Lore

TWILIGHT IMPERIUM: BORDERLANDS

The Past and Present. . .

Mecatol Rex! A splendid pearl in the ebony blackness of space, an illuminated living splendor of wealth, intellect, and trade. Ruled by the mighty Lazax, masters of the stars and the planets for a trillion parsec, the Imperial race. The great factions: N'orr, XXcha, Hacan, Letnev, Jol-Nar, and Sol, all humbly acknowledged the Lazax rule, and together the races formed a great council to advise and debate issues ultimately decided by the Lazax Emperor. For countless ages it was thus, glory, progress, and collaboration under the emperor.

Ever so slowly things began to change. The galaxy reached an equilibrium and slowly turned stagnant. Political energy soon turned to clashing patriotic factions, and interracial power struggles began to flare. As technological and intellectual growth stalled, the political tension reached critical mass, and it was during this age that the first accounts of actual physical conflict between the great races were recorded in annals of his- tory. This era of growing darkness became known as the Age of Dusk.

In the beginning, the Lazax still held ultimate authority, without question! The Lazax, however, blinded by the assurance of eternal rule, were only slightly concerned about the intensifying power struggle between the great races. They failed to see the disastrous results of this cancer. As the tensions between the great races grew deeper, so grew their ambitions. The Lazax failed to see the danger of ambition, because what seat could be more desirable than that of the Emperor himself? Secret, unspoken desire began to drive the leaders of the great races. Hunger and lust to become the ruling race, the zenith, the empire itself! By the end of the Age of Dusk, weapons and espionage had become the crux of technological progression.

Then, one day, a small political affair near the Quann passage, erupted into armed conflict that spread like a wildfire through the galaxy. The Quann Conflict marks the beginning of the Age of Twilight.

Of all the planets in the galaxy, no planet was more war-torn than central Mecatol Rex. Only the inner Imperial City yet remains from the destruction of the Twilight Wars. Protected by its Winneran custodians, the inner city shields were maintained and a functioning council was held throughout the wars. The Lazax, however, were not so fortunate. As the ruling race, the imperial fleets struggled to keep the war under control and so became the natural enemy of all the great races. Over the course of merely twenty years, the Lazax presence in the galaxy was completely removed. No Lazax has been seen in the galaxy for more than 6000 years. The Imperial throne in the great council now stands empty. The Winnaran custodians keep the shattered Mecatol Rex functioning and the council running.

The Twilight Wars lasted for centuries, but no race was powerful enough to seize the throne, willing to risk the fate of the Lazax. Countless resources and vast development went into weapons of destruction. Slowly the economies of the great races began to crumble under the intolerable strain of never-ending conflict. Civilization and technology slowly regressed.

The Twilight Wars never ended on one specific date, but rather subsided as the great races tumbled into a dark age of economic and intellectual disaster. The great factions retreated into small, safe areas of space.

It has been thousands of years since the last known armed conflict between the races. But with their economies rebuilt, ambition has begun to flare once more. On Mecatol Rex, the council has begun to gain importance and influence. The great races have again begun the slow annexation of nearby systems. Step by step bringing back former glory and greatness.

The Imperial Throne remains empty, the Winnarans still custodians of its greatness. But it seems certain that the Age of Twilight is coming to an end, and that one great race will soon gain enough influence to capture the Empire and bring about a new age of galactic greatness.

---

TWILIGHT IMPERIUM: DISTANT SUNS

After extensive space-travel, you begin to fail hearing the humming of the mass-engines. Their deep resonance simply becomes a part of your daily environment. Fleet officers often subconsciously associate the sound with safety and comfort. It was therefore strange to Unlenn that it was this sound that interrupted his deep thoughts as he stood in the air-lift onboard the Miskac. Admiral, Lord of Wenn, Master of Blades, and he was ... nervous? Admiral Unlenn shook his head in tense amusement. This was the first time that he had the pleasure of transporting the Baron himself. But, as the newly appointed First Admiral, it was probably a thing to grow accustomed to. Probably.

The two Guards that escorted Unlenn felt his uneasiness. They exchanged a brief look, and decided that today they would pay extra attention to detail. Military protocol was an important, lethal, doctrine in the Letnev fleet.

The air-lift stopped. The somber display indicated that they had arrived at the executive quarters of the Miskac, quarters especially designed for the ruling family. The door opened with a whisper, and the Admiral strode briskly forward into the darkened room. The room's viewshields were open and starlight illuminated the walls. The still figure of the Baron stood as a black outline against the stars looking aft. Baron Daz Emmiciel Werqan IV. Proud, noble, just, and cruel. One of the most powerful men in the universe.

