Years From Now...

[Lord Inquisitor Valten]

Bren’lar had never seen Naomi in the state she was in now. Most servants of the Inquisitoriate eventually succumbed to insanity or complete mental breakdown if they weren’t killed. The human mind could only take so much moral and emotional punishment before it broke. Different people had different ways of holding off the inevitable, sanctioned stims and drugs, neural wipes, even schizophrenia. Naomi and Bren’lar were in the growing number of agents that had found mental stability with marriage. Not that it could really be called an intimate relationship.


Still, in all of the missions, all of the violence, the screams, the interrogations, the decontaminations, Naomi had not once broken down so completely as she was now, in pain and rage as Bren’lar moved her out of the tenement structure. And it terrified him. An instinctive thought flashed through his mind, a concept drilled into every Inquisitor. Any Inquisitor to lose capacity was indication of failure to the Empire and must be punished by immediate execution.


“Snap out of it, girl.” Bren’lar’s armored joints strained as he hauled Naomi outside. “Nothing you could do, nothing anyone can do.”


The Inquisitor didn’t know if she could even hear with through her unintelligible ranting. But he hoped somehow she’d be able to switch from being Naomi to being the heartless Inquisitor…and fast. Civilians and Imperial soldiers alike fled towards waiting gunships. Only Inquisitorial Deathtroopers maintained their composure, keeping an active firing line in controlled withdrawal.


During the time inside the situation had greatly deteriorated. Imperial choke points and emplacements were quickly being overrun by infected. And the flood would shortly fill the plaza.


A grunt escaped Bren’lar as he held Naomi’s form. Power-armor may have been the greatest leap in combat technology, but in no way was one suit designed to hold the weight of another.


“Naomi….please. If you don’t help me out we are going to die, the pilots won’t wait.”


Bren’lar shifted his grip and pulled harder, closing the gap to safety meter by meter. A sudden wrench nearly dislocated his shoulder. Teeth gritted in pain, he glanced over his shoulder to find Naomi’s eyes filled with something odd. Remorse. She violently shoved a surprised Bren’lar away.


“We deserve worse than that.” She turned her head towards the approaching horde, setting sun and burning city highlighting her long hair with crimson. “We’ve damned ourselves a thousand times over.”



She swept her arm out over all the howling creatures. “We have less of a soul than they do.”


Her husband forced himself to nervously examine the plight of the infected. Bren’lar shook off the feeling of impending death and laid an arm on Naomi’s shoulder.
“I know. And w
e will burn for everything.” He tried to get a clear look at her face. “But we’ve always accepted it.”


Naomi kept staring straight ahead, sadness softening her face. “I killed a kid. Infected……but she was still…. there.”


The male Inquisitor cocked his head slightly, a tint of confusion. “It wasn’t the first….”


A high pitched whine pierced the air. The sound repulsors lifting transports into the air.


“This is our fault. I know it.” She finally turned to look at her husband. A lump found itself in his chest, she actually wanted to die. “How many more kids are there going to be?”


Bren’lar stepped forward, leaning his forehead against hers, his nose brushing against hers.


“So, you’re just going to throw your life away without doing anything to fix the problem.”


In the path of an incoming horde of shrieking, crazed, former citizens, silence hung over the embracing pair. Naomi slowly pulled back, a sigh on her lips, eyes cast downward. “Coruscant is going to burn.”


Bren’lar released gingerly raised her head with his armored hands. “At least we can make sure other worlds won’t.”


Less than twenty meters before the first wave of infected were to hit a smile slowly made its way back onto her face and the fear in Bren’lar’s gut faded away. The deadly and dangerous Naomi was starting to show through again, determined in a different way, but not the resigned wreck she had been minutes ago.


A beat and the two Inquisitors sparked into motion. The leading creatures leapt only to be slammed back in midair by the Scothis’s paired firepower. Slowly but surely, the Naomi and Bren’lar pulled back, knocking back the horde with bullets and blades.

[Master Laran]

"They're not all dead," Serena murmured to A'na, and the other woman nodded, her green eyes wide.

