gallows humor producing a small chuckle.  After everything that she'd been through, if anyone on Hapes Prime thought that they knew her, she was prepared to disabuse them, violently if need be.

She just hoped that the Maker would forgive her all her trespasses so that she might meet her Shakal in their next life.
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1: As seen in the second part of Brothers, CH.18-Friends Old&New, Then...: http://www.saberforum.com/index.php?topic=36760.msg628100#msg628100

[Lord_S_Gray]

The brutal and twisted court is on full display here are mere teenagers fight in life and death struggles over position and influence, living out their vicious culture.

I don't think anyone has ever done such an exploration of the ferocious underside of the Hapes court before, the opulence of the images painted by your words and the excellent pics in the chapter contrast so starkly with the nature of the Court, they are surrounded by refinement and elegance and yet in their hearts are vicious and amoral as Nar Shadda gang bosses.   

Even though this is D'Alyanna's tale V'vako stood out for me here, breaking so many conventions and who knows what he suffered for offending not one but ultimately two members of House Royal once D'Alyanna had escaped. 

All for his daughter in contravention to their social norms, his love for his child was his driving force - perhaps there is more to it, perhaps an elements of wanting his progeny to survive and live a life he never could as well.  They are all trapped, the women arguably no more than the men by Hapan society, and we see in Shadu Maad's massacre the price of even attempting to question it.

And now D'alyanna is back in the very heart of it, behind the Transitory mists, and there won't be any Jedi Envoys or hidden med-bays to run to this time.

Also great tie into Brothers, what a great connection you had lying dormant there now fleshed out at last!

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to LSG for the awesome planetary bio.  This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 10: A Miscarriage of Justice, part I

As the direct sunlight of the noontime Hapan sun beat down oppressively upon her brow, D'Aylanna forced herself to breath regularly, an impassive mask firmly in place as she stared at the line of hecklers that had come at the Queen Mother's behest, a "suggestion" that not one citizen would ignore lest they face the consequences of such a foolish decision.  Drenched with sweat, she wore the customary "prisoner's garb" which amounted to nothing more than a coarse chag-skin tunic, the tough indigenous amphibians renown for their craggy, serrated outer husk.  As a result, she bled freely from literally hundreds of jagged, miniature lacerations, her sweat making each one itch and sting painfully.

Of course, that was the idea.

After making planetfall, D'Aylanna had been taken from T'Atyanna's gunboat, the Lupus Dei, now fully healed and down within the bowels of the Ministry of Rendition's Tribunal of Illumination.  There she was stripped, dressed in the chag-skin tunic, and bound to one of the matte black public pillories, the large "X" frame stretching her arms and legs painfully as she hung several centimeters above the ground.  There she would stay for the customary 63 hours--one for each monarchal planet representing the Consortium's Parliament--bound, gagged, and humiliated.

In accordance with the Queen Mother's wishes, an entire queue stretched back more than a kilometer in order to participate in D'Aylanna's punishment.  For each citizen, it was part of their civic duty to bear witness to dissidents who would threaten the security of the Consortium.

Among other things.

Women were encouraged to slap her, men to spit, and children to throw refuse.  That, combined with the sweltering heat of the day, the biting chill of the night, the constant stress of her position, and hunger and thirst was usually enough to cow any recalcitrant individual, breaking them well in advance of the 63 hour timetable.

However, D'Aylanna was made of sterner stuff, each and every time staring down any and all that approached her, regardless if they slapped, spit, or soiled her.

Instead, while the diminutive woman hung upon the pillory, sweat- and blood-soaked in nothing but a sack, she looked more regal than any of the other women in attendance...including those from House Royal (if not the Empress herself). 

It was quite the trick, T'Atyanna had to admit.  Part of her was impressed; she'd seen strong men and even stronger women broken by the mere sight of the pillory.  D'Ayl...Il'liyanav had not even made a single sound.  Even now she continued her silent opposition, her convictions never once wavering.

Then she remembered her sister A'Hgniya...

She had to admit to giving into her hatred then, ignoring the line of people as she rushed at the prisoner, using her fists to pummel the smaller woman's body and face.  But not one moan, grunt, or groan had escaped from D'Aylanna's gagged mouth. 

And the Queen Mother had noticed.

There was no respite while D'Aylanna was suspended upon the pillory: no food, no water, no breaks, no mercy.  Many simply died of either exposure or (more likely) thirst.  T'Atyanna had worried about that precise possibility; she'd seen it happen more than a few times.

But the 63 hours were now up.  Now the actual trial would begin, and T'Atyanna was ready.

With precise alacrity, a dozen Royal Guardsmen under the auspices of three Justrixes, made their way through the gathered crowds, approaching the small, bound woman.  As the Guardsmen brandished their rifle-glaives leveling them at the prisoner, two of the Justrixes released the binders securing D'Aylanna's wrists and ankles while the third undid the gag in her mouth.  Unceremoniously she collapsed to the ground, her chag-skin tunic tearing into her already maimed back.

But after a moment she miraculously held her head upright, her disheveled appearance unable to hide her dignified aura.

Again, the Queen Mother had noticed.

Grabbing the diminutive woman by her arms, the Justrixes then half-dragged, half-marched D'Aylanna through the wide open avenues of the Cathedral of Illumination, large, rectangular columns 85 meters in height towered above the people who clambered to catch sight of a rarity: a member of House Royal--indeed, a former Marquesa!--being put to the Question.  Such was the machiavellian insidiousness behind Ta'a Chume's decision that all citizenry should bear witness to the Queen Mother's supremacy.

Almost 30 years ago during the Uprising, there had been several public trials but never one where the entirety of Ta'a Chume'Dan was required to attend, much less that the guilty party was the former Queen Mother's daughter...and the current Queen Mother's half-sister.  But when Empress Ni'Korish died under suspicious circumstances in which many whispered that her own daughter, Ta'a Chume Selav'A Vih'Torr, had arranged the assassination, the new Queen Mother had (not) coincidentally effected sweeping changes to the Consortium's laws and their enforcement, creating the Ministry of Rendition to deal with any and all dissidents, criminals, and undesirables. 

To that end, it was Ta'a Chume herself that had implemented the brutal punishment--as well as all attendant details such as the mandatory witnesses--to ensure the loyalty (or at the very least supplication) of the more than one trillion Consortium citizens.

What she didn't count on was D'Aylanna's resolve.  Half dead from thirst, hunger, exposure, and tissues strained beyond their limits, the small woman was nevertheless a bastion of serenity, inner strength, and resolve.

And, as it was said, the Queen Mother had noticed.

           <<<<< >>>>>



In a noticeable--and unprecedented!--turn of events, the Justrixes did not lead D'Aylanna to one of the many Ministry of Rendition's Questioning Gibbets (where the prisoners would be hanged...only to be revived...and repeated several times), but rather led her directly to the Solar Basilica where the Queen Mother sat upon the massive and resplendent Elysian Throne, one of three; the other two "Elysian Thrones" were housed in the Grand Cathedral of the Fountain Palace and within the Empress' Feretory on her mobile space-palace, the Star Home.

Regardless, all three were identical, as daunting as they were magnificent.

Much like the Queen Mother herself.  In fact, the only person in the entire crowded Solar Basilica who matched Ta'a Chume in gravitas was none other than D'Aylanna herself, prisoner or no.

As the Justrixes strode up to the looming, scintillating throne, each 25 meter "ray" of sunlight fabricated from pure aurodium adorned with multiple rainbow gemstones, they could feel the awesome presence of the woman whom was worshipped throughout the Consortium as Divinity given Life.  They--indeed almost every single citizen--would do whatever the Queen Mother commanded them.  If she pronounced that D'Aylanna's throat be cut, the Justrixes would do so immediately; if she demanded the woman's heart served on a platter, the Justrixes would present the bloody organ on one of the royal salvers; if she hinted that the Justrixes kill themselves, they would do so willingly and unhesitatingly.

Stepping before the immense throne, they threw their prisoner to the floor before shoving her face into the ground while supplicating themselves in the presence of her most august person, Empress Ta'a Chume, Queen Mother of the Hapes Consortium, Divinity given Life, may Her Radiance illuminate eternal!

As one, the entire gathered crowd genuflected before her, tapping their foreheads to the beautifully veined marble lining the floor as the soaring columns stood as silent, immovable sentinels as if to protect all beneath them, the very heart of the Consortium within the ancient concourse making up the Tribunal of Illumination.

With a delicate hand the Queen Mother made a sign of benediction, her tone equal parts imperturbably serene and aloofly imperious.  "Peace, Children.  May you always bath in the Light."  Her youthful, gorgeous, cherubic face was kind; her cunning, intelligent, emerald eyes cruel.  With deliberate intent she turned her attention towards the bloody, soiled, and moribund small heap that was D'Aylanna as she stared defiance at the Queen Mother, silent and unbroken.

The Queen Mother's blue lips turned up at the corners.  Quietly she spoke.  "Welcome back, Sestranya."  Her eyes drilled into D'Aylanna's who, although she panted heavily from torture, gave as good as the Queen Mother.  Slowly pivoting her head upon a delicate neck, the Empress intoned more loudly, "Who has brought this criminal before us to face Justice?"

From her place among the Justrixes, T'Atyanna stepped forward.  Gone was the black, armor-mesh utilities jumpsuit; in its place was a gleaming, flowing pearlescent dress embellished with thread-of-gold, aurodium medallions adorning her forehead, ears, crown, and throat (the jewelry indicative of her status as Marquesa-apparent).  "I have, Ereneda." She said solemnly.  Kneeling a second time, she bowed low before raising back to her slippered feet.  "I, T’Atyanna Lean’nev Irell’A Vih’Torr, have brought the woman, Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr here to stand trial within the Tribunal of Illumination, as is proper."

The Queen Mother fully smiled this time.  "It is." She pronounced.  "Marquesa, read the indictment against this woman."

T'Atyanna bowed at the neck.  "Your will, Ereneda."  She held up a sleek, glasslike datapad before posturing theatrically as she addressed the entire assemblage.  "The woman, Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr is accused of cowardice..." This was expected, no one making a sound from the gallery.  "...Treason..." Some murmuring now circled the crowd, a quiet yet persistent thrum echoing within the Basilica.  "...And finally...fomenting gender equality!"  Shouts of pure outrage rang out from amongst the citizenry, primal screams of contempt and disgust.  Someone started chanting, a low cadence at first...

"Apostate!  Apostate!  Apostate!"

Soon it was repeated and picked up by the attending citizenry, an allegation that first slithered through the crowd...

"Apostate!!  Apostate!!  Apostate!!"

It rose upon high to reverberate throughout the entire Basilica, shaking even the ancient marble columns that seemed tall enough to hold the sky itself aloft...

"Apostate!!!  Apostate!!!  Apostate!!!"

It was as if all of Hapes Prime had gathered under the dignified majestic columns of the Tribunal of Illumination intent to bring down upon the prisoner's head the very heavens of the Consortium itself, the full weight of its 63 Parliamentary Worlds, even its lesser, non-member planets (such as the Rifle Worlds), and and all locations cloistered safely apart from the galaxy at large, all the dominion under the banner of the Throneworld of Hapes Prime...

Or perhaps, more appropriately, she who was Divinity given Life.

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[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for yet another awesome job with the rendering of the Queen Mother!  This chapter is dedicated to him  
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Chapter 10: A Miscarriage of Justice, part II

"Cowardice..." T'Atyanna's voice rang throughout the Basilica, the enormous columns reflecting her words in an odd echoing pattern as each syllable was reinforced a second later by the doppler effect.  "...The prisoner renounced her goddess-given duty to ensure that the fittest survived to lead our Consortium into the future.  Had I not apprehended her, she would still be hiding within the galaxy at large."

Some hissed at the accusation, their judgmental gazes directed towards D'Aylanna...yet any that met her eyes would turn away from the intensity of her stare.  But there was more.

"Treason..." T'Atyanna spat the word, righteous anger radiating from her.  "...The prisoner betrayed our Queen Mother in the dereliction of her role as Marquesa, allowing our enemies to sow the seeds of division within our Consortium."

D'Aylanna could not stop herself from rolling her eyes.  The only "division" in the Consortium was a direct result of the misandrist culture that had been stoked by House Royal since the defeat of the original Lorell Raiders almost four millennia ago.  Of course, such entrenched beliefs were readily accepted as nothing less than the unvarnished truth, regardless of monumental evidence to the contrary.

Such was the power of the Queen Mother.  But there was more still.

"But by far the worst: inciting unrest for the express purposes to propagate...gender quality!"  Striding over to where D'Aylanna had collapsed, T'Atyanna grabbed her midnight blue hair in her fist, both women staring at one another with hard, dark eyes.  "The prisoner colluded with the former 1st Provost Armorer of House Royal, Sur V'vako Saquinn, to assassinate the then Queen Mother, Empress Ni'Korish!"  Releasing D'Aylanna's hair, she wiped her hands together as if to clean them.  "It was only by the grace of the Luminous One, A'Nyikka Linvel Kayl'A Vih'Torr and by her sacrifice that their treachery was thwarted!"

T'Atyanna shouted the last, her tone ending on a triumphant note, silencing the stunned audience in attendance.  They stared from the Marquesa-apparent, to the prisoner, to the Queen Mother, and back again in awe.  Everyone saw as D'Aylanna began to shake, her shoulders slowly heaving up and down, her face hidden as her head sank to the floor.  T'Atyanna shared a smile with the Queen Mother.  But only for a moment.

Laughter shattered the silence that had followed T'Atyanna's allegations, a throaty, harsh sound that frightened many within the crowd.  Even the Justrixes seemed taken aback.

As she continued, D'Aylanna's laughter descended into a scornful tone, her dark eyes accusatorily burning everyone with her withering gaze.  Only the Queen Mother seemed unaffected.