Unlenn fell to his knees, his grey robe spreading about him.

'Command me, my Baron.'

The dark figure slowly turned. Bleak shadows beneath heavy, sleek eyebrows studied the newcomers. With a surprising soft voice, he spoke.

'Guard, you are dismissed.'

Without showing too much relief, the guard snapped about. They retreated back into the waiting air-lift, whose doors closed swiftly, leaving the two senior Letnevians alone. The baron glanced at the kneeling officer, slightly amused.

'Rise, Unlenn. Come speak with me!'

The Baron turned against towards the viewshield. The departing Mecatol Rex System was now a diminishing golden flare of light toward the bow end of the mighty Dreadnought. Unlenn spoke cordially.

'I trust that the council of races went well, my Baron.'

The Admiral wondered what had transpired behind the closed doors of the council in the past three days. There had been an odd tension in the old Imperial city. Unlenn had felt that something was awry within the higher echelons of power.

'Well, yes, well...' the Baron cleared his voice, 'I feel, dear Unlenn, that we are reaching a watershed for our galaxy. Sentiments are changing, and time has come for us to ... shall I say... restore... what once was!'

'How do you mean, My Baron?'

'As you know, my dear Admiral, historically the council has looked critically upon territorial expansion, but the temperament seemingly has changed. As as matter of fact, I do believe that the Humans will annex the Emelpar system this cycle. They made their intensions very clear. Yes, very clear...'

'But the council...'

'It seemed that most of other races have certain... interests... of their own, and Sol annexation of Emelpar will function to create a new precedent.'

'But that would inevitably mean war, my Baron!'

The Baron turned slowly towards his Admiral, a hidden smile spreading to his eyes. So this Admiral had political foresight! A useful man, the Baron thought. And a dangerous man! It would be prudent to keep this Admiral close to home. It had not been an uncommon thing, in the Letnev past, for a well placed admiral or official to attempt a coup against the Family. Every attempt had failed; of course, it always paid to be careful.

'Yes, Unlenn, war will come.'

The Admiral shifted his feet. 'But my Lord, we still have a vital problem with basic logistics, it...'

The Baron lifted his hand, silencing the Admiral with his gesture.

'During the last three days, I have made an... arrangement with the Jol-Nar.'

'The fishmen? But my Baron...'

Another gesture silenced the Admiral. The Baron took a deep breath, and spoke while glaring at myriad of stars before him.

'Admiral, is our fleet still massing around Quann?'

'Yes, my Baron.'

'And the cursed Hacan?'

'Their fleet is docked at Arrezte, but my Baron...'

'Admiral. Look upon these luminous stars. These distant suns! They harbor fruitful harvests, and wealth upon which to build an empire.'

The Baron of Letnev turned fully towards his Admiral. And, in the military tradition of Letnev, removed a glove from his belt and handed it to his First Admiral: the symbolic permission to strike with the Baron's full might. The Baron formally addressed his most senior officer with a sharp voice.

'Admiral, will you follow my command?'

'Yes, my Baron!' Unlenn fell to his knees.

'All these distant suns... You shall make them mine!'

---

TWILIGHT IMPERIUM: OUTER RIM

"...Third shift, 1300 hours, all is clear."

The display in front of Captain Willard confirmed the deck officer's announcement. All sectors showed normal activity, and the approach spectrum on his intelligence-pad indicated no potential threats within striking distance.

The PDS command information center on the planet Emelpar was a large, dimly-lit room bursting with monitoring technology and blue-clad personnel. The wealthy and historically significant planet of Emelpar had been the Federation of Sols first successful annexation in more than a thousand years, and billions of credits had gone into the protection of the system. Since the Emelpar annexation, several other systems had fallen under the umbrella of the Federation. Sol was now a leading contender for political control of the galaxy.

Willard nodded to himself and punched the 'All Clear' confirmation button on his report-pad. He quietly studied the large monitors before him. In Sector 0, the cluster of green triangles confirmed that a small Sol task force led by the Dreadnought Paris was still in the system undergoing repairs and system checks. The Emelpar facilities were top-notch and a popular stop for fleet down-time. Willard nodded again and took a sip of his coffee. Sitting down in his chair, he let out a contented sigh, and began to read the activity report from the previous two shifts.

Interesting. The elite cruiser Mitterand had brought an important person to Emelpar this afternoon. None other than Supreme Admiral DeLouis! Something must be brewing! Perhaps he was here to decide the future assignment of the Paris Task Force.