Lightsaber held at her side, the blade disengaged but ready to be deployed in an instant, the Jedi led the way through the concourse. The children clumped in behind her, a touch of the Force removing most of the fear that could have paralyzed them. A'na took up the rear, the toddler still in her arms and a blaster in her hand.

The 'port was spacious, though it now looked as though a battle had been waged inside. The bodies littering the carpeted ground filled the air with the smell of death and blood. Wary, Serena regarded each corpse they had to pass as a potential threat. Would these remain as they were, or would some dark side curse reanimate them?

[A'na]

Minutes dragged by, seeming like days as the little troupe picked its way down the once pristine concourse. We must get out of the city, A'na thought, Past the quarantine zone - if there still is a quarantine zone. But the chances of their survival were slim, even if they did beat all the odds and make the long trek out of Hanna City. Once they reached the edge of the QZ they would probably be shot by troopers determined to maintain the saftey of the rest of Chandrila.

No rescue. Only containment.

A'na looked up suddenly, imagining an ISD in orbit getting ready to scrub the capitol city from the face of the planet. It was the most logical step for the Empire to take. Tripping over an arm on the ground, the woman stumbled, her grip tightening on the child in her arms. Jax cried out softly against the pressure, but she quickly righted herself and made him as comfortable as she could.

[Master Laran]

Serena looked back over her shoulder at A'na, but the woman did not meet her eyes as she comforted little Jax. They were almost past the shops, getting closer to the outer doors and any vehicles that might be beyond them. The Jedi planned on getting everyone into a speeder, or maybe two, and making their way towards the outskirts of the city.

They simply would not survive on foot. Serena could, and perhaps A'na, but the children would not have a chance. A small hand pressed into hers, and Serena squeezed gently, calm reassurance for A'na's daughter Jade who was pressing into her side.

Then the twins began to cry.

[A'na]

Alise and Ida started sobbing, clutching each other and trying to be quiet. Trelby and Rammon, the two oldest children, looked uncertainly at the Jedi who led the group.

I feel it too. A headache bloomed behind her eyes as the Force closed in oppressively.

"Its a trap," she blurted. "The dammed things drew us in!" As she spoke, ice cold pain shot through her right leg and she stumbled, falling to the ground.

"Get down!" Serena bellowed, and the children ducked as blaster fire erupted from the shops on either side of them. A potted tree burst into flames and fell over as the Jedi deflected blaster bolts with her lightsaber, protecting the children.

[Director BlackOps]

The reports coming in were alarming and all confirmed the mushroom-cloud effect of contagion blooming ever outward from Imperial Center.

Russard sat stone-faced as she listened to the report from her Intelligence Officer.
A man in his late fifties, Captain Ursandin was reed-thin and stood ramrod straight. His hair was greying at the temples, yet he had the air of a man still well in his prime. He spoke in a clipped monotone.

"They've barricaded the Vortex. Nothing in or out"

"They cant do that!" exploded his naval counterpart, Gerrard Darline - a pastey looking fellow who was also in his fifties but carryied none of Ursandin's composure. "The Jedi cant shut their doors!" he bleated.

Estelle gestured for Ursandin to go on.

"Imperial Center is a shambles" he stated, adding, "They must destroy it if there is to be any hope of containment."

"Bit late for that, would'nt you say" offered Darline fearfully.

"One report has an Imperial ISD in place even as we speak." Then Ursandin fell silent. It would be a terrible day that Coruscant was gone altogether. Of all the planets in the Galaxy, that one embodied the driving force of change - both good and evil - and had been a bastion of power - the seat of great, and terrible, men. The captain could not believe it had come to this.

Estelle broke into his thoughts, asking quietly, "Then why do they wait?"

"Well its obvious" blustered Darline, "They're trying to save a few important as--er, personages before obliterating it"

Russard and Ursandin exchanged a candid look. Darline was not much of an officer, and even less an Intel operative. But despite his glaring shortcomings, he often had a gifted insight, though he was quite oblivious to this redeeming trait, Estelle was quite sure.

"You may be right, Darline" she said thoughtfully.

This unholy infection had half the galaxy in an uproar. She had not been aware as to the extent of it until her return to her ship from Keldabe. She had not received any direct orders from the Belargics, though it was quite possible communications had been sent, but not received, given the current state of turmoil. Word that had gotten through was that several parties, Jedi and Alliance and non-afiliated alike have rallied in varying capacities to evacuation, or rescue and containment, operations.

