The Enemy Within

[Telan Desaria]

The Frontier of the Empire...

...somewhere along the Unknown Regions


Six Months Ago


One missile after another slammed into the port side, each explosion washing over shields that could barely withstand them. Each impact forced the energy fields back towards their projectors, overpowering one buffer after another until only a thin bit of hull separated fragile human bodies from the unforgiving coldness of space. One missile, a second behind the rest, had no shield in its path. It flew straight and true, impervious to the wild blasts of anti-projectile fire that tried in vain to stop it. The missile struck the hull and died, its single purpose fulfilled. The explosion was as deadly as it was beautiful. Fires flared for a second, consuming quickly escaping oxygen before structural force fields popped into existence. As debris drifted away, all who looked could see a gash twenty meters long by half that again wide. Those who died in the blast were lucky – not so the panicked few outside the force-fields who had sealed themselves into bulkheads. A race now began: would the dwindling atmosphere strangle them, or would the cold claim them first?

“ Structural fields in place; damage control teams responding!”

“ Shields are coming back up, but half the buffers have to re-cycle. I can get us to forty percent, maybe fifty. But that’s it!”

“ Roll us to starboard and re-route whatever power you need!”

The voice that rose to be heard were simply competing with klaxons and alarms. There was a competency in the air, a detachment that quite suited the command center of a warship. The younger men and officers gripped tightly their controls, but took heart from the steel in the veterans’ voices. Encouragement was silent, but still palpable

And I don’t feel it at all. The man at the center of the organized chaos thought, even as the final vibrations from the ship-shredding explosion moved the deck under his feet. He sighed, clasping the railing and leaning more heavily onto it than was his custom. As he though on it, he realized that nothing about the present was his custom. His uniform was the same of course from the polished jackboots to the Knight’s Cross of the Imperial Cross glistening at his throat; his hair was as manicured as a prize-winning lawn; he exuded the calm all those who knew him would have expected. But then again, when did one expect to find a Grand Admiral on the bridge of a first-generation Hammer-class Light Cruiser?

“ Sir? My Lord???”

Lord Telan Desaria turned his head slightly so the ship’s captain was just within lens of his perfectly-perched monocle. A raised eyebrow was all the reply the captain could expect.

“ Sir, are you all right?”

Desaria ignored him and straightened himself. He took in the tactical situation at a glance and realized a feeling he was quite used to now: boredom. “ Captain Vostrakhan, send word to the van: come to course 090. Advance in line ahead and cut behind them. The primary group will align with us at Mark 345 and proceed ventrally to the enemy’s line of attack. All weapons are to concentrate of their flanking ships, targeting towards the center as each enemy is destroyed.”

The cruiser’s commander considered repeating his question, but thought better of the idea in record time. He relayed the Grand Admiral’s orders and the various cruisers and frigates of Task Force 5 scurried to comply. The enemy was disordered by the gap that opened in the formation’s ranks and were driven back onto their escape vector. Casualties were taken, but one by one, the enemy scattered and fled or were destroyed. Watching as he did, Desaria did not move: he simply stared at the tactical displays.

It’s not a challenge any more. He had not shirked his duty - he still sought victory at minimal cost to the men under his command. For himself however, he had abandoned the safety and sanctuary of his beloved battleships. He had hoped the smell of chordite, the closeness of Death would energize him. He was wrong. He tried to think of the name of the enemy, and could not remember. Some minor force belonging to some splinter group on the periphery of the Empire…a long, long way away from the fighting he wanted to be doing and was conspicuously not doing. He was a Grand Admiral fighting pirates, petty warlords, and wild splinter groups in the Unknown Regions.

“ My Lord, how do you feel?”

Desaria turned; ready to berate the cruiser’s captain. His interrogator was not the Captain, but a ship’s medic with a concerned look on his face and a trauma kit in his hand. The Grand Admiral, for all his regality, wrinkled his brow in confusion. He turned back to the tactical display and his eye caught an image on non-working panel – his image. His augmetic eye whirred behind the monocle, sending a picture to his brain of a man’s face with blood running from a long gash in his cheek. Yet he had not felt a thing. Perhaps a piece of panel sliced him open when some console had exploded or overloaded. Desaria looked down to see blood staining the white of his tunic. He sighed as the medic asked his question again.