Willard looked up at the readiness marker. It was at a normal '7.' He would have guessed that readiness would have been increased with such important brass here. Then again, there seemed to be no threat at this time. Willard lost himself in the reports.

"...Proximity Alert, Third Sectorю Hyperspace bubble forming." The deck officer's announcement jolted Willard out of his concentration.

In front of him, on the third sector monitors, a red flash was indicating an unscheduled arrival. Probably nothing! Most likely a harried merchant that had forgotten to log in his arrival data. Happened a few times a day. Nothing to worry about.

As the hyperbubble dissolved, multiple large red dots materialized in its place. Coffee exploded from Willard's lips onto the monitor in front of him as he jumped, startled.

The deck officer's voice boomed across the room again. "...Twenty-two unidentified ships arriving in sector three. Alert! Alert! We may have inbound enemy ships. Alert! Alert!" Red lights began flashing everywhere. The control center burst into life. Willard rose from the chair and surveyed the situation. This was not good. Not good!

Willard flipped on a small microphone on his control-board. "CO! Give me readouts on those ships! I need identification, threat analysis and possible approach vectors. Now!"

Willard turned the microphone off and studied the newly-arrived ships.

Strange task force formation! Unlike any that Willard had previously studied. Definitely not a Letnev fleet, it lacked the typical Letnev triad-formations. It also did not identify with any of Sol s current allies. Willard glanced at the threat-board again. Damn intelligence! According to this report there were no enemy or allied fleets of any significant size within immediate reach of Emelpar.

Then what was that fleet doing up there? Willard glanced again at the readiness indicator. A '4.' This was not happening fast enough. He needed information now!

"What about that ID? " Willard's voice boomed once again over the intercom. He saw the CO leave his post from the floor and run up the stairs towards him. Willard waited calmly as the winded CO reached him.

"Yes? " Willard turned. The CO cleared his throat.

"Captain, the ship specifications indicate that this fleet belong to one one the Rim civilizations. The.... El... Elwonzewonex, sir. According to my intelligence reports, they should not have half the fleet that just jumped out of hyper-space!"

Willard knew a potential disaster was unfolding before him. "How about the threat analysis?"

The CO showed the Captain his second printout. "Central command has labeled the Elwonzewonex a volatile race, sir. And a likely enemy. Yet, the same report also labels them a low level threat -- a minor galactic power."

Willard took the report. The data on the sheet indicated that the L1z1x should possess virtually no fleet. Willard shook his head, and glanced at the huge task force on the central screen. Somebody had messed up royally.

"Communication?" he asked.

The CO shook his head. "None, sir. They're not answering our hails, and have paid no attention to our warnings. "

Willard leaned forward and flipped a red corn-switch on his executive relay board. Central Planetary Defense, located on the south pole of Emelpar, responded immediately.

"Central Defense here, Corporal Gonzales speaking!" The signal was clear. Willard took a deep breath.

"Gonzales! This is commanding officer Willard at CIC. Identification Delta Delta Georgia London 895. We are under attack, repeat, we are under attack. Approaching enemy task force in the third sector. This is not a drill, repeat, this is NOT a drill."

"Yes sir, requesting confirmation."

Following protocol, the CO leaned over the microphone. "Confirmed. The this is CIC CO Albertson. Repeat. We are under attack. Initiate all defensive systems and engage countermeasures. My identification number Delta Delta Tokyo Oslo 873."

"Acknowledged, sir. Stand by. Engaging shield, initiating countermeasures!" Gonzales logged off. A minute later the general alarm sounded. The lights in the CIC dimmed slightly as enormous reserves of energy were transferred to the planetary shield, and world-wide energy sinks were powered up. Willard glanced at the readiness indicator. A '2!'. Emelpar was almost ready for battle.

"Sir, we are spotting more than a hundred landing craft emerging from four enemy carriers, sir. The Paris task force is moving to intercept, but is heavily outgunned..." The voice of the deck officer was clearly heard over the alarms and buzzing activity of the CIC.

Willard could not help flinching. Good God! more than a hundred landing craft. That would be more than six divisions! The Emelpar ground defenses were a standard two divisions.

The ground shook slightly as huge planet-wide magcannons began pounding energy bolts at the approaching enemy. Blast streaks and heat-barrages made the overhead screens hard to decipher.

Time passed, maybe an hour.

The deck officer's voice rang out again, "The Paris has been destroyed, The Mitterand has been destroyed! Enemy landings have commenced across five major planetary centers." Willard watched his staff turn increasingly frantic in their efforts. There was an obvious concern for their own safety.