"You gullible fools..." D'Aylanna's raspy voice was surprisingly strong as it echoed within the Basilica.  "The Dowager Ni'Korish was never in danger from Sur V'vako Saquinn; his dagger was for A'Nyikka alone...A'Nyikka, the same woman who attempted to kill me."  She rose to her knees and lifted the chag-skin sack, exposing her stomach.  Even after all this time, she still possessed the thin but conspicuous scar that ran from hip to hip upon her brown skin, all thanks to the specialized poison that had nearly killed D'Aylanna almost 3 decades ago.  "Proof of the validity of my words."

No one doubted her; they knew about the Ministry of Eugenics' sordid "successes" precisely because the poison had been outlawed shortly thereafter (not out of some sense of altruism but rather due to how dangerous the toxicant was).

More importantly, though the people in the crowd did not doubt D'Aylanna's claim, now at least some felt trepidation about the accusations as a whole.

And it did not go unnoticed.

T'Atyanna mentally pivoted.  "...Yes, but it is also proof of your views on gender-equality.  How...blasphemous that a man should dare lay hand upon a woman, moreso one of House Royal!"  But she wasn't finished.  "Regardless of the events leading to such, you sided with a man against your own Sestranyas!"  Everyone could see the fury transform T'Atyanna's face while she stabbed an accusatory finger at the smaller woman.  "In fact, before you ran away, did you not deliberately write a deadly code with the intent of killing those same Sestranyas?!"

Still kneeling upon the marble floors, D'Aylanna closed her eyes, shoulders sagging for a different reasons this time.  "...I did." She admitted, her quiet voice dripping with shame.

Now that she had the nexu by the reins, T'Atyanna fully committed.

"All for a program that you enabled, one responsible for killing my own sister!" She roared, her eyes suddenly watery from unshed tears.

D'Aylanna looked up from underneath her brow, her face completely transforming, all traces of chagrin burned away by the sudden deep-seated anger that everyone saw blossom upon her face.  "No." She raised her head, back ramrod straight.  "I did not.  I may have written the code but I never implemented it.  In fact, I tried to erase it."

And again there was doubt.  But for T'Atyanna, it made her livid.

"Do you expect for me to believe that?!" T'Atyanna grabbed the front of the chag-skin sack, pulling the smaller woman towards her.  Now everyone could see--most especially the Queen Mother--just how unsettled she was.  But before anyone else could speak, D'Aylanna answered her.

"I do not care if you believe me or not; I admit to my sins, but only those.  Look elsewhere for the real culprit that killed your sister."  Her voice was ice, D'Aylanna's face radiating her convictions.

Furious, T'Atyanna balled her fist intent upon beating the truth from the prisoner, yet a small doubt buried in the back of her mind began to grow.  Mercilessly, she crushed it under the weight of her enraged sorrow and cocked her arm back as if to smite the object of her anger.

"STOP!"

The Queen Mother's voice boomed throughout the Basilica, stopping everyone dead in their places.  As she scanned the enormous chamber, her keen emerald eyes harder than quadranium, the entire assemblage withered under her gaze.  Finally, she glanced at T'Atyanna.  "Daughter, you will restrain yourself, else I shall have you removed."

Visibly, T'Atyanna's anger began to slowly cool.  Turning from the prisoner, she faced the Queen Mother, first kneeling respectfully and then bowing as low as she possibly could.  "Your will, Ereneda."  Her face remained fixed upon the floor.  However, for those who were near enough they noticed that her hands bled from where she'd buried her fingernails in her palms.

With a knowing, cold bent to her gaze, the Queen Mother settled back onto the Elysian Throne.  She opened her mouth to speak again when a low rumbling sound rolled through the chamber, the thunderous noise enough to elicit worries screams from several people.  It was quickly followed by a quick ground jolt, strong enough to knock a few to the floor.  

As the dust settled, people looked around to see if any of the columns had cracked.  Silently, blessedly, none of them had.  Before anyone spoke, a device built into the Elysian Throne chimed.

"What has happened?  Respond." The Queen Mother demanded.

"Apologies, Empress..." The woman's voice that answered was shaken but otherwise concise.  "Ereneda, your august body's generator for planetary shields has been sabotaged!  They've been completely destroyed!"

Panicked murmurs broke out within the Basilica, people looking around with terrified expressions.  But not the Queen Mother.

"BE SILENT." Her command was immediately obeyed.

...Until the next sentence.

"Ereneda!  Several dozen ships have dropped out of hyperspace and have attacked our navy!" The woman's voice was awash in unfeigned panic, a contagion that swiftly spread amongst the crowd.  And then the next words sent them into frenzy.

"We are under attack!"

[Lord_S_Gray]

D’Alyanna does amazingly well to keep herself dignified despite the elaborate punishments already inflicted.  It’s quite clear how much of the Consortium is all about ceremony and public displays of obedience, grandeur, from the extraordinarily described elaborate throne and outfits of the Queen mother and nobility to the extreme of the public punishment, appearances are everything…and yet nothing – for all those bowing their heads to the Queen mother you can be sure the vast majority would take the first chance to unseat her.

The nature of the charges against D’Alyanna are telling in this regard, its not really killing anyone that is the problem (murders being common place among the nobility) it’s the breaking of the Hapan social conventions and taboos that are the crimes she is arraigned for, running away from the cutthroat society, tangentially going against the matriarchal power structure, that the crowd chants ‘Apostate’ is the clear indication that those are the true offences – T’atyanna may care for avenging her sister, but no one else really does.

And now a surprise attack, guess all eyes were on the Trial, but still, not sure who would be able to pull that off, look forward to finding out!

Metanote: Great images and imagery in this chapter, said it before but the depth of the Hapan society you’ve created, in terms of its physical characteristics and its institutions , society and populace is incredible, familiar enough to feel realistic but twisted enough to feel very uniquely Star Wars. 

[TheDutchman]

My profuse apologies to everyone!  Once again REAL LIFE got in the way of my hobby    SO: my thanks to all of you who've continued reading Zearic&Co.
This chapter is dedicated to all of you 
**************************************************************************************

Chapter 11: Commensurate Reprisals, part I

In the false night they came, the reflected light of the moons ensuring that "night" was never so dark as an over cast day (and a fairly mild one at that).  It suited their purposes, their craft's cloaking system and false transponder able to fool all but the most diligent of scrutiny.

Not that they need worry.

After all, for centuries no foreign entity had penetrated the Transitory Mists, much less the Throneworld itself.  But neither had anyone before possessed the knowledge--and, more specific, the exact astrometric coordinates--to so much as think of an assault within the Consortium, much less actually attempt it.

They would do precisely that...that and more.

The Consortium was about to learn a most valuable lesson, one that the ancient Sith of yesteryear could attest to ad nauseam.

It was a mistake most grave to bloody the Vhal'Dan...and not finish the job.  The agents of the Consortium would learn this to their everlasting regret...

...And that even a Queen Mother's will would bend in the face of the Order's ruthless offensive.

          <<<<< >>>>>

"...And Squire Telbris..." Forewoman Denbra Aldrinn yawned, the streak of grease across her cheek doing nothing to diminish her beauty, "...Check out the sluice gate in Wastewater Allocation; something must be clogging the flow to the Canals.  Again."

"Your will, Peeress." Braj Telbris, 3rd Boy of the Engineering Lodge bowed at the neck, properly deferential and impersonal.  Just as he had been throughout his entire life, one of the reasons why he'd risen as high as he had after only 6 years.

Not to mention that next year he was up for consideration and promotion to 2nd Boy.  And he would get it.  While he'd been assigned to the Planetary Shield Generator Plant, he'd been the model male: always obeying his female betters and at the same time making himself indispensable, regardless of his position.  If he continued working hard, he had no doubt that Forewoman Aldrinn would appoint him as Supervisor of his Engineering Lodge.

Quite the feather in his cap, even if he was a man.

Making his way deeper in the Plant's inner works, the constant thrum of machinery and soft roar of water kept him company as he lazily passed his electric torch across the various datanode junctions, the large and conspicuous green lights in stark contrast to the single red console occupying the panel.  Figuring it for another dead giant chag, Braj sighed loudly.  He'd left his heavy-duty gloves back in his locker, three floors up.

...Frell it... He decided, walking briskly towards the sluice gate down one of the larger, darkened, wet tunnels.  He grinned wryly.
 It wasn't as if his callused hands were going to be touching any of the nobles of House Royal, much less the Queen Mother--may Her Radiance illuminate eternal--herself!  Hapes Prime would go completely dark before that happened...

Not that he hadn't thought about it, imagining that he wasn't just some lowly 3rd Boy but instead a Sur Consort to one of the Daughters, maybe even the Marquesa herself!  Closing his eyes at the thought, he could imagine standing just behind--naught but a single meter instead of the three that his position required!--his princess, bedecked in the smart, crimson uniforms of the Court that all consorts wore.  He would be standing upon the same large dais below the platform upon which the Elysian Throne rested, basking in the Empress' light!

...I always wanted a sword... He thought, the ceremonial blades works of art unto themselves, beautiful and dangerous.  And it would be him, a Sur Consort, to save the females of the Court, the Queen Mother herself rewarding him with an est--

Suddenly he stopped short as the light of his electric torch illuminated the sluice gate, the water rushing through the large hole where the durasteel grating had been cut.  "What the hell...?" He whispered, dreams of House Royal evaporating like the summertime morning dew. 

He craned his neck to get a better look, the ferrocrete under his boots slick with oil and water.  With deliberate slowness, he inspected the closed gate of the adjacent canal, the unimpeded water swiftly flowing through the hole.  But...where was the obstruction?  The datanode had indicated a stoppage of some sort.  ...Dammit, I'm going to have to get into the water... He fumed.

Scoffing, he wondered if he could stretch his head towards the hole; he could hold onto the grating and lean over... His decision made, Braj clamped a hand on the grating's metal edge while he leaned towards the center of the hole, his electric torch in his other hand.  Following the faux light of the torch, he could see deeper in the canal, the water seeming to flow unimpeded outs--

He squinted his eyes.  No, that wasn't exactly right; it looked like the water was flowing...around (?) something in the middle of the causeway.  ...Something mostly submerged...? Braj guessed, wondering what would make those current patterns in the swiftly moving water.  If he could just stretch a bit further...there! 

But as he tried to extend a few centimeters more, his boot suddenly slipped upon the oily condensation on the ferrocrete ground.  His arms pinwheeling in the air, Braj yelled as he fell head over heels into the waters of the canal.

...Or rather, the crown of his head did, his short hair submerged in the waters while the rest of his body was held aloft in the air.  At the same time, his ankle felt a crushing grip around it.  But aside from that, he saw nothing.

Panic welled up within him as his conscious mind struggled to find an answer, one that seemed his superstitions would likely supply.  As his head whipped around on his neck, he tried desperately to figure out just what in the Queen Mother's hel--

Suddenly as if stepping out of thin air, an armored fist appeared around the ankle that felt the pressure.  It quickly materialized into a heavily armored arm, suit, and helmeted being, one standing right where the mystery water currents were.  ...That explains that... A small, almost miniscule part of his rational mind thought.  Of course, that was quickly overridden by the fact that a giant armored monster held him in the air.

In a flurry of movement, the armored monster jumped effortlessly from the water, bending over to gently set him down upon the ferrocrete floor.  For a second, a heavily armored arm hovered around his head when something brief but sharp pinched his neck.  Before that could properly register, Braj's eyes suddenly felt heavy, his mind sluggish.  Now that he got a full look upon the...thing that had saved him, he felt both oddly calm and anxiously worried.

It was almost 2.5 meters tall but also an extremely wide, fully armored gunmetal gray behemoth.  Where the head should've been was nothing but a smooth faceplate of quicksilver, its mirror sheen reflecting a caricature of his own face, distended and distorted. 

Before Braj's world went dark, he could've sworn that two more armored giants appeared behind the other one, if not quite so wide.  Like the technological horrors that they were, all three leaned towards him, his eye fighting to remain open even as his fear hit new heights.  He had enough time to wonder if these were daemons sent from the Deathlands of Sheol...

          <<<<< >>>>>

Triad Isk
Primus: Maenowan Olyna Ve'Reen/command, Shifalan female
Secundus: Silver Knight Zearic Vih'Torr/demolitions, human hybrid male
Tertius: Koawan Sio Harwic/slicer, human male
*****************************************************
Stepping into a fast walk, the three Cataphracts were incredibly quiet despite their bulk.  Any talking that they did was over a private channel enclosed in their sealed helmets.  "He'll be out cold for awhile." Zearic said easily despite the brisk pace.

"Very good, Zearic." Olyna's higher register was nevertheless calm and supportive.  "How long will the somnolent last?" Without breaking stride, the Shifalan maenowan consulted her suit's chronometer displayed upon the HUD¹ of her helmet.  "24 hours?"

"22, Primus." Zearic informed.  He glanced behind him to the tallest member of his Triad.  "Have you been able to slice the network, Sio?"

"No." Triad Isk's Tertius was a consummate professional, his tone was indicative of such.  "I'll need to exploit a hard point."

"I thought as much." Olyna said ruefully, sighing.  Irritating...but expected.  "Sio, what's the closest power draw?" She asked, mentally satisfied that they were on schedule.

Without so much as consulting his digital map, Sio replied, "Ahead and up almost 2200 meters, Primus." The three Cataphracts maintained their pace, their sensor suites detecting no life signs.  Not surprising given how deep underground they were.

"Very well.  Continue with stealth and Buried Presence."  But her voice became hard.  "Go 'weapons free.'  Zearic, stay on point."

"Affirmative." Both Zearic and Sio acknowledged, each Cataphract speeding to a running jog before completely disappearing.  At least visually; with their helmets polarized to filter infrared, they could see the two other members of their Triad as hotter reds amidst the cooler blues of their surroundings. 