This had created a unique window of opportunity that Estelle was beginning to be realise.

The Empire was responsible for yet another disaster - and this one on such tremendous scale. For so many years, the master-planners and deviant minds had held the galaxy ransom to their brutal and violent will. And now, even as the Imperials fell prey to the chaos of their own making, justice would find them. In the midst of their own panic and dissarray, judgement would come calling.

"Captain Ursandin - last known whereabouts of Lord Inquisitor Valten?" Estelle asked.

The Captain did not have to look for the information, he prided himself on keeping up to date on Valten's movements out of personal interest and the fact that he was on the top of the hitlist for their Special Branch, "Imperial Center, Director"

"And...the Emporer?"

This caused a slight pause, before he replied, "I will have that for you immediately"

Russard nodded.





Darline was momentarily perplexed, and then as he caught up with what the Director had in mind, he frowned with uncertainty. "We have orders for this, from Headquarters..?"

Estelle ignored him.

"And Ursandin" she called as her Captain headed out, "get me the whereabouts of Cimmerian while you're at it"

A plan was formulating in Russards mind, and it unnerved Darline as he sat alone with her now, to see the cold calculation that moved behind her eyes.

[Quinn]

Barton's shoulders sagged forwards. Though he heard the soldiers question, he did not answer. He couldn't lie, after all. He was done with lying now, but he didn't have the heart to tell the man what was truly wrong. A small part of him felt cowardly for the deception, but something – the Force, he hoped – told him that it was the right thing to do, to stay with Quinn and the others. Patience in all things.

“My apologies, Captain,” the Jedi Master said, through a spluttering cough. “The stress of the situation is getting to us all... but we're very glad to have your assistance.”

Quinn looked back at the Jedi Master, and nodded with a serene look.

"Yes it is. And I apologize for the restraints, but they are necessary. However if we all keep calm, everything will be fine. We just have one more stop before we have to depart, then we're clear out of here."

Quinn turned back to the driver and nodded. "You have the new course. Head for it at maximum safe speed down here."

The soldier then looked to the two squads in the back. "We got lucky boys. Our next target is on the way out. Just set the explosives, and get out fast. Lock and load."

There was a chorus of clicking and clanking as the troopers slapped in fresh magazines, checked their communications gear or adjusted their armor straps.

"Just this last one, and we collect the rest of our paycheck." Quinn nodded to all of them. "This last one, and we get to go home."

[Director BlackOps]

Word had come from Eleazar and Dominique – mandolorean friends of Kazaar who had helped Russard keep a hooded eye on his activities over the years. They had managed to safely depart Brentaal and had contacted Blackop's, forwarding Estelle the rogue rebel’s secured transmission grid.

Russard held her directive in slender fingers and read it over once more. She was sure Kazaar – or Cimmerian, as he had long ago been reinvented – would recognize the cipher. It was old, archaic even, and had not really ever been in circulation. It was an old training format that he had helped design back in the days when the two were partners. Kazaar would use it to send Dasquian inappropriate jokes over his official line. Even then, Kazaar's anti-authority issues had ruled much of the things the ex-bounty hunter did.

"He will remember this code?" Captain Ursandin’s query interrupted her thoughts.

"He will, if he hasn’t liquored or cigared his brain into pickled morbidity." She replied.

Last reports she’d had of Cimmerian had been discouraging to say the least. He’d always lived hard, drank hard. But Estelle feared the last few jagged pieces of self that remained of the Kazaar she had known may have been drowned completely by his obstinate and self-destructive habits.

"We will know soon enough" she added without emotion. "Send the cipher. We will hold the Aurora’s course to this distant orbit from Coruscant until we get a reply. Expect Cimmerian to be angry at Belargics alteration in plan." She warned.

"The Chancellor…?" Usrandin asked uncertainly as he reached for the offered sheet, holding just shy of taking it.

It was one thing to act independently of Command - it was quite another to misrepresent the leader of the Rebel Alliance. The Captain hesitated – not from any sense of conscience, but rather from a healthy fear of Military Law. He did not wish to end a sterling career in court-martial.