Willard drew his sidearm and checked the ammunition. He then switched on the CIC intercom controller in front of him. His voice boomed over the hectic room. "Attention all personnel. Destroy all sensitive data and man your gun-ready positions. Anticipate an enemy ground attack. "

Willard watched for a second as the people followed his orders. Weapon lockers were being opened, marines began leading squadrons to their defensive perimeters. Vast quantities of data were being deleted, data drives ejected from their slots and deposited in magnetic shredders. Willard leaned over the microphone once more. "And... ladies and gentlemen..."

"Good Luck."

The battle of Emelpar had begun.

---

TWILIGHT IMPERIUM THIRD EDITION

My name is Mahthom Iq Seerva.

I am the Winnaran keeper of the Custodian Chronicle, and I write this from the ancient Tower of Annals in old Mecatol City. Since inheriting the duties of the chronicle from my father, I have enjoyed the view of our city from my wide windows; enjoyed the old buildings, ancient towers, and bright lights that proudly stretch into the remote distance. Yet, like the shadow at my feet, I can never escape or forget the lethal finite borders of my city. I cannot cast aside the fact that less than a hundred leagues from this tower, our city shields rise to protect us from the poisonous dust that is the Sea of Desolation. The terrible wasteland that covers our planet.

My people, the Winnarans, have kept this city safe for more than three thousandyears. Ever since the time of the great scourge, we have been the custodians of the imperial throne, the imperial records, and the galactic council here on Mecatol Rex. We have indeed been faithful to the promise that we made to the last emperor.

My hands tremble as I write this. Events are now unfolding which I believe to be the harbinger of great change. I foresee that, in my lifetime, our custodianship will come to an end. This is why I have contacted you. I will here seek to give you a brief, but true, summary of the recent history of our galaxy. I give this to you, because I know that you will spread this knowledge far and wide. As we enter the dangerous years before us, I fear that the galaxy shall have a great need of the past.

It is told that the Lazax emperors arose from the ashes of the Mahact kings. Little is known of their early ascension, but it is impossible to deny that the Lazax must have been a profoundly intelligent, benevolent, and wise people. After their prehistoric rise to power, we know that they chose the central planet of Mecatol Rex as their home world. The year that the Lazax first arrived on Mecatol Rex is recorded in the Imperial Chronicle as "first" and marks the beginning of my account.

For untold ages, the Lazax ruled the known galaxy. As new races came into contact with the empire, they would be allowed to join the Galactic Council that represented the needs and voices of the empires people. The great races: Xxcha, Hacan, Letnev, Hylar, Sol, and N'orr were all represented in the council during the last time of the Lazax empire.

Yet, as the years passed, discoveries of new races and planetary systems began to slow. Little by little the mood of the empire changed as technological and intellectual growth began to diminish. In their need for advancement, the great races began instead to look to the power of the Lazax and the resources of their neighbors. Greed and ambition slowly grew in the hearts of statesmen and councilors. The spirit of the empire turned suspicious and fearful. It is during this time that the first conflicts between the great races are recorded in the Imperial Chronicle. The Galactic Council became a seedbed of intrigue, ushering in an era of spies and assassins. First in secret, and later in public, the great races began at this time to build their military capabilities. Many started territorial expansions that extended beyond their original charter. Border strife and resource disputes began to proliferate, gnawing at the very foundations of the empire. This was a time of growing darkness that is now known as the Age of Dusk.

Throughout most of this age, the Lazax held authority without question. Except for a few minor and unsuccessful rebellions, few dared to openly challenge the emperors. Yet, blinded by assurance of eternal rule, the Lazax did not perceive the threat of ambition that grew around them. As years passed, tensions between the great races grew deeper, and so did their hunger for power. In the end, they held only one thing in common: They hated the Lazax, hated the imperial rule, and hated the benevolent arrogance of the emperors.

A small affair near the Quann wormhole was the spark that set the galaxy aflame.

In protest over imperial trade oversight, the Baron of Letnev had begun a blockade of trade traffic through the Quann wormhole. As this had been far from the first trouble with the Letnev, an unconcerned Lazax emperor sought to solve the conflict peacefully in the Galactic Council.

Then, without warning, the blockading Letnev ships were attacked and annihilated by a Sol task force acting without imperial mandate. Losing valuable trade-income, the Sol federation had lost patience, and had acted in its own interest.

Angered, the emperor attempted to consolidate his control by issuing the Maandu edict, which would place all warships under direct imperial supervision. The Maandu edict would be the stone that shattered a brittle empire. After this proclamation, the Letnev, Sol, and Jol-Nar civilizations announced their immediate withdrawal from the council, drawing the galaxy into civil war.