But more importantly, they all embraced the Battle Meld of their Triad, supplementing one another, becoming more than just the sum of their parts.  It required not only experience but also--and more importantly--complete trust.  Within the Meld, they could feel each other's emotions, take strength in their unity, and rely upon their expanded senses.  Even if they'd needed to communicate, there was no reason to speak; their shared feelings did so faster and more direct.

As all three were enveloped in complete silence while they quickly covered the over two kilometer distance, their thoughts invariably elicited the events of the past. 

For Zearic, he couldn't help but think upon the last few weeks after learning everything from Strileth on Bar'Leth.  Taking the traitorous Selphi with them, he, Jorya, and the Hit Squad Sergeant Sonam Delkrys had returned to Zonama Sekot for debriefing.  After relating everything to the Council in a Closed Session, they'd been dismissed.

But only temporarily.

Within two hours, Zearic had been recalled to assist the Council due to his own familiarity with Hapan culture and the stories that his wife had told him.  Thanks to D'Aylanna, not only did he have intimate knowledge concerning the inner workings of the Consortium's military but--more importantly--he knew the correct course through the narrow hyperspace lane that transected the Transitory Mists leading to Hapes Prime itself.

But that wasn't all: because of D'Aylanna's singular knowledge of the Hapan Military Complex, Zearic was able to contribute greatly to the overall strategy, not to mention several key factors concerning the exact tactics required.  Immediately afterwards, the Congress had called for an Open Session, the Hall almost completely full harkening back to the Clone Wars.

Surprisingly--or perhaps not so much, especially considering recent events--the Council had reconvened to announce a formal Declaration of War against the Hapes Consortium.

"We will be mobilizing the First Fleet." The Arbiter stated.  That was not insignificant; there were currently the three fleets protecting the Vhal'Dan Order.  To commit a full third of that armada...

It just served to illustrate how serious the Council was.

Once the strategy and logistics had been dealt with, the Triarch had commanded that the First Troika assemble in The Den.  They'd been given an additional set of orders, these from Alcyorr himself.

Orders that they now must execute.

While the three Cataphracts didn't encounter any other people, they knew that once they ascended a couple of floors that that would no longer be the case.  Regardless, they were prepared.

Once they came to a large, open chamber they stopped.  Housed within were row upon row of antimatter containment storage, the huge cylindrical silos reaching several stories in height.  This was absolutely integral for insertion.

Instead of taking any of the lifts or even the stairs, the Cataphracts lined up below some of the railed gantries that spanned the enormous chamber above.  Once in position, they each shot a dura-cable abseiling line, the end of which would magnetically lock onto the understanchions of the gantries.  Within seconds, they had ascended from below to hang onto the metal underside, strong magnalock gloves allowing the Cataphracts to effortlessly hold tight while listening attentively.

With the nearest audible source--some bored security guards commenting upon the upcoming Trial--at least 30 meters away, each Cataphract positioned themselves on the edge underneath where the railing was most sparse.  Running point, Zearic went first.

With the aid of his power armor, he grasped the lowest durasteel rail and, hand-over-hand, quietly sprang over the top balustrade.  Eyes and sensors alert, the wide man signaled the other members of his Triad "all clear."  Within seconds, all three Cataphracts were on the move again, their objective on their floor and less than 200 meters away.

The closer they got, the more people were around.

That would be no problem.

While enshrouded in Buried Presence, each Cataphract could literally step within centimeters of someone's face and still not be detected.  Still, considering what they'd planned, stealth was required.

At least for now.

As the "Distance-to-Target" counted down on Zearic's HUD, he didn't need to consult it to know that they'd made it to their objective.  Even knowing what to expect, he was impressed by how enormous it was...

Housed within a gigantic chamber almost half a kilometer square, one of the shield generator's primary antimatter furnaces took up almost the entire space.  Just one powerplant had a mass in excess of 25 million metric tons; as much as an unencumbered Imperial II-class star destroyer.

Hapes Prime's planetary shield utilized four such reactors in concert.

However, the design was based upon schematics almost a millennium old.  It seemed that Hapan innovations had stagnated as a result of their relative safety and isolation within the Transitory Mists.  Good.  That safety had bred complacency.

...Facts that had remained secret and all-but-hidden for almost 4 thousand years.

Oh, their propulsion and hyperdrive systems were second-to-none...yet the Consortium had taken for granted the fact that they had no real adversaries; not even the Empire during its prime had been able to breach the borders.  Which, of course, was further complicated by the constant internecine conflicts that all-but-defined Hapan culture.

...Facts that D'Aylanna had told to Zearic.

Conversely for the Vhal'Dan, whom had survived literally thousands of years under the specter, threat, and reality of war, the Order's R&D section had worked tirelessly for strategic and tactical advantages.  Through the centuries of countless Clan Feuds, the New Sith Wars, the Civil War, the Troubles, and the First- & Second-Gray Jedi Wars--to say nothing of the later Galactic conflicts--the Vhal'Dan hadn't known a period of peace for longer than 50 years.

...Facts that the Consortium were about to learn to its detriment in a very short time.

While Zearic set up overwatch and Olyna consulted the Troika's Mission Parameters, Sio used his armor's nano-tech to interface with the powerplant's antiquated hardware.  The Cataphract slicer balked at the simplicity of the firewall "protecting" the planetary shield program.  "...Incredible..." He whispered.  "...why did they even bother?" His measured tones practically dripped incredulousness, one of the few times that his face showed anything other than his normally staid demeanor.

"Probably because no one has ever penetrated this far into the Cluster." Zearic said teeth grinding, his armor's targeting tracking his own eye's line-of-sight thanks to his ocular implant, his internal forearm Sulen Mark VI Gauss repeater primed at the closest targets.  However, not one person noticed them.

"Sio, how much longer?" Olyna's unhurried tone sounded somewhat distracted.  As it should be; she was mentally coordinating with the rest of the Tribus on-planet, Triads Herf and Jenth already successful at their respective tasks.  Now it was up to Triad Isk's slicer and, finally, Zearic's improvised ordnance...

"Done, Primus.  Trojan is also embedded and replicating.  Coordinating now with--ah, there." Sio's pragmatic tone showed a sliver of his approbation as warning klaxons blared throughout the complex.

"THIS IS A DRILL.  THIS IS A DRILL.  WARNING.  WARNING.  ALL PERSONNEL ARE TO EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY.  THIS IS A DRILL.  THIS IS A DRILL..."

"Easy easy." Sio's satisfied whisper made both Zearic and Olyna grin as they saw every person within the instillation slowly walk from their individual stations as they grumbled about "more useless training exercises."  Given the size of the facility, it took almost 10 minutes before the area was cleared.

Consulting his armor's sensors, Zearic then visually confirmed that there were no other people save his Triad within the huge room.  Wasting no time, he ran to the reactor's base where he searched for the primary coolant injection tube.  Reaching behind him, Zearic keyed open one of his armor's integral compartments and carefully withdrew the object within.

It was a specialized collapsium implosion device, modified from a Void-9 seismic charge.

Making certain the valve was closed, Zearic ignited his shoto, cutting a hole into the injection tube.  Carefully, he then placed the device within before resealing the pipe with precision welds from his suit's nano-torch.  Re-opening the valve, the coolant flowed into the central matrix carrying the device with it.  Utilizing powerful magnetic couplers, the device locked onto the inner furnace wall separating the antimatter chamber from the coolant bath. 

"Time to go!" He announced, already running away from the chamber, joining the two other members of his Triad as they withdrew.  A minute later they'd returned to the large open chamber where they abseiled down, hitting the ground at a run, durasteel lines automatically retracting into their armor.

Covering the almost 2 kilometers in just under 5 minutes, they returned to their entry at the sluice gate.  Unsurprisingly, the tech was still unconscious.  Without missing a stride, Zearic picked up the limp body and, fitting a rebreather upon the man's mouth and nose, he joined the rest of his Triad in the canal.  From there it was a quick "swim" through the water reclamation reservoir and a Force-assisted Jump over the 20 meter tall ferrocrete wall separating the plant from the surrounding tree thicket.  Within a minute of running through the thick forest trees, the Triad had returned to their hidden "Wraith" gunship.

And none too soon.
______________________________________________________________________________
1: HUD-Heads Up Display

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 11: Commensurate Reprisals, part II

As the final second ticked off of his HUD, Zearic felt more than heard the deep rumble in the ground under his boots and throughout the superstructure of the factory as the collapsium device detonated, vaporizing the antimatter without initiating a chain reaction as the entire reactor imploded upon itself.  Over half of the powerstation collapsed in dark clouds of wreckage and debris, erasing any evidence that the Triad had been there. 

Not only that but it would cover Sio's enumerated coding attack which had by now spread and infected any remaining reactors.  For all intents and purposes, those same reactors were now Hapes Prime's largest paperweights.  The Shield Generator Plant was completely in ruin, Triad Isk's primary mission now complete.

That, combined with the other two Triads of their Tribus, would effectively leave Hapes Prime blind, silenced, and undefended...at least in the case of their now-defunct planetary shield.

As Zearic gently placed the unconscious young man upon the ground, he propped him up upon one of the trees surrounding the Planetary Shield Generator, he and his Triad saw the immense facility shake violently before it finally collapsed in upon itself.

They all looked at their chronometers, grimly satisfied with what they saw.  Objective Aurek of Phase I had been executed successfully.  Shortly thereafter Triad Isk would rejoin Triads Herf and Jenth, the nine members of their Tribus redeploying for Objective Besh.  By then, Phase II would be fully committed.  Wrapping themselves in Buried Presence once again, they sped off to rendezvous with the other Cataphracts.

The Consortium would lament ever learning of the Vhal'Dan, much less absconding and killing its citizens.  And for the first time in almost 4,000 years, the Hapes Cluster would see the true conflagration of battle against an outside enemy and not one of its countless internal conflicts.  The Hapan people would again know visceral fear...

The Hapes-Vhal'Dan War had begun.

          <<<<< >>>>>

With the covert insertion of the Cataphract Tribus acting as the forerunners for their attack, the Vhal'Dan fleet's 4 battlegroups of 77 capital ships arrived within Hapan space completely undetected.  With any last-minute updates quickly transmitted from ship-to-ship, the fleet broke apart in order to perform their mission objectives.

Commensurate with the Order's martial strategy, the disparate ships of their battlegroups redeployed to best ensure that they not only had surprise on their side but also how best to deal with the inevitable Hapan response.

Gathered precisely 1/3000th of a lightyear from the Throneworld, the ships of the 1st Battlegroup staggered their departures according to mission parameters.  For the Vhal'Dan, it would be the first major offensive against an opponent that had drawn first blood.

For the Hapan Consortium, it would be devastating.

          <<<<< >>>>>



Commandant Renolyn Derveth stared out past the 37 other capital ships at the jewel that was Hapes Prime, the large transparasteel windows of her flagship Battledragon, The Empress' Wrath, allowing her a panoramic view that few sentients had ever witnessed, much less appreciated.

Of course, that was only proper; only citizens of the Consortium should be allowed access to the Throneworld.  ...And then only women... She mused, her distaste of the...baser sex but one of the reasons for her opinions.  Not that she was a misandrist, but in her experience women were infinitely superior.

In everything.

After all, it had been the men that had lost against the Jedi over four millennia ago, driving the then-Lorell raiders into the Transitory Mists, subsequently left to perish.  And, for a time, the survivors were staring extinction in the face.

Thankfully, the women had wrested control from their male confederates, sowing the seeds for the Consortium that she'd grew up in, a society of which to be proud of.  Women--unlike men--had unbiased clarity of thought.  It's why the Consortium had prevailed, no matter a few Uprisings or the discord of the Rifle Worlds, to become the power that it was today, surviving any and all enemies foolish enough to challenge the Queen Mother's supremacy.  They learned one universal truth:

That women were the deadlier of the species.

The Consortium thrived all because of survival of the fittest.  It had been so for 4,000 years and would continue for another 4,000, if Renolyn had anything to say about it.  Such would ensure that the best woman occupied the Elysian Throne.

If women were to follow then best to follow the strongest.

More so--now as was then--it had been the women that had propelled Hapan society forward, not only surviving within the Cluster but indeed thriving.

If women were to progress then best to do so with the smartest.

That's what made the Queen Mother a woman to be idolized, a woman to be adored, a woman to be obeyed.  She had risen to the top amidst the best of House Royal, proving to the over one trillion citizens of the Consortium that she was beyond reproach, a woman far above others, Divinity given Life.

If women were to bow then best to bow low.

High born or low, every woman knew that she would do her personal best for the benefit of the Consortium.

Renolyn was both thankful and content in her position.  A commoner, she had quickly risen through the naval ranks, distinguishing herself both to Empress Ni'Korish and then Empress Ta'a Chume.  Both times and from both women, she had received their personal commendation in recognition for her hard-earned accolades.  It was after the latest Rifle World Dispute that she was finally promoted to the lofty rank of Commandant of the Throneworld Fleet. 

However, the position not only meant that she commanded the 63 Battledragons whose sole purpose was to protect Hapes Prime but that she, as Commandant, would be given overall command and authority over any (and all) of the Consortium's hundreds of Battledragons, Nova-class battlecruisers, and Beta-class Destroyers.  In fact, should the need arise, the Commandant could press into service the Politsiya's own fleet of Strikewyverns (although she doubted that the Justrixes would do so happily).

Renolyn smiled at the thought of the Justrixes having to relinquish control of their ships; they were wound more tightly than their synth-latex uniforms.  Wryly, she wondered just how they could get dressed in such skin-tigh--

"Apologies, Commandant, but there seems to be an anomaly coming from the surface." Captain Shyldor Maldamos interrupted from behind her, the woman's normally professional tone tight.  It was unusual enough that Renolyn was immediately alert.