“ My Lord, how do you feel?”

The answer was simple, alarming, and all too familiar. “ I feel…nothing.”

[Telan Desaria]

...Five Months Ago...


“ As of zero-three hundred this morning, Core-Median Time, the 170th Cruiser Squadron is no longer on our roster. It is expected at Base Carallon by this afternoon, and after re-provisioning, to integrate into the Kausha Sector Fleet by this evening.”

“ And what do we get in return?” asked a soft feminine voice amid the clicking of keys and the scratching of holo-styluses.

“ Two divisions of frigates, one for the 22nd Pursuit Floilla and one to deploy as we choose,” replied the squat female standing at the head of the table. A few ‘ooh’s and at least one subdued ‘ah’ gave some vocal approval to her answer.

For his part, Grand Admiral Telan Desaria could not have been more disinterested. That very fact annoyed him. He remembered a time when shuffling about Fleet assets exhilarated him: he had felt like by so doing his thoughts and orders helped to keep the Empire secure. Though he loved the thrill of combat more, Desaria enjoyed the finer points of administration. Many other officers joked that the Grand Admiral was playing a game when he glanced from one massive display to another, shifting divisions and squadrons about – though no one even jokingly could doubt the efficacy of or need for those movements once completed. Now…he was just…present.

A division of frigates. Where best to place them? he thought. He tried to put his mind into the exercise, even if only for mental stimulation. He strained as neurons fired in succession. He looked to his right and caught a probing look from Vice-Admiral Kennilen, Sector Fleet’s first General Staff office. Kennilen knew and was all but screaming for his superior’s input. Desaria wanted to respond but something was just…missing.

Desaria closed his eyes and sighed inwardly. When he opened them he stood abruptly, interrupting the briefing naval Commander who like everyone else came to a quick and silent attention. The Grand Admiral glanced around the room and thanked the assembled General Staff officers for their time and bade them continue. Then with a turn of jackbooted heels he strode out of their presence and into the hall.

The corridor was empty not for any special reason, there was merely no duties for any crewers to perform. As Desaria walked along, a pair of footfalls rapidly approached. He steeled himself for the recrimination to come.

“ My Lord, may I speak with you?”

“ Walk with me, Kennilen.” The Grand Admiral did not bat an eye, but then he didn’t have to. When the Hero of Endor was basking in the glory of his finest hour, Rekiel Kennilen was with him and had served as his Chief of Staff in every assignment since. Only Alexei Prem, Chief of the General Staff and classmate from Raltiir, knew him better.

“ I address my friend, not only my commanding officer. Something has been ailing you for a very long time, and I would guess it was since we got here.” Kennilen gestured with a black-gloved hand at the bulkhead, but that wave encompassed the whole of the Kashua, Frellintini, and Oberon Sectors – the great border region entrusted to the Grand Admiral’s care as OverSector Outer.

Lord Telan snorted in agreement.

“ And that is what I don’t understand. We’ve been locked in near constant contact with enemies of every kind, and you have built an impressive reputation. With scant resources we have outfought and outmaneuvered every comer. For a man who loves glory, you’re covered in it!”

Truer words may have never been spoken, but rare indeed was the man who would say it. Desaria turned a corner and stood before a viewport from where they could look out at Tirax, the Kashua Sector’s small capitol world. The planet’s surface was a dull green, dusted with browns and occasionally riven with a line of blue barely visible to the naked eye, so rare were rivers. When a few moments’ silence ensured that they were alone, the Grand Admiral’s eqauletted shoulders finally sagged.

“ Yes I have gotten the chance to fight to my heart’s content. Yes, I have done my duty – colonists and traders and citizens of all kinds may sleep safely knowing that I am out here, protecting them whatever the Unknowns hold. It is a job to be done, good and honorable. But…”

Kennilen stepped in front of the Grand Admiral’s view, trying to ignore the monocle that the General Staff officer found so annoying. “But?”