The Quann conflict marks the beginning of the Age of Twilight.

As race fought race, as a thousand territorial disputes erupted over a few years, the Lazax desperately sought to assert their authority. Holding together a crumbling empire, Lazax fleets fought across the galaxy. The final days of the Lazax began in the seventy-third year of the war. Without warning, an alliance of Sol, N'orr, and Hacan attacked Mecatol Rex itself.

Of all the planets in the galaxy, no planet was more war-torn than Mecatol Rex. Over the course of only a few years, the planet’s ecology was ravaged by bombardments, its population decimated, and its green fields blasted into a toxic wasteland. The last Lazax emperor and his entire family were executed during an early Sol incursion and no successor was named.

After the death of the last emperor, all semblance of Lazax control collapsed. The Lazax people became hunted across the galaxy in the vengeful wave of murder that is known as the great scourge. Lasting only twenty years, the scourge resulted in the complete annihilation of the Lazax race. Until now, no Lazax had been seen in the known galaxy for more than 3000 years.

The Twilight Wars continued for centuries. Yet no race was powerful enough to seize the throne and risk the fate of the Lazax. Slowly the strength of the great civilizations failed as their economies crumbled and whole technologies were lost from the strain of long war.

The Twilight Wars died in a slow whisper. The time that followed, now known as the Dark Years, was a period of economic, cultural, and intellectual collapse. The great races had by then retreated into their own small, safe areas of space.

With time, the Dark Years did come to an end, and a calm but uncertain period of rebuilding began. As I write this, the great races have regained elements of their former strength. In my city, the Galactic Council is growing in influence once more, while the great races are embarking on the colonization of neighboring systems, abandoned during the Dark Years.

The signs of great change are everywhere. I taste it in the air I breathe. This year, as if walking out of ancient prophecy, the Lazax returned from the darkness of history in a foreboding cybernetic form. To me, their coming is like the first wind of a terrible storm. I feel as if the galaxy is waking. As if an ancient beast stirs from slumber in a dark cave.

The day will soon come when a new empire will rise. For the sake of all, may the new emperor not only have the power to seize the throne, but the strength to conquer the peace.

If not, I fear that a sea of desolation will drown us all.

---

TI3 SHATTERED EMPIRE

At the end of empire, a faint wind rustled through Salai’s robes. It was a calm, warm evening, and the bruised purple outline of the setting sun was still visible on the horizon. An evening made for calm contemplation and peace.

Instead it was neither.

For most of his adult years, Salai had come to this balcony to breathe the clean air and admire the lights of Mecatol City. Yet tonight, the lights were scattered and few, the usual bustling traffic was scarce, and the air was tainted with the acrid scent of burning and foreboding. Salai glanced to the west, where distant columns of dark smoke still rose, obscuring the western stars.

“Your Highness?”

Salai did not turn to greet the owner of the voice. It belonged to High Councilor Verus Da Ishnu. The councillor knew his emperor’s displeasure at being interrupted on his evening balcony stroll, yet for months Verus had interrupted him regardless. Salai gently shook his head and sighed. He could hardly blame his old friend. These were difficult times.

“The fire continues.” The emperor gestured towards the plumes of smoke in the west. “It has been burning for months. Please tell me that we are making progress?”

Verus emerged from the doorway and approached his emperor. “They have contained the spread of the fire, but the work goes on. The Hall of Cartography was vast, and our resources are now limited....”

“The continuing call for reservists has drained our public sectors.” Salai shook his head. “Is that not what we tell the citizens?”

It was a question that Verus Da Ishnu knew better than to answer. Verus felt a twang of the gnawing fear that had been growing within him since the Hall of Cartography was destroyed. The nagging fear of the impossible.

“And Ibna?” Salai Sa Corian, the last Lazax emperor, turned to his advisor.

“There is still no word of Ibna Vel Syd.” Verus didn’t understand or appreciate the emperor’s empathy for the renegade junior councilor. Even before his treason, Ibna’s presence had become destructive in court. His nervous outcries, bordering on panic, had been far from useful in procuring any long-term solution to the crisis.

“And his ships?” Salai glanced towards the stars, resuming his slow walk along the balcony. Verus followed.

“Still unaccounted for, I’m afraid. Our navy...”

“Yes, I know,” Salai sighed, “It is stretched thin.” His eyes seemed to glaze over as he studied the distant suns that shone in the Mecatol night sky. “Ah, Ibna. Where have you gone?” Salai lowed his eyes to look at his old friend. “I envy him, Verus.”