Turning on her heel, she followed the captain as she stepped to the Communications station, the enlisted tech trying to isolate the muddled data coming over the holonet.  "Report." The captain's clipped tone had absolutely none of its previous tension.  Good, panic was contagious and Renolyn would not suffer it from any under her command.  Silently, the Commandant weighed the Comm-tech's next words.

"Yes, Mistress.  Up to two minutes ago everything was normal.  Then: reports that an explosion had occurred in one of the Industrial Sectors.  I was attempting to confirm but then lost all communications with the surface." The tech's handsome face frowned.  "Every time I attempt to redirect a carrier signal, it first buffers and then is lost 10 seconds later." His frustration was evident but only in the undertones of his responses.  Both Renolyn and Shyldor noticed and approved.

"Perform a sensor sweep, filter for anything amiss across all broad-band comms." The captain commanded, already moving towards another three technicians.  "Search for tell-tale signs: destruction, concussion waves, fires.  Synergize with Comms to extrapolate best possible locations." 

Working swiftly, the four techs worked their computers, producing several likely coordinates via the algorithms.  Several seconds later...

"Mistress, I believe that we've pinpointed the most probable..." The tech's voice trailed off followed by a quick inhalation, his eyes going wide.  "Mistress, it's the Planetary Shield Generator plant."

Renolyn traded a look with Captain Maldamos.  "Confirmed?" Shyldor's tone was neutral but her mouth thinned.  Several seconds later, the three other techs corroborated verbally when a junior officer exclaimed--

"Mistress!  We have a visual!" Both Renolyn and Shyldor straightened, the large holoimage projected into the middle of the Command Center.

The picture consolidated into an off-color ersatz aerial view, several lines digitizing as a result of local signal jamming.  But the image was clear enough.

Several people inhaled swiftly, shock evident throughout the bridge.  The immense industrial complex of the shield generator was almost completely destroyed, more than 75% nothing more than rubble, detritus, and ruin.

"...How...?" Another officer, Lieutenant Yarwi Vudha, whispered.  But they didn't have time to contemplate further.

"Mistress, I'm picking up a bogey, bearing 000.3, carom 982.5." One of the techs informed.

"That's impossible!" Lieutenant Vudha dismissed.  "That's within the Throneworld's lagrangian space!"

The tech's eyes went from the lieutenant's to Renolyn's.  "Apologies, Mistress but I've verified with Astrogation..." The tech's tone was almost pleading, not wanting to publicly dispute his superior officer (not to mention a woman).

"Give me readings on that ship." Renolyn's voice cut through the bridge, her confidence restoring professionalism.  Standing tall with her left hand held behind her back, the Commandant scrutinized the holodisplay as it switched from the destruction of the Shield Generator to the dark image of the large capital ship as it emerged from the shadowed terminator separating night and day along the nearest moon's North Pole.  Dagger shaped and imposing, the capital ship was on a direct course towards the Hapan Honor Fleet, one vessel against 38 (the other 25 currently on the opposite side of the Throneworld).

"Sensors report vessel is approximately 2,096 meters covered in an unknown armor alloy.  Detecting multiple overlapping primary- and secondary-shields.  240 turbolaser batteries, 240 heavy turbolaser cannons, 144 ion cannons, 480 Point-defense batteries, 85 missile tubes." The tech's voice failed to contain the amazement that he felt.  Unsurprising considering everyone on the bridge felt the same way.  They'd never even heard of such a powerfully-armed ship, much less seen one.  "Detecting a massive energy reading from an unidentified interior source and rising."

Almost everyone aboard felt the cold tendrils of fear as the tech's words sunk in, each person wondering how such a ship had even breached the Transitory Mists, nevermind that it was here now in high orbit above the Throneworld.

Almost.

"...One ship?" Renolyn's voice shattered the atmosphere of fear within the bridge.  She turned her head.  "Comms: send a broad-beam signal to all Hapan capital ships around Hapes Prime as well as within the sector; they are to return to the Throneworld at our coordinates, best speed."

But the communication's officer shook her head.  "I'm sorry Commandant, we're experiencing ECM² interference blanketing the local area.  Even our line-of-sight ship-to-ship communications are barely being received."

Renolyn wasn't surprised and even had anticipated as much.  "No matter.  We've still our 38 local Battledragons against this one, suicidal ship." She gave a tight smile.  "Weapons: coordinate with the rest of the fleet for turbolaser salvos on my command."  Looking around the bridge, she saw the faces of the women (and men) relax, reassured by her confidence.

As was proper.

The bridge became a swarm of controlled chaos as each department carried out their respective orders and tasks.  As the 38 Battledragons formed up for nominal firing solutions, the single unfamiliar, massive wedge-shaped vessel continued to bear down upon the Hapan ships, the dark-gray alloy armor of the ship seemed to dissipate the light around it, the Throneworld's nearest 4 moons' albedo dimmed as well.

"Commandant, we have a firing solution with turbolasers awaiting your command." The weapons officer said succinctly.  The very air within the bridge felt electric with anticipation and growing fervor.  Renolyn felt a certain sense of pride--both in her people as well as her fleet--as she stared triumphantly at the approaching vessel.  ...Fools... She thought.  Sadly, they would die well before the Hapan Fleet could ascertain just how in the name of the Queen Mother--may Her radiance illuminate eternal--that ship had penetrated this far into the Cluster...

"All ships: Fire." Renolyn ordered.

The heavy muted thump of the battledragon's rotary turbolasers reverberated through the bridge, thick lancing beams of green plasma erupted from 38 barrels soon to be followed by another volley of 38 and another and another.

And more still.

One of the remarkable engineering feats of the Hapan Battledragon's weapons design was its rotating battery of 40 heavy turbolaser cannon bristling along the ship's upper hull, each barrel firing a single shot only to be replaced by another in quick succession.  Which was for the good given the fact that every Battledragon had only 4 targetting computers, a design flaw from yesteryear that had never been addressed or updated.

But why would it?  The Hapan Navy had never needed to do so, especially since the Consortium was all-but-impenetrable behind the protective barrier of the Transitory Mists, not to mention that any enemy ships within the Cluster had fallen easily before the Empress' Fleet.

Renolyn watched with satisfaction as volley after volley of turbolaser fire rained down upon the ship closing the distance between it and her fleet.  Some cheers erupted around the bridge as more and more turbolaser fire hit their target square on, large green flashes illuminated the holoimage centered in the large room.

"Quiet." Captain Maldamos sternly commanded, her tone more amused than anything else.  "Report."

All noise within the bridge died down as everyone waited for the inevitable news of the ship's destruction. 

Only to receive another shock.

"...Mistress...sensors indicate minimal damage to shields..." The tech's voice was incredulous.  "...Intruder's armor is not only intact but completely untouched..."

...What the frell...? Renolyn thought, her eyes narrowing.  Still, her face remained impassive.  "Weapons, you are free to engage.  Fire at will." Her command seemed to galvanize the crew as they once again went about their duties.  And, once again, the holoimage seemed to glow dull green from the amount of turbolaser fire that the Hapan Fleet pounded the incoming ship with. 

This continued for several minutes, in which time the intruder was now close enough to be visible to the naked eye, if still miniscule.  As the last of the turbolaser fire impacted against the vessel's shields, leaving a noticeable afterimage in each Battledragon's holoscreen.  When it finally cleared, every single person could not believe their eyes.

The incoming ship showed no signs of damage at all.

Renolyn involuntarily swallowed, sweat beginning to run down the small of her back.  How...how could their turbolasers be so...so...ineffective?  So weak?  So useless³?

"Mistress!  Fighters incoming!" No sooner had the tech spoken when they all witnessed several starfighters launch forth from the hidden, forward-facing hangar bay.  But that wasn't all.

"Mistress, power spike registering!" One of the Sensor techs reported, quieting the entire bridge.

"Maximum shields!  Scramble starfighters!" The captain commanded, her voice only half-heard as Renolyn's brow furrowed in consternation.  "Anymore information on that energy surge?"

"Only that it is cycling at increasing intervals..." The officer's voice trailed off, her intelligent eyes suddenly widening in both understanding...and confusion.  "Mistress...the ship is now generating a potent gravity-well across the localized area..."

...Now why would they be doing that...? Renolyn's mind worked furiously.  The Throneworld was already casting a planetary shadow 1.5 million kilometers away in space; why would anyone need a localized gravity-well?

The Commandant was still trying to come up with a working solution when warning klaxons sounded their Proximity Alarm.  "Mistress, two..no four--8 ships have emerged from hyperspace!" This time there was no mistaking the fear in the tech's voice.  The bogies had exited hyperspace practically on top of them.



"What?" Captain Maldamos' tone was now controlled fury.  "Where?"

No sooner had she asked when the tech cried, "Behind us!"  As one, everyone's eyes locked onto the holoimage of their aft visuals.

Behind the 38 Battledragons where a flotilla of 8 sleek and dangerous looking Attack Destroyers, their small size belying their deadly armament and numerous weapons-systems.  Before anyone could say anything, all 8 ships opened fire, their heavy turbolaser batteries tearing into the Battledragons' rear shields.  Several people were thrown from their feet as inertial dampers tried in vain to compensate.

"Weapons: return fire!" Captain Maldamos barked.  But same as before, the Battledragons' turbolaser fire seemed ineffectual against the unknown assailants.  "Comms: break through that jamming now!" She said tersely.

Renolyn was about to order for a tactical withdrawal but was suddenly cut off.

"Mistress: we have three...no 6 more bogies incoming!"  Everyone stared at the holodisplay as the nearest ships came into Visual Sensor range.



Renolyn blinked.  ...The hell...? Shaking her head, the Commandant worried that she was seeing things.  Perpendicular to the Hapan Fleet's position along the z-axis were half a dozen Clone Wars-era Dreadnaught-class cruisers.  Or at least it appeared at first glance; when she looked closer she could see that these were more heavily armed and armored.  They each launched a full squadron of deadly starfighters.

Then as one, they fired upon the Battledragons.
________________________________________________________________________________
2: ECM-Electronic Counter-Measures
3: This IS entirely canon!  Hapan Royal Navy, Tactics & Technology-https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Hapan_Royal_Navy

[TheDutchman]

Chapter 11: Commensurate Reprisals, part III

As multiple hits scored upon shields, the constant turbolaser fire finally overrode them causing the shields to buckle.  Seconds later, another turbolaser volley--this from the other 6 ships that had just exited hyperspace at an oblique angle (so as not to hit their own)--beat down upon the armored skin of the Battledragon, superheating the metal into molten slag.  In seconds, multiple hull breaches and atmospheric leaks were venting into the silence of space.

Renolyn saw several Battledragons converge upon three of the other 6 ships, firing turbolasers at them in a near-constant stream.  But much like before, even these smaller ships were barely affected.  She heard gasps of horror around the bridge as the three smaller ships returned fire against the Battledragons.  There should've been no way in which a frigate could stand toe-to-toe with a Battledragon, but these were.

"Evasive maneuvers!  Helm: bring us to bearing 260.7, carom 357.1; we need to cover those Battledragons that have lost shields" The Captain commanded.  Even with numerical superiority, their Battledragons were at an extreme disadvantage.

"Commandant, Captain, our fighters are engaging the enemy." Lieutenant Vudha informed.  Renolyn quickly consulted the sensor readout; their sleek Miy'til starfighters had a 3-to-1 advantage against the enemy.  Nevertheless, her trepidation grew.  Would their starfighters experience the same problems with their weapons against their opponent's shields and armor?  She held her breath as she watched three Miy'tils engage against one of the enemy's heavy fighters, the larger ship of the two types currently in-theater.



Even as the Miy'tils blasted the ship with their cannons, the heavier ship's shields held steady.  Another strafing run from 3 more Miy'tils burned perpendicular past the ship, giving many people on the bridge hope as Hapan cannons rained down green plasma upon the heavier craft.

But all for naught.

Instead the large fighter turned to pursue the nearest aggressor, multiple streaks of red heavy cannonfire blazing from the enemy's weapons.  Several shots hit true, first absorbed by the shields but soon causing them to fail.  A second later, the Miy'til disappeared in an ephemeral yet violent spherical explosion.  The result was immediately sobering; silence fell upon the bridge like an oppressive funeral pall.

More fighters soon met the same fate, their own lighter cannonfire doing little against their opponents' shields, to say nothing of the heavily-armored fuselage.  It reminded Renolyn of a porg-shoot: regardless of what the small avian creatures did, they were so much prey at the end of the hunt.

Only it was even more useless for the Miy'tils.  As the heavier spacefighters went on the offensive, the tide turned completely against the lighter Hapan fighters.  Crimson cannonfire flooded the immediate area destroying several Miy'tils as they attacked, even more as they retreated.

Renolyn was many things but she refused to waste the lives of those women pilots for some misplaced sense of "glory."

"Instruct fighters to utilize hit-and-fade tactics while retreating to the Throneworld." Renolyn's command cut through the collective shock.  "Our ships are still faster." She swept the bridge with a reassuring gaze, giving everyone much needed confidence.  As the order went out, many of the Miy'tils sped past the slower enemy craft, impotently strafing them as they flew to the safety of nearby Hapes Prime.

But not all.

Some bravely fought on for as long as they could...only to fall to the superior ships of their enemy.  She had to do what she could in order to save as many of her fleet's ships as possible.

But before she could do anything further, the Comms-tech spoke.

"Mistress, we finally have a feed from the other side of the Throneworld.  It's from Captain Hibranus."

She felt a sliver of relief at that news.  Good, if Jyanza Hibranus was still in command then Renolyn knew that at least one competent captain was alive.  She wasn't surprised; Jyanza was one of the toughest women that she knew.  She also knew that if she was sending something then it must be serious.  Relief gave way to trepidation.  "Put it up." Renolyn's voice was ice. 

The holofeed changed from the local Battledragons and their attendant starfighters to the ships protecting the Throneworld's opposite hemisphere. 