“ But I would rather be elsewhere, damnit! The single greatest threat the Empire has ever known has legitimized itself. Traitors and betrayers flaunt anarchy and degeneracy from across a border at us – a border! Remember when the Rebels were just that? Now they have governments and a populace! The galaxy is turning itself on its head and I sit upon the ash heap of history holding back the dark. I want to defend my way of life against those who threaten it, as a soldier not a policeman.”

Kennilen absorbed the words and almost anticlimactically he understood. His long-time commander felt left out, the man who had been useful and was now stored upon a shelf to be used later – just in case. Through that lens, Kennilen realized he might be a bit miffed, too.

“ This peace” – the Grand Admiral snorted in a gesture that was certainly beneath the dignity of an ennobled Lord of the Empire – “ will not last. And then you will be recalled. Her Majesty will need you again…”

Desaria sneered at his Chief of Staff at the words ‘will need you again.’ His lot was not to be needed by his Monarch! He would defend the realm whether she knew his name or considered him merely a number on a casualty list. He would…he would…! He did not need to be needed to fight the most important enemy worth fighting! Perhaps, just perhaps, his exile into the wilderness of Imperial Space was the perfect way to fight…without fighting.

As Vice Admiral Kennilen, well-meaning but ignored, droned on in an attempt to be uplifting, Lord Telan hatched a plan most unlike anything he had ever before considered.

[Telan Desaria]

Present Day

Petty Officer Markail Praxin barely looked up from his screen when the Priority Alert message chimed on his computer. Those alarms came every hour or so, telling him and the other Traffic Control Technicians that a ship without a scheduled flight-plan was in-bound. Battleships and big-wigs who had the decency to "call ahead" - it was routine. He simply cleared the space around the detailed jump point and returned to the TIE simulation that was all the rave this week, supposedly with more playable ship options than the others on the market. Praxin did not think too much of it when the timer dinged, letting him know his in-bound ship had arrived. After all, it happened all the time.

Until his dying day, Praxin would swear the gasp that came out was not his when every other technician seemingly simultaneously saw that their 'routine arrival' above Coruscant was the Super Star Destroy Intimidator.

* * *

" His Lordship Telan Desaria, Grand Admiral of the Imperial Navy!"

The footman's bellow echoed in the chamber, as it was meant to. The assembled officers barely looked up from their pads, drinks, or cigars. In another setting, any group of any status anywhere would have stopped to take notice at such an announcement. However, each of the four men and one woman present warranted their own such announcement, and indeed had listened as theirs and that of the others was called out. Amongst the rest of the Empire, each of those present was a titan of skill, intelligence, and notoriety. Together, they were equals.

" Fashionably late, Telan?" asked a tall, gaunt man who approached with a glass of brandy in each hand. He handed one to the latest - and late - arrival and emptied his own before the monocled man had even raised his to his lips.

Grand Admiral Desaria smiled and nodded to Grand Admiral Armand. As Desaria let his cultured tastes evaluate the brandy (which he judged of decent heft but with a somewhat floral aroma for which he didn't care), he looked to a new painting on the wall of the vast wood-paneled room the Council called home. It depicted a Royal Guard, his red robes in tatters, standing amid the wreckage of steel beams and sparking wires, while a wall of flame approached in the distance. A caption his Lordship could read with the help of his augmetic eye labeled the work "Duty unto Death." The scene was purported to be the Emperor's elite standing their posts as the Death Star died. Mentally Desaria scoffed - the painting was a bit too garish, the colours too bright for a real portrayal of combat conditions, but then the civilian committees that bought such works cared only for resale value.