“This traitor?” Verus could barely contain his frustration. “Rats flee a sinking ship, my Lord, not a captain!” As he spoke, he immediately regretted his words. The acidic fear within him twitched again.

The emperor’s lips curled in stark amusement. “Is our ship sinking, Verus?”

“Of course not, my lord! I certainly did not...”

“What I mean, Verus, is that I envy the freedom of the rat.”

Verus paused. “Not words I would use at your dinner speech, my Lord.”

The emperor burst into friendly laughter, his spirit raised for the moment. “No, I better not.” The emperor took his friend’s arm as they walked. “I am glad to employ so esteemed a councilor. Especially when he saves me from rhetorical folly involving vermin.”

Verus smiled back, it was good to see Salai jest; it did not happen often.

They continued their walk in a rare moment of silence. The emperor’s smile soon faded. “I stand with the ship, Verus. Sinking or not. I stand with the ship!”

“Of course, my Lord. And we stand with you.”

The emperor nodded. “Well, Verus. Will you please tell me why you interrupted my evening walk this time?”

...

Verus led the emperor into the throne room. On a normal night, the room would be bustling with councilors, ambassadors, military officers, and representatives from every corner of the galaxy. Court staff would be busy filling cups and providing light meals to a crowd buzzing with intrigue and ploys of power.

Instead, tonight the room was dimly lit, strangely hot, and only the inner circle of Salai’s councilors was present.

And the visitor.

The stranger stood taller than even the Lazax. Entirely cased in a gold-bronze metal, only its glowing eyes could be seen burning beneath an expressionless golden mask. Salai could feel the strange heat emanating from the creature, a pulsing, living heat, unlike any that Salai had known in the past.

The creature, somewhat clumsily in its heavy armor, bowed gently. Its eyes, flickering with a living fire, dimmed in respect.

A servant brought Salai his translation device on a golden tray. Salai placed the device over his ear. “Who are you?” Salai’s voice was kind.

“I am Feramon Azh.” The voice of the stranger was like that of coals grinding in a furnace. “I am of the Gashlai people from distant Muaat.”

Salai spread his arms in the traditional welcome. “Be well received here on Mecatol. Even in these troubled times, the empire is glad for your arrival and your presence!”

“We ask for your help,” the Gashlai began. “We are a people enslaved.” The creature inched forward towards the emperor, its fiery eyes pleading.

The emperor listened to the tale of the Gashlai and their mistreatment by the Jol Nar. As the creature finished its tale, Salai moved towards it, reaching to touch its armor, but as he felt the boiling heat of the metal, he slowly returned his hand to his side.

“We are at war against the Hylar. We have no control over their actions,” the emperor said. Across the room, councilors nodded their silent agreement.

The disappointment in the eyes of the Gashlai was evident. “But you are emperor! You are strong!” he continued. “You can free Muaat, and the Gashlai will help you in your war!”

A Lazax admiral came to whisper something in the emperor’s ear, but Salai waved him away. “Our forces are hard pressed, Feramon. Despite my compassion for your plight, we cannot spare even a single ship.”

“But you must help us!” The Gashlai inched forward again. “The hope of my people rests with my mission here. You cannot fail them!”

“I am sorry, my friend.” The Lazax emperor was powerless. It seemed the whole galaxy was pleading for help, while truly it was the empire that needed help from the galaxy. This audience was over.

The eyes of the Gashlai dimmed again in disappointment, but he did not step back. “Wait!” There was a hint of tension in his voice, a taste of desperation. The creature touched a small control at his side, and with a hiss of hot air a small door opened in his chest armor. The palace guards sprung to the emperor’s side.

Slowly the Gashlai brought out an engineering drafting device from the compartment. “If you save the Gashlai, we will give you this.”

Salai took the device and glanced at the Hylar schematics. The emperor gestured for the admiral to come forth once more. Their eyes grew in surprise as they realized what the schematic meant.

“The Hylar are building this monstrosity?” Salai asked. The Gashlai blinked and nodded. “My people have been slaving to build this vessel for years,” the creature sadly announced.

The emperor glanced at the admiral, who looked longingly at the schematic and the powerful weapon it promised.

The emperor was about to speak again when the door to the throne room sprang open with a clamor. Led by the High Commander of the Lazax forces, a group of naval and diplomatic personnel burst into the room. Their faces were grave, and hints of perspiration beaded on their foreheads. Wary of the alien in the center of the room, the High Commander approached Verus, whispering news in the councilor’s ear.

“Yes?” Salai inquired. Something was wrong.

“My lord,” Verus began. “The Hacan and the N’orr...their entire diplomatic contingents have secretly departed. Their districts are empty.”