Estelle squared a hard look at her subordinate. "You have nothing to fear, Ronal" she said, the rare use of his first name designed to placate him. "Cimmerian will assume the missive is from the Belargics, and we will correct him when the time suites us. Besides, the holy man tells me the Chancellor is extremely busy in dealing with this crisis and our small diversion in their plan will probably go unnoticed."

The holy man was Estelle’s informant within the Chancellor’s camp. Russard did not particularly like having what could only be construed as a spy amidst her own leadership, but the Blackop’s Director had long ago realized that her job was Information and she must use any - and every - means available to her in order to get it. A tender conscience toward spying on life-long friends and respected superiors had no place in her mind and she had long reconciled herself to that hard fact.

Ursandin took the note and folded it into his jacket, a sign of his submission. He had followed Russard in to the flaming furnace many times before, and now with the galaxy in such dire straights was not the time to shy away from the heat.

"Good man" she said, and the small commendation gave Ursandin a sense of satisfaction. He nodded his acknowledgement and turned on his heel to go to the transmissions room.

"Keep them scanning for the Lord Inquisitor’s transport" she called after him. "All this frantic exodus from Imperial Center is to our advantage. He must not get away."

"Yes Director"

"And Captain, destroy any craft that approaches and does not respond to our inquiry – we cant forget the reason the populace is fleeing."

A sobering thought. Again, Russard cursed the Imperials for their insanity and stared intently at her star maps.

"Where are you Emporer? I am coming to find you."



***********************************************

Crypted Message sent to Kal Cimmerian:

33--8cng5ree881@#*bn>##1

(RECLAIMED)

ES^LL2(99-->>...(RrES

(RENDEVOUS CO-ORDINATES: - 243.72 x CR--98DEGREES)

************************************************** ************************************************** *********

[Kal Cimmerian]

Cimmerian rubbed his eyes as hyperspace changed t'normal space, yawned, lit up a dark cigar, and cursed as his eyes viewed the long line of space traffic waiting t'get into Mon Calamari.

The Galactic Alliance had blockaded the entire planet, forcin' every ship t'wait while they were 'processed'. Wasn't a bad strategy after all, ya never knew when an 'honest pilgrim' might turn into some crazy Imperial bomber looking t'raise all sorts of hell on the Galactic Alliance's homeplanet.

Or an infected traveller who just wanted t'bite everything in sight.

Cimmerian leaned back in The Blaster's semi-comfortable seat and waited. He wasn't too patient 'bout this damn thing, but it gave him a bit more time t'drink.

He'd just taken a drink when 'Maddy' rolled in *twittering* 'bout some message he'd gotten a few minutes ago.


33--8cng5ree881@#*bn>##1

(RECLAIMED)

ES^LL2(99-->>...(RrES

(RENDEVOUS CO-ORDINATES: - 243.72 x CR--98DEGREES)

The gun-for-hire gave a smirk/scowl. "Frackin' Belargic. Why the hell didn't ya just getta hold of me before I burned spacelanes from Brentaal. Frackin' politicians."

He pressed the controls and pulled his ship outta the wait line, then maneuvered it away from the ships. A warning message was sent by a nearby squadron of K-Wings, but Cimmerian ignored it and pressed the button for hyperspace.

A minute later, he was headed towards Coruscant.

* * *

Mon Calamari- Galactic Alliance Intelligence Headquarters

Tech Specialist Pau Karol took another swig of his caf, raised his eyes towards his flashing computer screen, and prayed whatever virus had set the galaxy on fire would go away. It made his job even tougher to handle.

On a normal day, Karol IDed and processed over 200 ships, making sure their points of origins matched their hyperspace paths, and made sure their IDs matched their owners. It was long and boring, but tended to provide enough stimulation for him to believe he was getting paid enough to placate his wife.

He pressed a few more buttons on his screen, calling up the last few minutes of ship who'd just come out of hyperspace and were awaiting processing.

It was early evening and Karol had seen 5000 ships come through all ready and there had to be at least 10,000 more awaiting processing. It was absolutely maddening, especially since every one claimed their reason for coming here was even more important than the one before.