Renolyn's breath caught in her throat.  It seemed that whatever Renolyn's battlegroup had experienced, Jyanza's had faired even worse: of the 25 ships, only 3 seemed to be operational.  The others were listless, some even seemingly without power.  Another 3 Miy'tils sped past only for all to disappear in a violent explosion, one much too large from a mere fighter blowing up.  ...Of course...  It was then that Renolyn knew that the enemy had allowed for this signal to get through the jamming.  "Viewer off." She commanded as the entire bridge witnessed another Battledragon disappear as an internal explosion tore through its armored skin.

An effective demonstration of the psychological warfare that the enemy was utilizing.  And well, she was forced to admit.  Everyone aboard was aware that their weapons were next to useless against the enemy's shields and armor.  Thus far, the only saving grace was that their fighters were still faster.

It was, Renolyn knew, not enough.

When the Comms-tech spoke next it was in a haunted tone.  "Mistress, we are being hailed by the large intruder vessel." If the bridge was quiet before, it was deathly silent now.

Renolyn slowly inhaled.  Unnecessarily she straightened her uniform and stood her full height, hands clasped behind her.  "Holoviewer."

As the Communications tech patched in the signal, everyone else noticed that the large, wedge-shaped vessel had taken a stationary orbit fairly close to them--a mere 20 kilometers from their current position--assuming a dominant posture in-theater.  It was surrounded by at least 2 squadrons of those heavy fighters and--while everyone on the bridge watched--they were soon joined by what must have been an entire airwing of fast attack craft. 



Renolyn blinked.  Incredibly, they looked like old Clone Wars Era V-19 Torrent fighters...except that these were more heavily armed.
 And armored.  ...Of course... She thought.  The biggest difference?  They also possessed the same strong shields as their heavier counterparts.

According to IFF⁴ transponders, there were hundreds of them.  And unlike the heavier fighters, they were as fast as the Hapan Miy'tils.

However, all of that was quickly forgotten as the holofeed image changed from the external view to the dimly-lit interior of what must have been the enemy flagship.  For the first time the Hapans saw just who it was that they were fighting.

There were two people standing side-by-side, one was a stocky, solid black-haired woman while the other was a shorter, slender gray-bearded man.  Both of them had nearly identical dangerous eyes looking from hard, serious countenances.  She wore a dark uniform not unlike Renolyn while the man was wearing some kind of armored regalia.  And although it might go unnoticed by most Hapans, Renolyn immediately spied the metallic cylinder hanging from the man's belt.  ...Jedi... Her mind swam with possibilities, especially since they were supposed to be all but extinct...

Of course, everyone had heard of the heroic Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, the man responsible for killing both the Emperor as well as his enforcer Darth Vader, initiating the Fall of the Empire.  Even if Skywalker was a Jedi, Renolyn breathed easier knowing that the Empire had been overthrown.

Nevertheless, this man was not him.

"I am Admiral Nelorha y'Cegoth." The woman's brown face could've belonged to a Hapan woman...if it were just a little prettier.  Regardless, her amber-brown eyes bespoke of intelligence.  And menace.  Still, she bowed at the neck, respect for a capable opponent.

Renolyn stood ramrod straight.  "Commandant Renolyn Derveth, commander of the Throneworld Honor Fleet, representative of the Empress, Queen Mother Ta'a Chume, Divinity given Life, Autarch of the Hapes Consortium, may Her radiance illuminate eternal."  She noticed that the man neither moved nor spoke, although his eyes seemed to burn with fervent intensity.  Odd that.  "Your presence here is a blatant transgression against our Empress as well as a violation of the Consortium's sovereignty.  Surrender and I shall personally plead your case to our Queen Mother and petition for leniency."

Renolyn saw the two of them share a sideways glance followed by an almost-smirk from the man.  The woman's mouth had a ghost of smile, the left side of her mouth ever-so-slightly upturned.  However, it was completely blank a split-second later...

"You are mistaken, Commandant." Admiral y'Cegoth announced.  "I will accept your unconditional surrender, especially since it was Hapan aggressions that started this war."  She cocked a well manicured black eyebrow.  "How say you?"

Renolyn had to hand it to this woman; her sabacc face was impeccable.  Then again, she most certainly had a strong hand especially if her martial acumen was any indication.  Did she really possess a Pure Sabacc?  Renolyn knew that she wasn't bluffing...but she also knew that not many ships could make it through the Transitory Mists either.  Perhaps Admiral y'Cegoth only had on hand the 30 or so vessels that were above the Throneworld...

Still, she answered first to the Empress...

"The Empress--may Her radiance illuminate eternal--would have to authorize me to do s--"

"Unconditional surrender." The man finally spoke, his voice surprisingly deep.  "Now."  Renolyn thought that the man's eyes glowed but attributed that to the imperfect holotransmission.  She wondered if he was like most men--their bark worse than their bite--or if he was one of the rare few.  Regardless--and as she'd reminded herself--she answered to the Queen Mother, not an enemy combatant (much less one that was male).

"No." She replied almost immediately.  "Only the Empress Herself may make such a decision."

"I implore you to reconsider, Commandant." Admiral y'Cegoth intoned, neither pleading nor hesitant while taking a half-step forward, eyes firmly affixed upon Renolyn's.

"Nothing to reconsider." She said staring at the two of them.  Suddenly both disappeared as the connection was terminated, the silence as deafening as it was abrupt.  Turning to the Comms-tech, Renolyn ordered, "Open a tight-beam to the Empress.  Hurry.  And give me a visual of the battlefield with tactical analysis overlay in real-time." 

The Comms-tech was about to reply when one of the Sensor-techs cried out, "Commandant, another power spike from the enemy vessel!"  In the holotransmission, the ship seemed to dim noticeably.  Renolyn worried that such portended the arrival of further enemy reinforcements...

"It's already casting a planetary shadow..." Captain Maldamos muttered poleaxed, echoing Renolyn's thoughts.  She opened her mouth to say something else but was cut off as a wide beam weapon fired from the large capital ship, striking a group of several Battledragons.



Everyone aboard the bridge furiously tried blinking the afterimage from their sight, the collective fear ratcheting up dramatically.
 For a moment, nothing seemed to happen.  Every single person was rooted to their spot as a scant 5 seconds elapsed.  Someone suddenly gasped as glowing lines begin to etch throughout the armored skin of each Battledragon that had been hit, the bright fissures widening quickly.  Three seconds later the breaches exploded, the powerful blasts shredding the vessels apart from the inside out.

It was that fast.

"Commandant, enemy vessel is locking target on the Widow's Honor, the Maiden's Scourge, the Sword of Hapes, and Brightness' Wrath." The Sensor-tech announced.  More psychological warfare, Renolyn knew.  They wanted her to know which Battledragons were next.  She only hoped--

"Commandant," The Comms-tech voice was tight.  "We are being hailed again."

Her face impassive, Renolyn only hoped that no one else could hear the hammering of her pulse in her ears.  "Holoviewer." She said quietly.

"Commandant, we're receiving multiple distress calls..." The Comms-tech explained, "All Hapan."  Renolyn nodded, already certain what the messages contained.

It was one long transmission spliced together.  Apparently, multiple Hapan battlegroups had been attacked, their own counterattacks failing and rebuffed.  Renolyn listened as, one-by-one, each battlegroups' turbolaser barrages were completely ineffective.  Her teeth clenched as the casualties piled up upon one another as enemy ships continued to overwhelm Hapan Battledragons, Nova cruisers, and Miy'til starfighters.  And at the end of the transmission, multiple explosions cut off the recordings where an immediate silence filled the bridge.

Renolyn had heard and seen enough.  ...More than... She thought, teeth grinding.

Once again, the woman and the man appeared.  Neither smiled nor appeared anything other than expectant.  Renolyn knew now that they had an Idiot's Array and she would only be drawing dead against them.  Without any hesitation she spoke.

"With the authority given me by the Empress, may Her radiance illuminate eternal, I surrender unconditionally.  As of this moment, every single Consortium ship shall stand down."  Renolyn stepped forward only to take a knee in capitulation, but held her head high as she spoke directly to Admiral y'Cegoth.  "I ask, not as a condition but rather from one warrior to another, that my women be given full honors as naval officers and technicians and the rights afforded them."

Admiral y'Cegoth gave a curt nod as she answered.  "Granted, Commandant."  But it was the man who spoke next, his demands shocking everyone.

"Commandant you will inform your Empress that she is to present herself before me via holoviewer or I will order my fleet to annihilate every last ship down to your fighters."  His voice dropped low.  "You've witnessed the consequences of 'non-compliance.'  I suggest that you impress upon the Queen Mother the urgency of her presence."  This time there was no mistaking the smirk on his face.  "Tell her that Master Gray Listian Damarcus, Arbiter of the Vhal'Dan Order does not waste his time with idle threats.  She has one hour."

With that, the holoimage dropped to once again show the battlefield: broken ships, detritus, and dead bodies floating almost serenely in the vacuum of space.  It was a stark reminder (not that anyone needed such) of what the Consortium stood to lose.

Yet, unknown to them, that was not the only danger that was presently threatening the Throneworld.

And it would be the worst yet.

          <<<<< >>>>>

Throughout the Hapes Cluster, dozens upon dozens of Consortium ships were damaged, disabled, or outright destroyed, courtesy of the 4 battlegroups that consisted of the 1st Vhal'Dan Fleet.  Each and everytime a skirmish occurred, the Vhal'Dan would blanket the system with electronic/holographic countermeasures, effectively jamming any and all Hapan communications.  And after the initial contact--where outdated Hapan turbolasers proved to be ineffective against the Order's superior shields and armor--against one of the battlegroup Defender II-class Star Destroyers, the Consortium ships were ensnared in the Vhal'Dan trap:

Using the powerful interdiction field generated by the Defender IIs, the Order's Battlecruisers, Tactical Frigates, and Attack Destroyers would be pulled out of their hyperspace microjump with pinpoint accuracy: on the flanks of enemy Battledragons and Nova-class Cruisers.

With swift "slingshot" launches, the Order's V-19B "Balyeg" interceptors and heavier H/K-38 "Gundarks" made quick work of the opposing Miy'til fighters.

However, the biggest loss was over the Throneworld itself where the Vhal'Dan flagship, Rikard's Alðrnári, the experimental and highly secret Fyrir-class Star Destroyer was responsible for destroying multiple Battledragons with its primary weapon.  As a result, the Commandant of the Hapan Throneworld Honor Fleet capitulated before speaking to the Empress herself. 

Yet all of this was not the primary objective of the Vhal'Dan fleet.

Even as both sides began the countdown of the Arbiter's hour, almost two dozen other vessels settled into geosynchronous orbit undetected.

It was these ships--or rather their payload--which would act as the Vhal'Dan's biggest "stick" should the Queen Mother--may Her radiance illuminate eternal--remain intractable.

________________________________________________________________________________
4: IFF: Identify-Friend or Foe

[Lord_S_Gray]

An explosive chapter! The Hapan’s have learned painfully what happens when you kill a Vhal’Dan Kage. Of course in addition to their technological inferiority the Hapans suffered as they simply had no idea they were even at war, would time to prepare have made a difference?  A little but not much, the Vhal’Dan are too well equipped and knew too much form D’Alyanna via Zearic, every weakness known of their navy and security was exploited to the full, and they are not weaknesses that can be easily overcome as they are integral to the vessels themselves.

One expects the next threat is going to be orbital bombardment, hence the Tribus mission to disable planetary shields ably executed by Triad Isk in one location. But the question is what the Vhal’Dan demands will be on this punitive expedition? Even accounting for Space superiority across the Consortium the Vhal’Dan could not attempt occupation or conquest, ground battles wouldn’t be anywhere near as easy (even with Cataphrracts let alone the vast distance from Sekot for resupply...and the Vhal'Dans own bad experience attempting such in a Disputation many centuries before...), especially as the Hapans are now on the alert, but no doubt the Triads and other agents already have begun sabotage efforts as yet unseen. Still what can they possibly demand apart from a ransom fit for an Empress and D'Alyanna back.

A further question how will the Queen Mother respond when she arguably has little to no idea who the Vhal’Dan are or why they are there let alone the absolute Need to show those around her (arguably just as dangerous) she is in complete control always.

And certainly the Consortium will never forget nor forgive such an attack regardless of the outcome, and as has already been shown in killing Oyuna and nearly killing Zearic the Hapan's have deadly assassins and saboteurs.

Metanote: Succinct and well written action with lots of awesome space warfare specific details I am forced to steal for later use! The interspersed italicised sections detailing the broader sweep of the campaign were a good way to show the larger picture without having to segue it into the battle over Hapes Prime.  Indeed they almost sound like notes from a briefing on the conflict written some time after.

Certainly look forward to Listian and the Queen Mothers Conversation!

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to LSG for his rendering of Listian!  This part is dedicated to him
*****************************************************************

Chapter 12: Rook Threatens Queen, Check..., part I

The Hapan-Vhal'Dan War.

A raging conflict cast amongst a star cluster surrounded by the hard boundary of the Transitory Mists.  Throughout Consortium space the destroyed remains of Hapan ships littered multiple systems left in the wake of the Vhal'Dan Offensive.  Panic ensued, a visceral response that almost every single member of the Royal Navy fought against when everything that they tried resulted in abject failure.

A fact that the Vhal’Dan Fleet took full advantage of.

As Hapan losses grew, the Vhal'Dan jamming was momentarily discontinued.  With communications re-established, the Royal High Command could finally get a better picture of what had occurred, how widespread the engagements, and what casualties the Royal Navy had suffered.

It was much, much worse than anyone expected.

Just as those ever-so-important details began to flood comms, the jamming campaign slammed closed all further transmissions, leaving the Throneworld even more panicked.

And isolated.