“But why?” Salai demanded. But as he looked into the face of the High Commander, he knew. “We are betrayed?”

The high commander only lowered his eyes, deep embarrassment in his face.

Salai moved calmly to the great western window. As he approached the glass, the first bomb fell, splitting the night in yellow and orange. Hard shadows flared across the room. In the night skies above, Salai could see the emerging outlines of the Sol fleet. Like a vast swarm of black birds, the vessels soon shrouded the stars.

Salai turned to the people in the room. They looked longingly at him, as if some secret legacy of the imperial blood would spring forth and vanquish the enemy. Instead they saw only tears.

Salai moved calmly to the Gashlai, who was clearly shaken over the sudden events. “Go home, friend Feramon. I hope that you and your people find a safe way out of the destruction in the years ahead. If you survive this night, tell your people that they must carve their own destiny.”

The last emperor returned the engineering device to the creature. Placing his hand emphatically on its metallic arm, Salai ignored the instant blistering of his skin. “This knowledge is too late for us. Keep it. It may yet benefit your people!”

The Gashlai quickly retreated, the room palpably cooling at his departure. Another explosion shook the city and the imperial tower trembled. The emperor tore the imperial chain from his neck, precious metals and gemstones spilling on to the floor. “This twilight imperium is no more. Save your families.”

The others in the room came alive with a sudden panic, most rushing blindly to the doors. “Remember the peace of the emperors!” Salai shouted after them.

As the echo of his words rang through the room, a sharp sound rang through the low rumble of bombardament. The High Commander, having discharged his service pistol on himself, instantly collapsed. His blood slowly saaking into the imperial rugs. Salai hardly noticed.

Verus came to his emperor’s side for the last time. Together the two stood in the trembling tower, silently witnessing a bloom of fires grow in their city like a garden of destruction.

The next wave of bombardments destroyed the imperial palace and everyone therein.

---

TI3 SHARDS OF THE THRONE

Scout Unit H256, Sol 67th Marine Division Second Moon of Kal Haddar

Captain Jael Ducan was annoyed. The men, recognizing his sullen mood, gave him a wide berth as they expertly moved into the dark and desolated civhab block. It was the fifth month of campaigning, and the H256th’s first incursion.

Five months coagulating in the hold of a third generation cruiser, only to be dropped on an abandoned moon for a survey mission. Jael spat bitterly onto the ashen soil. Some incursion.

While the coreward and central battle groups of joint task force Salient Sun had been engaged with the enemy for weeks, the rimward group had seen no action. A few naval skirmishes, sure, but no honest work for leatherneck specialists like the men of unit H256.

Roeto’s going to return home a barkin’ Colonel, and I’ll be lucky to get combat pay. Jael’s friend had been assigned to the central battle group. Everyone had heard rumors of the successes that the 81st had chalked up against the L1z1x on Tiamat and Hercalor. He’s going to be unbearable, the braggart.

“I don’t like this, Captain.”

The sound of the deep, heavily accented voice broke Jael’s introversion, upping his annoyance another notch. This notion of a “joint” task force was well and good, but expecting him to be happy about a “training embedment” was beyond reasonable.

“I don’t like this, Captain Jael,” Groc Yysho repeated. The huge Xxcha warrior’s yellow eyes warily scanned the abandoned buildings around them, his slug-rifle held ready. He’s actually nervous. Jael was disgusted. They’re expecting me to train a rookie.

“I heard you the first time,” Jael snapped and stopped. “Listen, I don’t like this either. We’re stuck in the arse-end of rim space, scouting a worthless barren moon while all the glory is had coreward. On top of that sad story, I’m stuck with training your scaly behind. So, there’s plenty not to like.”

Jael gave the alien his hardest don’t-mess-with-me face. He needn’t look to know his men were watching the dress-down with wry smiles.

But Yysho wasn’t cowed. He calmly studied Jael with his big yellow eyes, starlight dully outlining the leathery hide of his beaked face. Moments passed.

Jael was the first to break, sensing the unseen attention of his men waning. Damn alien. “ And what is it exactly,” Jael growled, “that you don’t like, Groc Yysho?”

The Xxcha studied Jael for another second, blinked, then gestured towards one of the structures they’d just passed. “We were told the ‘1X abandoned this moon,” he said, using the Sol shorthand term for the L1z1x enemy.

I wonder if he knows that we call his race the ‘2X? Jael glanced at the structure towards which Yysho was pointing. It was an old ‘1x defensive position, now silent and broken in the cold night air.