No wars had broken out between the ships yet, although one ship of Trandoshans almost opened fire on a ship of Wookies. It'd been prevented by some quickthinking by a pilot named McDonnaught or Donut...something like that.

Karol tapped a few keys, then noticed the name The Balmorran Blaster on one of the ships who'd just come in, before jumping to hyperspace very quickly. The name was familiar, although the Tech Specialist couldn't figure out why. The fact it was a flagged name meant bad news.

He queried the ship's name, only to find the information *CLASSIFIED* with an addendum, "NOTIFY CHANCELLOR AND DIRECTOR BELARGICS SHOULD SHIP APPEAR". Karol breathed a curse, alerted his superior officer.

Everything moved as quick as possible after that. The alert was passed on to the Deputy Director of Intelligence, who then passed it to both the chancellor and his wife's offices.

Director Belargic's aide made a note and immediately prepared to give to her boss. The aide was delayed because of a meeting between Grace and the Jedi Master s'Ilancy-Prent.

In Chancellor Belargic's office, the message was delayed further. Because the Chancellor was in meeting with the Senate, his secretary followed immediate protocol. Three copies of the alert were made, then placed into the hands of the Chancellor's two top aides. The secretary didn't know why three were needed, but didn't ask any questions. Belargic's aides both decided it wasn't worth passing onto the Chancellor due to the current crisis.

The third copy made its way back to 'The Ghost Lady' en route to Coruscant.

[Clea Darkrunner]

Sharra sat back in her seat, finally satisfied.

She had heard Quinn explain to his men that they had one last objective, then they were heading out. And that was good.............. It had slowly sunk into her self-centered mind that she was in danger.

She'd lost her mother's ship, and The Band was going to be pissed off at her, but she felt certain she could charm her way back into their good graces. After all, she had her mother's voice..................and looks.

Still, that small, still voice she had learned to listen to was screaming at her to get the frack off the planet. Listening to the men around her chattering, Sharra gained an impression that the whole planet was slowly disintegrating into diseased anarchy. She looked down anxiously at her handbag. If these men ever identified what the jumble of components could be assembled into, she was sure they wouldn't have let her keep it, even if it had belonged to her mother

Even if she didn't know how to reassemble it.............................

[Executor Van-Derveld]

Valten turned a shoulder to leave, but lingered a moment longer. “We estimate at least a quarter trillion infected and it has already been proven that they are capable of operating technology. They cannot be allowed to escape. I will be invoking the Extermination Doctrine, I expect you’ll enjoy seeing this world burn.”

The cyborg Inquisitor passed the threshold, his mechanical arms grasping the door edges and slamming them shut behind him.

The fear, the anger... it was so potent now. All of the control and order that the Inquisitor strove to uphold, the Empire strove to uphold, was crumbling away to ashes. They would deal with chaos in the only way they knew how – by destroying it completely. The effects of the Morbus strain were of such magnitude that any kind of treatment plan was unthinkable. The Emperor would be forced, Van-Derveld knew, to kill thousands upon thousands of his own loyal citizens, and all because of the 'incompetence' of one man. His eyes closing, the Executor imagined he could almost here the Empire falling.


There was not long to savor the moment, however... not long before the Inquisitor's justice was exacted. He had to move, to flee the Pliada di am Imperium and Coruscant itself, seeing its pristine skylines for the last time.

[Quinn]

The squad bolted from their target shortly before it went up in an orange flash and flames, probably visible from orbit. It was another chokepoint that was closed off, cutting off this section of the lower levels from the surface.

The mercs clambered into the APC and took their seats. The previously empty gunner's seats were now filled and ammunition was being expended quickly, the BREEOWBREEOWBREEOW of the forward pulse turret on rapid fire clearing the path of the vehicle followed by the CHOOM of the twin railgun on the roof of the vehicle. Plus the RATATATATATATATAT of the mercs pulse rifles mowing down the infected coupled with the occasional FWOOOOOSH of a flamer burning the corpses.

The doors of the APC slammed closed, and the roar of the engine kicked the vehicle forward, weapons still chattering away.