The Empress, Queen Mother Ta'a Chume, Divinity given Life, Absolute Monarch of the Hapes Consortium--may Her radiance illuminate eternal--vacillated for all of 30 seconds before coming to the conclusion that she needed to buy time for herself as well as her people.

For the first time since the loss of the Lorell Raiders to the Jedi four millennia hence the Empress had to concede to foreign demands.  Beguiling but necessary.  However, that was not to say that she would capitulate; she was beat but not beaten.

Not yet.

Nor would she allow the impression of such to proliferate, lest she find the collective vibroblades of every noble at her back.  Ta’a Chume had been vigilant, surviving several assassination attempts while always quick to maintain control, and loyalty (if not necessarily love) for almost 30 years, her supremacy seemingly all-but-assured.

She would be damned to Sheol before relinquishing her throne, especially to a man.

However, she’d learned long ago that not every attack need be direct and overt.  No, sometimes matters required a more…delicate hand, something more circumspect.

Ta'a Chume was a master of both.

Bedecked in her most ostentatious finery, the aurodium-gilded Zsajhira robes handwoven from the finest silk and by the finest artisans (lest their lives be forfeit) flowed around her lithe body like the misting clouds surrounding the otherwise isolated islands of the Reef Fortress, both equally regal and ethereal.  Her bejeweled diadem of the highest quality Rainbow Gems--worth more than an entire star system--rested lightly upon her brow, almost as if it were a halo shimmering above her brilliant emerald eyes.

Eyes that now took in everything as she slowly, deliberately walked from her rooms below the Tribunal of Illumination towards the glowing Elysium Throne.  Standing to one side before the enormous installation was a contingent of the Off-Worlders, their very presence an offense to everything that the Consortium stood against.

Jedi...

Opposite them stood the Chume'doro, the Hapan Royal Guard, everyone of them standing at attention, their vibro-glaive polearms held in front of them wrapped in their left hands, their right hands resting easily upon the hilt of their blaster hanging from their belts, their lightly-armored gray-blue uniforms plain but for a single device: the Crest of House Royal.  Regardless of the nobles' infighting, the Chume'doro would defend all who belonged to House Royal.

At least in theory.  In practice?  It was said in whispers that it was better to stay on the good side of the Queen Mother, lest she send a member of the Chume'doro for "corrections."

Flanking them were over 100 members of the Politsiya, each member clad in stiff, black high-necked collars and breeches in columns, with each column headed by an extremely tall woman dressed in a dark blood-red skintight bodysuit, the Justrixes.

Finally, gathered around each side of the Elysium Throne was the entirety of House Royal, each one as different as a flake of snow amongst the enormous white marbled columns reaching almost 100 meters towards the open azure sky.  Yet, for everyone gathered--be they Chume'doro, Politsiya, Justrix, or member of House Royal--they were one and all two notable things:

Everyone of them was beautiful and a woman.

By contrast, the Off-Worlders were a collection of female...and male.  Ta'a Chume's full blue lips quivered slightly, not that anyone noticed.  To every single eye gazing upon her, the Empress was serenity itself, a very carefully crafted veneer that no one ever saw beneath.

Ever.

One of the men stepped forward, the gray in his hair and beard the only evidence of his advancing age; otherwise he was as hearty and hale as one of her own brooding slaves.  She immediately recognized him as the Jedi leader of the Off-Worlders.  She affixed a mask of imperious tranquility upon her face as she watched him approach her much like the many supplicants that came to beg her for her favor.

But this man was anything but deferential.

"Queen Mother." He nodded respectfully yet his words sounded like dross in her ears.  He had not even the decency to kneel before her!  Thinking quickly, she settled down upon the Elysium Throne.

And prepared for battle.

          <<<<< >>>>>



Zearic stood amidst a deliberate clearing within the crowd, his very presence an intimidating reminder that Hapes Prime--the Throneworld itself!--had been invaded by dangerous Off-Worlders.  He was almost completely surrounded...well, beyond the two meter clearing around him.  With his helmet sealed and polarized, he could scrutinize the faces of those around him, read the body language of those who nervously adjusted their weight from one leg to the next, saw the fearful twitches that their hands, faces, and body involuntarily succumbed to.

They were afraid, pure and simple.

Every Hapan was used to the deadly ambiance that pervaded the everyday comings-and-goings that was House Royal, those that emulated them, indeed the Consortium itself.  But nothing ever like this.

He was one of the deadly prizrak--"phantoms" in Hapan--that had taken down the planetary shield, that had made the Throneworld vulnerable for the first time in the history of the Consortium.  He could see their hatred...but below that, the stronger, much more primal emotion that was responsible for their current unrest.

Terror.

Zearic's polarized faceplate reflected back the darting eyes, quick lick of lips, the gritted teeth of the Hapans around him.  Fully armored, the already wide Vhal'Dan was even larger, the advanced nano-quantum power armor bristling with weapons, not to mention the large saberstaff that he carried (in lieu of a Cataphract's Beskar-Breaker as he had not chosen one.  Yet).

But when his eyes fell upon the Queen Mother--her tall, lithe body gliding across to her throne, her beauty matched only by her grace--he was glad that his face was hidden.  He wanted to kill this woman.

Yet the Empress looked as if she were holding Court, her impassive face radiating calm, control, and power, a majesty that could not be taught, much less faked.  ...Incredible... He thought.  One would think that it was she who was the victor rather than the vanquished.

...No... Mentally he shook his head.  ...This woman is anything but beaten... Zearic knew.  And if he noticed, than he was absolutely certain that Listian did as well.  ...Speaking of...

The slender Vhal'Dan Arbiter strode through the gathered Hoplite platoons--their heavy blaster rifles at the ready, their much lighter plasteel dark gray armor seeming to pulse in the sunlight--to stand in front of the Queen Mother.  Adopting an arrogant pose, Listian looked resplendent in his own light gray armor, intelligent eyes consuming the entirety of what he saw.  Yet everything about the man seemed to give the appearance of casual intensity: his armored hand resting easily upon the pommel of the lightsaber hanging from his black utility belt.

Gray-blue eyes met emerald green, both faces betraying nothing of the emotions of either as they stared at one another.

Zearic had to hand it to both leaders; even as he kept vigilant watch over the crowd, he noticed that everyone was enthralled at the scene unfolding before them.  Clearly, this was an audacious and monumental event never before witnessed, both Queen Mother and Arbiter each a force of nature to those around them.

For Zearic, he couldn't care less.  He was here for his wife.

Holding his ignited saberstaff at the ready, the twin sapphire blades illuminating the already bright cathedral-like room, Zearic saw that the other members of his Triad had taken positions around the room where they could monitor and contain the crowd.  And while his eyes continued to scan the entire room, his ears were focused on but two people:

Listian Damarcus and Ta'a Chume.

"You are holding one of our people." Listian said without preamble, his voice ringing through the vast room.  "You will return her.  Now."

This sent a collective gasp throughout the crowd; no one had ever spoken to the Empress in such a disrespectful tone...well, and lived.  But Zearic noticed that the Queen Mother's face remained completely blank, taking the obvious affront in stride without so much as a blink of an eye.

"The only prisoners that we have are Hapan citizens." She announced, her melodious voice settling upon all who heard like a faint gossamer veil, causing those in the crowd to nod and smirk.

Listian's lips curled into a knowing smile.  Slowly taking a step towards the gorgeous woman perched majestically upon her throne, he lowered his voice to the point that none but the two of them could hear.  Well that and those of the Tribus of Cataphracts stationed around the chamber, their armor's audio-sensor suite attuned towards the two leaders.

"You will produce our Speaker, D'Aylanna Vih'Torr, immediately or I will not only order my fleet to commence their orbital bombardment but I will unleash upon your beautiful populace my righteous anger in a manner that you will regret."  Listian's quiet tone was almost conversational but as he spoke he noticed that the Queen Mother did not so much as blink.  Even as he leaned in, the woman did not appear to move a millimeter. 

Listian gave a small grin.  "And to prove that I do not bluff, I shall give you proof of my intentions should you refuse my demands."  Deliberately, he pressed a button on his armored vambrace, the digitized sound loud in the chamber (yet another intentional bit of theatrics).  Settling back on the heels of his armored sabatons, Listian crossed his arms in front of him.

And waited.

As the crowd started to murmur in growing confusion and expectation, the Hapan citizens within the Tribunal of Illumination began to look around askance, a nameless unrest seizing them from within.  Yet even after a minute, the Queen Mother still had yet to react.

However, someone else in the crowd did, and emphatically.

"Wh...what in the name of the Empress?!?" Someone--Zearic was uncertain as to whom--yelled, calling attention to the general area flanking the Elysium Throne to the left, where several people noticed ruddy patches of inflammation beginning to erupt across their exposed skin.  Almost unconsciously, more people cleared away from the immediate area around those infected...only to realize that they too were scratching their arms, face, neck, shoulders--any skin that was visible, resulting in ever-darkening and spreading crimson rashes.

Panic--visceral and urgent--threatened to overwhelm the crowd; even the Justrixes in their skintight suits as well as the Chume'doro in their light armor began to look concerned (although their training kept them from giving into the growing terror that they felt).  Rank upon rank of hard-faced women tried in vain to stop themselves from reacting, though to their credit only a few of them scratched at their skin and only from the worst of the itching.

But when someone noticed that the Queen Mother herself had broken out in dark red lesions did everyone gasp, stare, and scream.  The Empress projected a mask of tranquility although those with an astute gaze noticed the tightness in her eyes and the set of her mouth.

It was also by this time that everyone noticed that the Off-Worlders were completely unaffected.

Listian leaned in close to the Queen Mother, the Arbiter no longer smiling.  "This is merely Stage I.  If you do not comply, Stage II will see the epidermis of your people break out in pestilent tumors.  If still you persist, you will see what horrors Stage III produces.  Not to mention the permanent scarring; it's especially bad on the face.  Or so I've been told."  He looked at his vambrace, a quick Aurebesh message scrolling across the miniature holodisplay.  "Ah, the localized jamming is down.  I urge you to check any of the multiple incoming messages from around the planet; you'll find the situation there to be familiar."

With a flash of hatred in her eyes, the Empress depressed one of the many hidden buttons on the throne's aurodium-gilded arm.  Whether by accident or intent, a giant holodisplay was projected in the air above the crowd, every Hapan eye staring raptly at the display.

"...Need assistance!  We have 100% contagion rate with some of the more severe cases complaining about burning pain from the affected parts..."

"...Everyone--women, children, even males--have been infected.  If this continues, I fear that the skin will begin to slough off..."

"...Several people have already collapsed, skin bloody and raw..."

"...Burning accompanying the onset, communicability at 100%..."

With each plea the Queen Mother's eyes narrowed, her jaw set firmly as her soft hands balled in anger, cracking a lacquered nail.

As suddenly as it began, all communication stopped, the silence deafening.

Listian stared intently into the Empress' eyes, saying nothing.

With herculean effort, Ta'a Chume delicately raised a finger, willing herself not to scratch at her head, neck, and hands as the burning itching threatened to overwhelm her.  "Bring forth the prisoner." She commanded.

At that, Zearic's breath held, the hum of his saberstaff's twin blue blades suddenly loud in his ears.  After what seemed like an eternity--not even 70 seconds in reality--the Justrix that had run off at the Queen Mother's behest returned.  Half-dragging, half-carrying a diminutive woman from the subterranean Hypogeum of the Tribunal of Illumination, the Justrix strode through the crowd and unceremoniously deposited her captive in front of the Empress. 

For long seconds, she did not stir.  But then, her red, bruised and dirty arms moved as D'Aylanna slowly worked to get her beaten legs under her.  Before she could rise, her weak limbs gave out from underneath her and D'Aylanna sank back to the floor on her knees, the tender soles of her feet sticking out of the chag-skin jerkin she'd been forced to wear.

It took all of Zearic's willpower to not run up to his wife and help her stand, to wrap his arms around her protectively, to target every single Hapan tralk in attendance and activate his armor's weapons system to eradicate the lot of these...these kriffing, effete bastiches for everything that they'd done against D'Aylanna.

But he didn't.

Zearic waited patiently, keeping a vigilant eye on those around him (just as the other eight members of his Tribus was doing), ensuring that he did his part in the plan.

Instead, it was Listian that moved to help, his armored gloves steadying D'Aylanna as she fought to stand, small bare feet shaking as she did so.  At first she stared hard at Listian but soon softened.  With a quick scan of the crowd, D'Aylanna's eyes took in the entire tableau to finally rest upon two people: the Queen Mother and T’Atyanna.  Incredibly, her face showed no emotion whatsoever, the only indication of her true feelings a dangerous glint in her eye.

"You have the prisoner.  Now administer the antidote." The Empress' voice sounded majestic with no hint of the anger that she hid so well.  Everyone in the crowd looked to the Queen Mother, their emphatic faith in her absolute. 

Listian looked down at D'Aylanna, his soft smile revealing a little of the man beneath the armor that he wore, concern radiating from him.  Whatever he saw when he looked at the diminutive Speaker, he nodded a few seconds later satisfied.  Contrary to the theatricality of earlier, he simply thumbed the button on his armor.  Pointedly, he stared at the Queen Mother, all trace of patience or geniality gone, in its place an almost-scowl.

Staring at them, Zearic knew that the feeling was mutual.

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for his rendering of Zearic!  This part is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 12: Rook Threatens Queen, Check..., part II

As the seconds slipped by the tension within the enormous cathedral seemed to weigh heavy upon every single Hapan within the Tribunal of Illumination until there came another gasp, this time one of relief: the angry, red (and sometimes bleeding) lesions began to diminish, the painful, burning itching receding as the rashes got smaller and smaller before disappearing.

But not without a trace.

Almost everyone had bloody scratch marks on their arms, neck, and faces, a brutal reminder of the Vhal'Dan bioweapon. 

Listian was about to address the Empress again when a short, beautifully dressed, gorgeous woman stepped away from the side of the throne.