Seated around a diamond-shaped table, the six Grand Admirals discussed strategy first, and segued into tactics when it suited them, finally tackling the subject of Naval policy reform. Their female number was the most talkative this time, postulating fervently - and eloquently, to be fair - why the formation of militia units on a planetary level was acceptable, but the expansion of the practice into the Naval arena was not only laughable but dangerous. Desaria agreed, and said as much, before retreating into a barely hid melancholy. He digested the reports and statements and even chuckled at a joke his old friend Armand made at the expense of the effete men of Eriadu's upper class, but secretly he wanted the meeting to be over. When it was, the Council of Grand Admirals would disperse, each member to his - or her - command, secure in the knowledge that they had altered the very course of history with no more than words and thoughts.

For his own part, Lord Telan was struck not by what was said, but by what was not said. Reference was made to a few skirmishes along the border, but the glaring and silent issue went unaddressed - the Galactic Empire, home to vast armies of loyal soldiers, to forces of nimble cruisers and mighty battleships, to young and virile Knights of the Empire, was impotent before the threat of rebels and traitors. Surely the Empire had planet devastating weapons of its own, but would not use them! This very Council had voted 4 to 2 against using the Starkillers. So now the guns were silent. The mighty Empire was stalled.

Stagnant.

The word filled Desaria's mind with hate and rage. He wanted to spit, but even in his anger would defame such a magnificent rug as he trod under his jackboots.

" You're still itching for a fight, Telan." It was not a question. Iziquiel Armand knew a great deal about many subjects, one of which was his Academy classmate Telan Desaria.

" Of course. You however, do not seem to mind this...peace." The disdain dripped from the word like the icing on a tralusian crumb cake.

Armand might have smiled, if indeed he ever stopped doing so. " There are two maxims of commerce: war is good for business. The other - peace is good for business. The two ideas are not mutually exclusive. You're tactician my friend, but I'm a strategist. I see a time for us to rebuild, modernize, train new personnel, and prepare for the war we all know is coming."

" Damn you Izzy! If we must fight then let us do so now. For the Fallen's Sake - you voted with me against this Missile Madness!"

Infuriatingly, Armand never waivered. " That's true. But unlike you, I moved on from that. You're still bitter. I don't love the Alliance, but I am not going to waste energy opposing the will of the Empress. If the people of the Empire found out that we were willing to roll the dice on mutually assured destruction we would have revolution and riots. I am pragmatic. We fight when we must. You don't think fight for peace?"

Lord Telan looked at his friend and smiled himself. " No, Izzy; I think peace is a fine concept. But peace must be just. Peace is not simply the absence of war. The Rebels see us as tyrants, corrupt and evil. Mark my words, they are planning our destruction from behind their missile barricade. I am going to fight them on their terms then, if I can't on mine."

* * *

The restaurant was empty of all patrons, though one would not have guessed they had been ushered out after an abrupt - and false - fire alarm. Still, soft music greeted the ears of any who would listen; bubbles churned up the side of a two-meter high tank of impressive multi-colored fish that separated the kitchen from the west dining hall. What made this particular establish unique was its lack of windows. It was at the center of a residential spire, offering 'dining without interruption.' That did not appeal to the Grand Admiral, who did enjoy a view while he ate.

Of course, the locale was not his choosing. He glanced around at the 'wait staff' and smirked, the gesture pushing his monocle slightly up. None of them was being paid by the owners tonight: each one was an armed agent and skilled in every manner of defense - or offense. Two of their number had, either seriously or jokingly, assumed actual waiter garb, and had taken pains to serve Desaria properly as they brought him a fine red wine and even clipped the end of his expensive cigarra. Naturally, no professional waiter would ever have suggested a red wine with the broiled pork, but the Grand Admiral appreciate the effort and simply agreed politely.

He was just tasting the first bite when his companion arrived with a new host of protective guards. She sat down without flourish or preamble, and stared at the Grand Admiral as he chewed. He chewed deliberately as he made the first eye contact with the deadly vixen now seated across from him. Lethal she might be, but Lord Telan was still an aristocrat, and food simply was never rushed. When he was ready, he washed down the disappointing morsel with the full-bodied claret and daubed a napkin at the corners of his mouth.

" Thank you for arranging this meeting, Madam Director. I trust your presence here means you support my plan?"