"HEAD FOR EVAC POINT THREE!" Quinn shouted to the driver, a map popping up on his HUD. The driver shouted an affirmative and mashed down on the accelerator. The pulse turret was barely making headway until the twin railgun swung to the forward arc and began assisting in clearing the path, mostly taking out walls that the military vehicle had to clear.

And during this grueling test, the men inside the vehicle never lost their cool, only being focused on their task. The foot soldiers themselves began reloading their weapons should they be needed.

"Ten minutes until we hit the EVAC point!" Quinn shouted to the back over the engine and the weapons fire.

[Clea Darkrunner]

Sharra sagged against her seat in relief.

Evac point! She had never before realized how glorious two words could be. It meant that they would be leaving this infected world and its screaming hordes behind. It was one thing to have screaming people around when they were delirious over her singing. It was another thing when what they were screaming for was her blood.

Sharra shivered. Normally a self-centered rock star, it had finally sunk in that a world had been dying around her. She glanced back at the two men she'd felt compelled to rescue. At least they were safe now, although the Jedi didn't look too good......

[Serena Laran]

Mayhem exploded around the little group, the Force giving little enough warning as the infected made themselves known. Perhaps they had been wandering the spaceport as a group, killing whoever they could find, or maybe they had been lying in wait this entire time, as A'na's exclaimation suggested. Serena did not have time to think about where the attackers had come from.

Conscious thought left her as she let the Force take over her actions. Or guide them, or whatever the popular way of putting it was these days. The lightsaber in her hand was an extension of her arm - and she wielded it nearly effortlessly to deflect the incoming blaster bolts.

A'na shouted, and her blaster spat energy bolts towards the other side of the concourse where a few crazed and unarmed individuals were dashing towards the group in the center of the wide hall. Two fell, but got to their feet again, lurching forward once more.

[A'na]

Her leg wasn't working right anymore, and A'na frantically pushed the children to the ground behind several huge pots of botanicals. Serena guarded one side with her lightsaber, the blade flashing impressively.

A'na stumbled to the ground beside the children, all of whom had tears in their eyes, but their mouths were sealed closed as the Jedi had told them. Jade's lips quivered, and A'na gave her arm a quick, reassuring squeeze. "Stay down here, its safe here."

Which was, of course, a lie. The dark haired woman tried to get into a crouch but her thigh burned where she'd been caught with a blaster bolt. Leaning on the rim of one of the pots, she shielded the children with her body from at least one angle, and looked for targets to shoot at.

Wherever the frelling things were firing from, they had good cover. She heard a shout from the other side of the concourse, the side the children had no cover from, and saw a group of beings come loping towards them from around a corner. She shot at them, and pegged two of the infected, but they simply got back up again and resumed their run at the island of Force sensitives.

There was no getting around it. With a ragged cry A'na opened herself to the Force, letting her fear and anger out in a rush of adrenaline that steadied her hands and improved her aim. One eye lightly closed, she sighted down the barrel of the blaster and shot four times.

Four of the incoming infected dropped to the ground, dead with smoking holes in their foreheads.

[Morgan Evanar]

The spaceport had a network of tunnels beneath the landing field to safely move personnel, material and cargo. Rhianna and Morgan paused at the entrance, noting the charring on the walls and burnt corpses. The foamy remnants of the automated fire suppression system's spray thinly coated the next hundred yards, until the lights were out. Rhianna stayed close, lightsaber in hand. Morgan held his blaster at the ready one hand and his shorter saber in the other. Rhianna's helmet quietly whirred when she turned the night-vision on. Morgan blinked, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim at best surroundings.

Over-turned luggage carriers littered the way. They were very fortunate that they landed in one of the local craft carrier hangers and not one for a major carrier, which would have been jammed with support personnel. Morgan and Rhianna quickened their pace slightly, moving at just short of a jog. After nearly a half kilometer without lights, they were greeted by functional lights and horror in the circular exchange junction. They picked their way across the roundabout.

Blood was smeared across the walls from the impact of a body flung from one of the badly smashed cargo carriers. Someone had their head beaten in with a blunt object. The leavings of violence were everywhere. Morgan could sense Rhianna's revulsion.

“So... senseless.” Morgan nodded in agreement, scanning the area for anything living.