Zearic saw that it was T'Atyanna.

Behind her was an enormous (if not quite so wide as Zearic) male clad in the dark blue--almost violet--armor similar to the Chume'doro, taller than even Karmack or Rakham.  But all attention was directed at the small, dark, dangerous woman in front.  "You cannot have her, Off-Worlder." She spat, fury contorting her face.  "She has been brought before the Empress--may Her radiance illuminate eternal!--and the Hapan people for justice!"  She stabbed a perfectly manicured finger at her.  "I challenge her in single combat."

Listian looked from her to the Queen Mother, again lowering his voice so that only she and him (and the nine Cataphracts) could hear.  "Does this woman speak for you?" Deliberately his finger hovered by the button he'd pushed before deploying the bioweapon.

For the first time the Queen Mother's blue lips curled in a small smile.  "No; however she is not wrong."  With a soft gesture of her chin, she motioned towards the gathered crowd.  "They are here to see justice served.  And now my Daughter has raised the challenge."  She cocked her head to the side almost coquettishly.  "Would you deprive them of such?"  Her smile did not quite hide her cruelty.

Listian understood the implied threat.  Staring hard into the woman's deep eyes, he asked softly, earnestly.  "You would sentence your people to a horrible death in the name of your 'justice?'" His finger rested upon the button but did not depress it.

Quietly she spoke.  "As you would just as assuredly damn all of your...Jedi--" She barely paused at the word, "--to death in the wake of such a 'denial of justice.'" She replied just as solemnly.  She let one mask drop allowing the Arbiter to peek at the monarch in front of him.  "Shall we all die together today?"

Listian's face betrayed none of the emotion that he felt, especially as he looked upon the woman.  No, not a "woman..."

She was a complete psychopath.

And, admittedly, one that was entirely correct.  The population of Hapes Prime would rise up against the occupying Vhal'Dan in a vengeful wave of murderous violence, one that would wipe them out completely, all to uphold their fanatic matriarchal extremism, especially against a male Off-Worlder who dared deny them their birthright, the perfect target of their misandrist society.

Oh, the Hapan losses would be great, devastating even...but of the Vhal'Dan, there would be no survivors.

However, Listian knew there was still a chance...

"Very well." He announced loudly, mind racing.  "You shall have your 'Justice.'"  Suddenly he held up his finger.  "But D'Aylanna shall be given the opportunity to choose a champion."  This time Listian spoke loudly enough for the crowd to overhear him but it was really only important that two people in particular agreed: the Queen Mother and T'Atyanna.  "She is in no shape to defend herself.  And I don't care what you tralks consider 'justice,' I insist."

The two women shared a look, one of amused imperiousness.  "In that regard you are correct..." The Empress replied, her tone incredulous as if he'd stated "water was wet" or the like.  "...She has the right to defend herself by proxy.  Does--"  Listian was about to announce his claim as D'Aylanna's champion but, like the Queen Mother, was suddenly interrupted.

Surprising everyone--even Listian and the Empress--Zearic stepped forth in his hulking power armor, the wide pauldrons on his shoulders bigger than two Hapan men standing side-by-side together.  "I will."  Looming in front of Ta'a Chume and T'Atyanna, he utterly dwarfed the women.  Depolarizing his faceplate, he stared blaster bolts down at them, brutal intent evident in his strange, hazel eyes.

As one, the two women began to laugh derisively.  "Foolish maleling..." T'Atyanna scolded between fits, "You are beneath me."  Her face suddenly changed, dark eyes fixed with hatred.  "This is Hapes; no male may challenge a female.  But I will have your death and see you lay bleeding..." She turned her eyes towards D'Aylanna, fury and hate radiating from her in equal measure.  "...For your trespasses."  Her voice dropped low, almost conspiratorially, "But really and if for no other reason than that she will feel the loss of one she so obviously loves..."  Her lips curled cruelly.  "...Before I execute her myself."

Glancing at the Queen Mother, T'Atyanna paused, waiting for the briefest of nods from the Empress.  Turning her head slightly, T'Atyanna then barked.  "Irtro!"  The armored male Chume'doro strode forward, his handsome face hard.  She gestured disgustedly at Zearic.  "Bring me my tribute and kill this...pfassk!"

"Your will, Illuminated One." He spoke in a bass tone even deeper than Zearic, his black eyes unwavering in their intensity.  There was no hatred, no fear, no emotion whatsoever...other than the zealous devotion to T'Atyanna.  Looking down at the wide Vhal'Dan, Irtro already saw him as dead, the deed only needing to be done.

But if Irtro looked of violence, Zearic practically radiated death.  He'd fought beings taller than himself, opponents who were incredibly dangerous.  For Zearic, this man was between him and freeing his wife.  He did not see the tall Chume'doro as dead.

Zearic saw him as an obstacle to be utterly destroyed.

As the crowd moved away from the center of the enormous room to form a makeshift square, both men faced off against each other in the opposite corner.  For Zearic, everyone faded into the background: the Chume'doro, the Politsya, all of the nobles of House Royal, the Vhal'Dan contingent, the Cataphracts of his Tribus, even Listian.  There was but a single person that mattered to him.

His wife.

The entire Tribunal of Illumination quieted, so much so that even the soft rasping of cloth or the whisper of a sigh could be heard.  So it was that almost everyone jumped when the Queen Mother's voice rang out suddenly, surprising all but the two combatants, bellowing a single command:

"Begin."

[Lord_S_Gray]

The Vhal'dan do not pull their punches.

Amidst the radiance and grandeur of the Queens mothers spectacle of a negotiation (naturally put on to show her power remains intact regardless of the semi-occupation) unleashing a bio weapon is a forceful move. Most unbefitting a Temple Jedi, it reminds us the Vhal'dan are Grey.

And more than that a nation state - this is not a conflict of light and dark, but a matter of transgressing sovereignty between two nations, Listian making the point about D'Alyanna's citizenship very specifically (though that does open him to murky legalities given how D'alyanna escaped from the Consortium....)

Regardless, up till now we have largely only seen Listian through Zearics Point of view, and mostly in a negative light given their rivalry and disagreements. Here we get to see the Arbiters unflinching dedication to the Vhal'Dan and ensuring any insult does not go unpunished, unflappable amidst the Queen Mothers paltry attempts to intimidate and retake control of the situation, after all she has little to bargain with, the Vhal'Dan do not need to occupy or fear uprisings on any Hapan planet when they control the orbital lanes and can just glass the planet from above, and its obvious Listian would be more than willing to do so.  It really recasts prior clashes with Zearic as less (but not completely absent) personal antipathy and perhaps more about Listian having a genuinely different opinions of how best to defend the Vhal'Dan.  Here at least they are in agreement.

And as to the duel of champions, well that will certainly be interesting, we know Zearics skills and capabilities, he's survived a lot, tnagled with Master Singers, Dathomiri Witches and trained with Inquisitors, and learned more, especially with his new role as Cataphract. We don't know much about Irtro, but given the culture and the skill of T'Atyanna's other agents (notably Rissan) and the vicious nature of the Hapan court one imagines he must be a very skilled duellist to have the 'honour' of being her first choice.
 

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for the awesome renderings of Irtro&Zearic.  This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 13: Ordeal By Combat, part I

Soaring high upon thermal updrafts generated from the large inland sea, ixnys birds spread their three-meter wide wings to carry them further into the cloudless blue sky.  After gliding tens of kilometers over the dark azure waters, the ixnys began a lazy dive towards the ground where the continental shelf finally jutted up from the water, creating a beautiful coastline of granite arches and sea walls.  As the ixnys leveled off, the natural beauty of the coast gave way to the artificial, a construct that was no less beautiful than the surrounding topography. 

It was here within the high columns of the Tribunal of Illumination that a great commotion arose, thousands of voices raised in what could only be described as "savage" while two opponents squared off against one another in a hastily arranged arena bordered by the hundreds of Hapans surrounding the two.  Commoners rubbed shoulders with nobility as social strata were momentarily forgotten amidst the contest they now witnessed, the shared bloodlust being the great equalizer.  And while not everyone was cheering--mostly the Off-Worlders with leveled rifles and alert gazes--every eye was locked onto the two combatants as they both attacked.

Almost faster than anyone could see, both Zearic and Irtro charged one another, both sizing up the other as they swung their respective weapons, the two men locked in a brutal duel.  For them, the thick, tall marble columns, the radiant aurodium gilded throne, nor the gathered crowd did not exist; only their opponent mattered.

Neither one expected their opponent to be so strong or effective in either offense or defense.

Zearic noticed that Irtro did not move like a Hapan; Irtro noticed that Zearic was too strong and quick to be human.  With each one a cypher to the other, they knew this contest would be unlike any other they'd faced.

Adjusting accordingly, both began to probe the other's abilities...to their mutual surprise.

As Irtro twirled his vibro-glaive in a deadly arc, the deadly blade quietly humming, it smashed up against the shorter man's saberstaff.  And was summarily rebuffed.

Not only was that unlikely but--for Irtro--no one had ever been able to match him muscle-for-muscle.  He'd thought it might have been augmented by the power armor but that answer did not sit right with him.  For one, this human's reactions were too swift, the sudden ripostes able to compensate before artificial responses could adjust. 

Zearic took advantage of Irtro's split-second pauses.

With a brutal knee to the taller man's solar plexus, Zearic drove his armored poleyn savagely into Irtro's thorax, knocking his vibro-glaive aside and arcing a severe cut that sliced into his neck.  Having gathered the Force around him, Zearic's next move bowled into Irtro as a ferocious Force Push blasted the taller man several meters into the air, colliding heavily with one of the thick columns surrounding them.  Like a child's rag doll, Irtro crashed down into a heap onto the ground.

The crowd quieted, many eyes wide in disbelief at the Off-Worlder who had the temerity to knock down their champion, to defy their Empress.

Sighing, Zearic began to walk over to where Irtro had collapsed...only to stop short, his hazel eyes widening incredulously.



Rising to his feet, Irtro held his vibro-glaive at the ready, his face an impassive mask as he stared hard at the wide human who had surprised him.

As Zearic scrutinized his opponent, his attention suddenly focused upon the cut that had opened the Hapan's neck to his spine.  What little bleeding he saw soon stopped, the half-cauterized wound mending itself as it steadily closed, new tissue forming.  ...What the hell...? Zearic wondered.  With uncertainty gnawing at him, he attacked.

But this time it was Irtro who took advantage of his opponent's confusion.

As Zearic's saberstaff arced through the air towards Irtro, the Hapan champion seemed to flow away from the sapphire blades, his own vibro-glaive swinging upwards to connect with Zearic's helmet.

With violent results.

The polarized plate of his armor cracked at the sudden brunt-force collision from the butt of the vibro-glaive, the sinuous blade almost immediately cutting down against Zearic's armored leg.  Even rebuffed, the glaive left a "scar" where it cut into the nano-plate.  But Irtro was already moving, his long, thick leg exploding outwards to take Zearic in the side sending the Vhal'Dan head-over-heels several meters in the air before landing on some unlucky spectators, the combined weight of the man and his armor crushing them.

The crowd only cheered louder.

Checking his HUD¹, Zearic saw that his armor was barely able to tank the incredible strikes against it, the quantum nanites working to repair the damage as fast as possible while still augmenting his strength and speed; the cut would have to wait.  Ruefully, Zearic thought again of his renewal, wondering what would've happened to him without his newfound abilities.

He didn't care for the answers he already knew to be true.

Berating himself for thinking yet again like a knight, he dove into his past, seeking the gutter-rat of Dalos IV, giving into the darkness he knew resided inside him.  Careless of the Hapan bodies beneath him, Zearic kicked himself into a defensive crouch, his saberstaff whirling in tight orbits.  Responding to his baser emotions, both of his Oblivion daggers flew from the crosscarry sheath in the backplate of his armor, the midnight-black blades drinking in the sunlight as they spun around his shoulders.

Rising, Zearic's dark gray armor seemed to dim as if an eclipse had occulted the sun, his stance something formless and fluid, similar to Irtro's own agile body and at the same time something different.  Something...dangerous.



For the Hapans who lived their entire lives bathed in perpetual light, Zearic looked like one of the dread phantoms from Sheol, the black underworld where useless Hapans were banished to listlessly wander forever starving in unending night.

For the Vhal'Dan who had accompanied him, Zearic looked like a techno-armored enforcer possessed by the spirit of Black Rikard, an avenging angel sent to utterly destroy the Order's enemies.

For Irtro who fought him, Zearic looked like an opponent he'd never faced in his centuries of life.  He did not feel fear--his love for his Mistress sustained him--but he was no longer certain that he could kill this Off-Worlder.  Compressing his lips, Irtro slithered towards his opponent, his vibro-glaive and armor helping to protect him from the wider man's weapons, two blades of glowing blue plasma, two blades of stygian shadow, all dangerous.

But so too was the vibro-glaive.

Almost every strike from Zearic's saberstaff was parried, Irtro somehow able to dodge that which he did not intercept.  Yet, incredibly, he still had the tell-tale cauterized lacerations from over a dozen saber cuts, each one slowly healing.  Zearic's Oblivion daggers seemed both more and less effective: they continually rained down upon Irtro, pounding at his armor, slicing at voids in the plate, cutting into his skin as the sharp black blades bit into his flesh over and over again.

But Irtro did not feel pain, not the way that he knew humans did (courtesy of his genetic heritage).  In one particular case, Zearic's saberstaff stabbed into Irtro's stomach between the plating, the plasma burning through tissue but doing little lasting damage: as soon as the blue blade was withdrawn as Zearic retreated, Irtro's cells began to mend, skin, sinew, and organs knitting together almost immediately.

As each man circled the other, their attacks became almost surgical in their precision, their opponent's defenses all but impenetrable.  And if their power was equal so too was their prowess: each man's armor had several cuts, nicks, and dents that not even the nanite auto-repair could mitigate.