[R. S. Esalis]

She had received the request, reading over the carefully worded letter with a sense of curiosity. It had been many years since she'd heard the name of Telan Desaria, and while she had personally not attended his arrival back on Coruscant, she had made sure to send an underling. Such was the way of things within the Empire; at least, it was how she chose to do her business. Her presence in the public light was not a large one, but it was a visible enough existence that she was able to choose when and where she was seen. She was the face of Imperial Intelligence, and it was her prerogative. The populace knew her reputation, and the face that they had to attribute to the ruthlessness of the Director of Imperial Intelligence gave no question as to the whether their movements were constantly under watch of her icy, emotionless eyes.

And so it stood to reason, that when she was given the request, there was a fair amount of interest. Not so much because of the fact that Grand Admiral Desaria had returned from his duties on the Frontier, but because he had asked for her presence. It was not something that - in her experience - Grand Admirals did. But that was neither here nor there she surmised. It simply was. Just as the request she held in her hands was printed upon expensive vellum. The attention to such detail mattered little to her. And so she had made the necessary arrangements. The restaurant had been chosen, the staff replaced with her own men and women for the evening, and the charade made complete.

Now she sat before him at the table, waving away the server in favor of a small amount of privacy as she watched the Grand Admiral finish his bite and take of his drink. With half-lidded eyes she stared at him, noting the lines of age that his features had gained in his time away.

When he spoke, there was a lull before she felt the need to answer.

"My presence here." It was repeated with a singularly level tone.

"My presence here means nothing, Grand Admiral. Your presence here however, seems to me to mean a great many things."

[Telan Desaria]

Just behind the veil of professional stoicism that flag officers maintained as a matter of course, Lord Telan smiled. R.S. Esalis was, aside from Her Majesty the Empress, the most dangerous woman in the Empire. Mystery and lethality - to sat nothing of beauty - accompanied her as hand-maidens in the shadowed corridors of hidden power. As a Grand Admiral, he knew more than most just how far those corridors lead. The average Imperial citizen feared the monolithic 'Intelligence' apparatus, neither knowing nor caring that various parts made up the whole, parts like the Internal Security Bureau, the Inquisition, and others. To the average Imperial, Intelligence was responsible for every disappearance, every non-police arrest, every covert action. No one, least of all the Navy, was ever going to disabuse the happy masses of their misconceptions. Mystery was power, and no one was better able to manipulate that power than Esalis herself.

He considered her for a moment, and knew she was being as direct as her method would allow. He found Intelligence-types annoying as a matter of course, but knew they were just as indispensable. He would adapt.

" My presence is not the eyebrow-raising event you might think. This morning was a convocation of the Grand Admiral's Council. We discussed, well, I'm sure you already have a transcript despite the fact that it was just us." Desaria actually smiled at that, though he could not read the icy visage on the Director's face. " I thought that a convenient time for us to meet.

" Allow me to pay you the compliment of being blunt, Madam Director. I think making peace with the devil does not slow our descent into Hell. I disagreed with this course of action and was banished to the Frontier. All things aside, I truly do understand why we are here, with these damned StarKiller missiles. But I do not think we should simply roll over and ignore that the Rebellion is the greatest threat we have ever faced. And I swore to fight threats to the Empire! My plan will allow us as the Empire to fight our threat, but at a remove that will ensure that space is not crossed with opposite missile tracts. We can fight the enemy without fighting them ourselves! THAT is what I propose."

[R. S. Esalis]

She watched him with a level eye, not allowing any amount of intrigue or curiosity play out over her carefully controlled features. It was a stoic mask that she'd - over so many years - come to master. It was alsow a visage that she knew held enough sway as to hold those in her presence within a net of timidity. Grand Admiral Telan Desaria was used to such masks, and while he showed to her the preferential attitudes that he would know she wished to see, there was also more. And his words spoke so many volumes to that knowledge.

A tall flute of crystal clear Caridan champagne was set before her, and without waiting for any sort of thankful nod from the Director, the server who'd delivered it vanished into the aether just as quickly.