“Do you know where Serena and the children are?” He asked. The way ahead split in three directions, each servicing a pair of terminals. Normally he wouldn't ask, as their familiarity with Serena would lead them easily to her. Morgan was having trouble feeling through the noise. Rhianna paused, her head tilted up slightly. They were in the middle of the roundabout, and didn't have the best cover. Morgan could hear something walking in the distance, and he could feel it moving, too. It let out a guttural yell and charged toward them. Morgan raised the N'Gant blaster and waited until whatever the mutilated thing was got into clear visual range. The formerly overweight maintenance worker vaulted over one of the downed carriers, and the Jedi put a blaster bolt into it's skull. The body's feet landed first, and then what remained of it's head hit the ground and tumbled.

“There.” She pointed down the corridor that the changed worker had emerged from.

Morgan tucked into a quick jog, and Rhianna followed close behind. Time was growing short.

[Rhianna Evanar]

The moment she had opened herself up, searching for the familiar presence of Serena, her vision within the force began to change on her. Her eyes closed and she was no longer picking her way through a body strewn terminal. Rhianna was seeing a mist shrouded forrest. The bodies around her feet were pale echoes of her past. Their faces frozen forever in pain and horror. As she had been when she was just a girl, she suddenly felt a frantic need to find someone, anyone alive in the mist. She needed to find Serena. Through the thick vale before her, in the distance she could see a beacon of light.

'Rhianna...', it called to her.

She shook her head, trying to return to the terminal and focus on the present.

"There.", she pointed and they started down the corridor. She could see Morgan, knew where they were and what they were doing, but inside her mind she could still also see that misty, dark forrest. A waking vision, layered on reality. Ahead of them were several storm troopers, they crept out from behind heavy trees, ready to kill without thought. Their visored helmets focused on her. Rhianna was no longer a helpless girl. Her wrist rotated, the aqua radiance of her lightsaber rising up before her. She would not stand by and let villainy and despair take her family from her again.

There were no wounded here. No one left that had been infected, that had not already succumbed to the virus. These were bodies gone forever still, and ahead.. There were things that were moving. Many in fact. From their distance, and the way they still shuffled, rather than move with unnatural haste for the kill, it was apparent that they had not yet noticed the presence of the Jedi. The light that she was following continued, on the other side of the infected and further down the corridor. They had to cut through to reach Serena and time was not on their side.

[Director Belargic]

With the meeting adjourned, the Director was only allowed a brief moment to say good-bye to her husband before returning to her duties. Dasquian had to stay behind for further questions and to be present for the vote if the Alliance would go to war.

Grace selfishly hoped for war, but her conscious warned against it. Nothing good came from war when motive was fueled by vengeance. During her days with the Rebellion, war was a necessary evil. The Galactic Empire created order through fear and oppression. It was no way to live when so many good beings died because they did not fit what was proper...

But the Empire continued to try and take back what was not theirs. This latest attack proved that. And now they might have doomed the galaxy.

Upon returning to her office, Grace was surprised momentarily to who was waiting. Jedi Master s'Ilancy-Prent was still in the middle of a communication and opted to check with her secretary for any news. If a Jedi Master wanted to see her unannounced, it had to be important and would allow a moment for the conversation to be concluded.

[Master Henning]

Had it not been for the restraints that held him in place, Barton would have collapsed. His chest rose and fell slowly, breaths staggered and uneven. For a moment he became stiff and still, his face twisted in a faint grimace. His half-lidded eyes looked towards Kale, feeling sadness swell in his chest.

[Executor Van-Derveld]

The sky was full of smoke, yet even through the rolling clouds the black hull of the Miranda was visible. There were scores of ships swarming above Imperial City, many of them embroiled in dog-fights, laser fire flashing across the skyline – but none of them held a candle to the gargantuan dungeon ship. Even in his frantic state, the Executor noted the bitter irony that he should have to flee to such a vessel, named as it was after a woman he had once tried to assassinate. Miranda was, however, his only certain method of escape. The transport he piloted would not withstand the onslaught of the defense turrets and airborne 'clean up squad' that had already begun to patrol the air-ways. Van-Dervelds only hope was that he could make it beyond the combat zone before they became aware of his presence...