But neither man slowed nor did they capitulate.

As Irtro continued his offensive, Zearic's twirling black blades constantly harassed him where he'd block one only to slap another away--like damned gnats, they would leave cuts that even now began to heal, if slower than before--he began to notice something peculiar: after the last two strikes, his opponent had neglected to follow up on what would have been an advantageous blow.  Grinning behind his own armored helm, realization hit Irtro: the short man must be tiring.

Knocking away yet more of the hundreds of black-bladed strikes, the shadowed daggers cutting into the join between his bicep and his elbow, Irtro used his body's natural agility to flow through his opponent's defenses, getting within striking distance with his vibro-glaive.  As Zearic spun his saberstaff, he deflected the taller man's bludgeoning hit against his armored vambrace...but it left him exposed.  With speed born of certain victory, Irtro reversed the momentum of his weapon, cutting a powerful arcing blow upwards that struck Zearic's helmet, opening the now-visible plate from his chin to his brow, the edge sinking into his flesh but barely missing his eye.  Before the shorter man could defend, Irtro kicked out a powerful thrust of his heel, connecting with Zearic's armored chest and launching him backwards.  It was only by blind luck that no one in the crowd was crushed between the heavy, armored body of the Off-Worlder and one of the high marbled durasteel columns stabbing into the sky.

If it could be believed, the roaring crowd got even louder, driving even Irtro to distraction.

Irtro grinned, basking in the adoration of the crowd.  Taking a step towards his opponent he suddenly paused, his smile turning downwards but his legs were already in motion.  On his next step, he suddenly collapsed onto the marbled floor of the Tribunal, Irtro's thoughts racing.

Frustration and confusion warred for dominance in his mind, the incredulous nature of the truth lost in the fog of Irtro's single-minded motivation to win.  Something was grievously wrong.  He sensed more than saw movement behind and above him but nothing registered except a profound sense of Wrongness.

The noise of the crowd doubled, despite the fact that their so-called "champion" had fallen, Hapan bloodlust now beyond satiation.

Before Irtro could focus he felt three points of lancing "pain" erupt throughout his body: one in each of his forearms and one at the base of his skull.  And though it didn't kill him, nothing within the galaxy could coax his body to move, at least not for a time.

An armored boot suddenly came into view as well as his opponent's damaged helmet, the large fissure that Irtro had cut into the faceplate allowing him to see the wide man's strange hazel eye, deep red blood flowing down his face.  "My daggers have your arms pinned, my saber blade your body...but that won't matter at all in a few minutes, will it?" He said softly, his voice loud enough so that only Irtro could hear it above the cheering.  "My Ereneda...she is a better person than I could ever hope to be...she would not want for me to kill anyone whom has fallen...but you're not a Hapan, are you?  Not fully, at least..."

The cheering began to reach a frenzied high, the cacophony from thousands of voices all reverberating within the Tribunal of Illumination acting much like an ampliphone.  Irtro's body had begun to feel the "heat" indicative of healing but his limbs still weren't receiving any signals from his brain.

Irtro felt the burning pain lancing through his throat as his opponent started pulling his saberstaff upwards.  "My father Kazic could heal fast but you... I've only seen one other being recover from wounds like the one that you did..." The burning now seared through the bottom of Irtro's chin and neck, his eye's bulging in disbelief.  "Plus, the way you move, the purple pallor to your skin..." The blade cut through his upper lip and the bottom of his nose, panic pulsing through Irtro's numb body, his limbs impotently unresponsive as the thousands of cuts courtesy of Zearic's Oblivion daggers and saberstaff siphoned energy to mend the lacerations and burns.

Each millimeter that Zearic's blade moved, the collective roar of the crowd seemed to increase twofold.  Now Irtro's body felt the "itch" as rebuilt neurons started to spark, creating the pathways necessary to connect to his central nervous system.  Unfortunately, the plasma blade at the base of his neck made that even slower as his cells were burned away just as fast as his body healed them in a macabre sense of equilibrium.

"You're Gen'Dai, or at least part... Kazic told me there were only two ways to deal with a Gen'Dai: 'Death by a thousand cuts...'and you can guess what the second is." Despite the yelling, Irtro could only focus on the wide man's whispering voice, the deep baritone the most important thing in his existence.  "Like I said: my wife would not want for me to kill..." The burning blue blade was now just below Irtro's eyes, his ruined nose vaporized by the slow cutting plasma of Zearic's saberstaff.  But he was finally able to move his fingers a little, his cells beginning to fire impulses from his newly reformed nervous system.  "...But you put yourself between me and her freedom."  Irtro was able to adjust his gaze, finally seeing the conviction within the man's eye.

There was no pity, there wasn't even the expected hatred.  But what Irtro did see was the soul beneath: a man who would stop at nothing to get what he wanted.  And for the first time, Irtro felt real fear.

All too late.

With deliberate swiftness Zearic pulled his saberstaff upwards into Irtro's brain, moving the weapon in ever-widening circles, completely destroying the brain.

One of the only certain means of truly killing a Gen'Dai.  Or in Irtro's case, a quarter-Gen'Dai.

When Zearic stood, his mind finally registered the noise: he was inundated by shouting.  For the Hapan people, this display only served to feed their own bloodlust, nevermind that it was their own champion that had fallen.  For them, it was no great loss.

After all, it was only a lowly male that had been killed...

...Which was a small price to entertain the masses for their sport.

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1. HUD: Heads Up Display

[TheDutchman]

Special thanks to For Tyeth for the spectacular rendering of T'Atyanna.  This chapter is dedicated to him 
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Chapter 13: Ordeal By Combat, part II

Listian had paid close attention to the battle, from Zearic's tactics and movements to his opponent's martial abilities to the individual Hapans in the crowd around him, especially his own people and as well as that of the two women at the center of this.

Ta'a Chume, the Hapan Empress and her daughter, T'Atyanna.

When Zearic looked to be close to losing, they looked eager; but when it was their own man that fell, they seemed to have no more care than for one who has discarded a tool...only to grab another replacement without so much as a second glance.  Why would they be so nonchalant concerning their loss?

Listian knew that something was amiss here, something deeper than just their cultural "Trial."

And not just the Hapans; several times he'd seen Zearic take a hit and everytime one of the helmeted Hoplites would flinch as a result.  Listian wasn't certain as to the identity of the soldier but he could tell that they were tall with lekku.  But before he could think more upon it, a great roar recalled him from his ruminations as he saw Irtro suddenly collapse upon the ground, his arms pinioned by Zearic's strange eldritch weapons.  And while nothing could be heard, Listian could swear that the wide Cataphract said something to the Hapan champion.

As Zearic performed the killing stroke, completely vaporizing the head so that nothing remained, Listian made certain that his Hoplites and Cataphracts were vigilant, each one ready should anyone in the crowd--or the nobles--try anything foolish.  For himself, he adopted an air of imperious certitude before stepping towards the Queen.

"Your champion is dead.  Now give me my Speaker." Listain gestured towards D'Aylanna, the woman still standing by pure will alone despite her unsteady legs.  He was about to take a step when several of the Chume'doro crowded around the Elysium Throne, surrounding the Queen Mother, some of the nobles, and, of course, D'Aylanna.

Once again, T'Atyanna spoke.



"No man may make claim nor fight for the right of a woman, Off-Worlder." Despite her being almost 20 centimeters shorter than Listian, she seemed to tower over him.

Brushing aside the castigation, Listian softly scoffed.  "Perhaps you are blind from staring too much into your own sun but my man defeated yours."

As T'Atyanna smirked, Listian noticed that almost every single Hapan woman present adopted a similar look, one that someone training a dog would affect.  A very stupid dog.  He did not appreciate the implication.  "Your 'man' made the offense of challenging me, a transgression that Irtro answered...and answered for."  Her smile suddenly held a wicked bent to it.  "Had you offal not interrupted me, then you would understand the conditions as they have existed within the Consortium since time immemorial."  She arced a perfectly manicured eyebrow.  "'Only a female relative may offer challenge to one of the Nobility.'  And, per your gift of stating the obvious, your man initiated the challenge."

As someone who often dealt with the distinction between the spirit and the so-called letter of the law, Listian could appreciate the nuance of minutiae...but not at this particular moment.  He was a stranger in a strange land and surrounded on all sides by the enemy.

All around him, Listian saw nearly identical faces: gorgeous women nodding in agreement with the short woman, their zealous gaze affixed upon the regal majesty that was their Empress.  Again, Listian weighed in his mind the cost of renewing battle against the people of the Consortium, the Queen Mother's words burning in his mind: "Shall we all die together today?"  He was about to activate the release button of the bioweapon when sudden movement to his side surprised him.

"You cowardly tralk..." Zearic hissed, appearing beside Listian like a mountain's shadow, his one visible eye looking first at T'Atyanna and then D'Aylanna.  "...You hide behind a technicality knowing that I can--that I will!--kill you!"  Despite his quiet tone, the intensity in his voice cut into those who heard, several taking a step back.

But not T'Atyanna.

"Come Off-Worlder, let us continue what we started on Sekot.  We can then see which of us dies."  Her dark eyes flashed as she suddenly leaned a bit inward towards the wide Cataphract.  "But even should I fall, you'll never take Il'liyanav, not without open warfare."  She subtly gestured around her, indicating the crowd.  "You might even kill hundre--thousands!--" She smiled vindictively, "--but know this: you will never, ever, see your wife alive in this life again!"

Both Zearic and Listian heard the brutal truth of her words and the depths of T'Atyanna's plans, the unbridled hatred she felt.  She cared nothing for the Hapan people, nothing at all for the Consortium.  Her only motive was to consummate her revenge against the person she blamed.

Il'liyanav Lana’A D'Aylanna Vih'Torr.

Zearic's one visible eye locked onto D'Aylanna's, the love between them palpable.  Noticing their gaze, it only made T'Atyanna's cruel grin widen even further.  "That's right.  Take a final look at each other.  Soon, I'll see you both in Sheol, the unending nig--"

"I challenge you."  Came a surprisingly strong voice, one that shocked everyone.



Removing her helmet as she stepped forward, Jorya saw that all of the Hapan women looked confused, even the Queen Mother.  "What is this?" Her sonorous voice rang forth from the Elysium Throne, quieting everyone.  "Who are you?"

Now Listian understood who the Hoplite was.  Silently cursing to himself, he wondered how the koawan had become imbedded with the Hoplites.  Even as he turned towards her, his large shadow left him only to head towards the young Togruta.

Zearic moved beside Jorya, his imposing armor made all the more terrifying by the large cut in his helmet, the exposed bloody face under an angry strange hazel eye.  Zearic's voice low so that only she could hear.  "No, Jorya.  You can't d--"

"I am the adoptive daughter of D...Il'liyanav Vih'Torr." The Togruta's voice rang out, even cutting off her Father's.  "I claim the Right of Adjudication under the rules of the Consortium." She continued.  Standing in her light armor, Jorya looked no less imposing than her much larger adoptive Father.  "I will stand for my Mother as 'zashchitnik' and against the lies levied against her."

"Zashchitnik."  In Hapan, it meant "defender" or more specifically "righteous protector."

Zearic's heart torn in twain: he was proud of his daughter--she had learned more about her Mother's culture than he ever had--and was glad to have her here, yet he was now afraid.  Afraid for Jorya, afraid for D'Aylanna, afraid that he was now losing them both...

Just as he'd always feared.

"Dear O--" He tried to speak only to be interrupted again.

Jorya stared blaster bolts directly at T'Atyanna.  "Do you accept or yield?" Jorya's words reverberating throughout the Tribunal of Illumination.

T'Atyanna was taken aback.  For the first time in her life, the shorter woman felt trapped having unseen this possibility.  ...Daughter...? She thought.  But the feeling was fleeting; she stared at Jorya directly into her eyes, the animus she felt for her Sestranya now transferring wholesale to her adoptive daughter.

...Even better... She mused, smiling. ...Now I get to kill her entire family...  Before anyone--not Listian, not Zearic, not D'Aylanna, not even the Queen Mother--could raise a word of protest, T'Atyanna's voice filled the air, echoing throughout the Tribunal Of Illumination with two thunderous words:

"I accept."

[Lord_S_Gray]

Partial Gen'Dai, that explains why T'attyana was so confident, they are damn hard to kill (in recent stories Ravge of the Sons of Kessel exemplifying such), and the swift brutal combat testament to both fighters prowess - the duel wasn't long and nor should it be, both were utterly focused on the kill using everything they had, to thunderous applause.

Zearic once again noting that had it not been for his 'renewal' (and additional training with Nimmin Cha) he wouldn't have had much of a chance at all, that ever present thorn in his pysche set aside whilst D'Alyanna is in danger.   And though he won...it achieved nothing on a technicality - though I can't help but think the duel would've 'counted' had Irtro won - it was T'attyana who challenged D'alyanna after all, Zearic was her proxy and Irtro only chosen as a man can't challenge a woman.

I strongly suspect the 'cultural' rules would've applied to suit the Hapans whatever the outcome, with Irtro's victory it would've been a case of 'you had your chance, you lost now leave'.  This is perhaps Listian's misstep, he was perhaps too permissive/optimistic in thinking he could deal semi-fairly with the Hapan's - the nature of their society means nothing is ever 'fair' and no contest ever balanced or rule adhered to unless it suits them.

Though for the Hapan's to remain so intransigent depsite the threat of bio weapons goes to show just how unconcerned for 'lesser' citizens the Nobility it, and how much more saving face means to them than saving lives.

Regardless it now falls to Jorya to fight on her mothers behalf...and capable though she is, T'atyanna is product of Hapan court violence...seems to be a balanced match up.  I wonder though...if pressed too hard by T'atyanna...how long before those shards latent in Jorya 'intervene'....

To echo Dutch Great renderings by For adding visual elements to a great story.