She took the delicate stemware up in a two-fingered grasp, lifting it below her nose to let the lively bubbles of freshly uncorked history tickle her nose for a fraction of a second before tipping the flute up, sipping only the tiniest of amounts.

It was... acceptable.

Once more, Esalis turned her attentions to the Grand Admiral.

"What you propose is a very bold measure, old friend."

A single eyebrow ticked up in a show of final, unhindered curiosity.

"What makes you so sure that I've a notion to align myself with your intentions?"

[Telan Desaria]

Imperial Center was a fortress, with forces arrayed around it to defend the world against all comers. Battle stations, mine fields, a permanently-assigned Squadron of the Line: all of these things spelled the doom of any one foolish enough to attack. Yes, Coruscant was dangerous to outsides.

And, as Grand Admiral Desaria took once the measure of his dining companion, he was reminded that it was dangerous to insiders, as well. Within the halls of power in the Imperial Palace, intrigue reigned free. He and his fellow Grand Admirals in the Navy, and the Marshals who ran the Army, had done wonders after Endor culling out the incompetent and the useless from their respective services. Intriguers and the corrupt where mostly - but not completely - eradicated. But in the civilian world, the machinations of so many parties to so many games abounded as to clog the air with their weight. Political appointees jostled with petty officials, while their departmental masters waged ever larger wars for spheres of influence. All the while, Her Majesty the Empress allowed a great deal of it with tolerant apathy, so long as loyalty to her was a currency in great supply. It was in such pit of asps that Director Esalis had flourished. Just as Desaria was master of positional fleet warfare, so Esalis was Lady of the Shadow War.

He knew her, all right. And he knew she supported his aims, if for no other reason she hated the Rebels as much as he. But, like all good women, she wanted to be pursued.

" Madam Director, we both serve the Empire. We are both stymied I think by the stalemate our mutually assured destructive state imposes on us. You operate as you have, but I know that Her Majesty has ordered you, like me, to blunt the sword with which you defend the realm. We are not toys, you and I. We are weapons. We need to do the one thing for which we exist - serve the state. I cannot do that if every action I take against its biggest threat draws us towards a holocaust of unimaginable proportions.

" What I propose serves all of our ends. You will put to use those in your organization who are finding the enforced inactivity tiring, thus sparing you the problems if idle - and well trained - hands. I will, with your support, hurt the Rebels. I am not so vain as to think this operation alone can destroy them. But at least we will know that we did not do nothing!"

Only when he had bit out the last word, did Lord Telan realize his voice had risen and his gloved fist had clenched. Taking a breath, he calmed himself, but he felt no shame at it. He was passionate about duty, as all who know him could attest. And while the lethal vixen opposite him might have more impure motives, she was loyal to the Empire. He was counting on that, in fact.

[R. S. Esalis]

She watched him. Watched him and listened to each word that spilled from his mouth with only the conviction that one of his bearing and stature could command. It was to be respected, even by her, and the Director afforded to him a level, unblinking gaze that held no malice or cruelty. It was almost serene, even. The way that she observed his motions as he spoke, the inflections of every word, every syllable. She sat, hands folded in her lap, back straight, gaze centered on the Grand Admiral. A silence fell between the two as she digested his words and let them settle within her thoughts.

Another few quiet moments passed before she finally gave a single nod.

"It is as you say," she herself spoke with measured tone. In some places thoughtful, but in others so carefully guarded.

"We are held to a new line now, and unable to operate in the fashion that we once did. A sad truth, but a truth regardless. I'll not bore you with the minutiae," She leaned forward then, taking the flute once again and sipping, "... but I will tell you that the slight of hand that is now in play between both sides of this conflict has become much deeper and subtle."

While in many aspects the razor's edge of her previous machinations had been dulled, in some ways it had been honed to an even more cunning and lethal weapon.

"I will give you my support," came her final answer. Without ceremony and without any other flourishing words. It was a statement of fact, and that was all that needed to be said of the matter.

"And my blessing."