“That’s right. They abandoned the sector,” Jael said. “And we’re here to survey the little half-robo rats and roaches they left behind.” Jael gestured at the Xxcha’s heavy slug-rifle. “Think your little boom-stick can handle that, Xxcha?” The men grunted in restrained amusement.

Ignoring the slight, Yysho stepped away from the Captain and moved towards the ruined structure.

“Yet, their defensive positions are destroyed,” said the Xxcha, pushing at one of the splintered beams. It grated across the dilapidated pile, pulverized ceramics and metal girders shifting in the darkness.

Jael sighed. Kal Haddar Moon classroom, Professor Ducan presiding.

“Scorched earth!” Jael said as he bent down to gather up a ‘1X rifle from the rubble, dust falling from its broken barrel like water from a faucet. “Don’t leave anything behind for your enemy!” He waived the broken weapon to illustrate the point, then let it drop back onto the street. And let them waste their resources scouting this worthless orb of a moon.

“Their weapons are still here, as are the targeting systems.” Yysho pushed more rubble out of the way. The main heavy repeater-gun was still in its stand. Below the weapon, sophisticated targeting and communications systems sat powerless in their chassis, all covered with the fine dust that seemed to be everywhere on this moon.

Jael shrugged. “Must’ve been in a hurry.” He turned and gestured for his men to continue their patrol. They roused soundlessly and moved into the darkness ahead. The Xxcha continued to rummage through the ruined structure.

“This one wasn’t in a hurry.” Yysho’s accent made the last word sound like whuuri.

Jael turned. Enough with the lessons. He was about to bark at the Xxcha again, but stopped.

In the rubble lay the broken body of a ‘1X guardsman. Augmetics covered the lower face and pate of the soldier, but his organic eyes, filled with dust, were open in death. His armored chest plate had been torn apart with what appeared to be massive shears.

The Xxcha looked at Jael carefully, as if measuring him. Then the alien sighed and undid the safety of his slug-rifle. “The enemy did not abandon this moon because of us, Captain,” he said. “They fought something here before they left.” Yysho checked his ammo count. “Or maybe they didn’t leave,” he continued, tilting his head at the dead soldier, “maybe they died here.”

Jael walked back to the ruined structure and knelt to study the mangled body. As he did, Yysho studied the civhab around them, yellow eyes looking for signs of movement in the silent windows.

The H256th had been inserted into the largest of three primary settlements on Kal Haddar’s second moon. The place had been home to a community of foodstuff colonists, to farmers. The atmosphere on the moon was thin but breathable, and the soil supposedly excellent for growing roots. The settlement, called “Astaria” according to the charts, was human, but like so many remote human settlements of this age, not part of the Federation. Instead, it had given its fealty to a Naalu governor a system or so coreward.

Jael guessed Astaria had once been home to a few hundred thousand souls. A rootfarmer metropolis.

They were all gone now. Dead most likely. Or slaves to the ‘1X. Orbital bioscans had shown nothing alive on the moon with a signature larger than that of a small dog. The place was depressing.

Jael traced a finger along the massive cut in the armored chest of the dead ‘1X guard. Did the colonists do this? Did they rise up against the invaders? Unlikely. The ‘1X were unforgiving and effective warriors. A mob of farmers wouldn’t have stood a chance. If not them, then who? Jael reached for his comlink and pressed the transmitter.

“Higheye, this is the H256th, do you copy?”

Yysho didn’t glance down, but Jael could sense the alien’s satisfaction in having the issue escalated.

The transmitter buzzed. “H256, this is Higheye, copy.”

“Higheye, this is Captain Ducan. Give me Traw.”

“Stand by, Captain.”

Yysho seemed to sniff at the air, his head cocked towards the sky. The large alien warrior was growing more restless by the second. Jael noticed a feral quality in the Xxcha’s careful movements. Had he misjudged his embedded trainee? What do you smell, alien?

“Something’s about to happen, Captain Jael.” The Xxcha slipped a small device out of his battlesuit, his slitted eyes intently studying the readouts. A motion sensor. Jael had a similar device in his pack. Expensive. Among Federation scouts, only captains or higher were outfitted with lightweight motion sensors.

“You should recall your men, Captain,” Yysho said, in as close to a whisper the alien could muster. He expertly slipped the sensor back into his suit.

“Motion?” Jael asked. Why am I whispering?

The Xxcha shook his head. “Intuition.”

“Jael, what do you have?” Colonel Traw’s voice boomed in the receiver. Yysho frowned at the volume level. Jael turned it down.

“Jael?” Colonel Traw was not a man accustomed to waiting.

Yysho looked down at Jael, big yellow eyes intent and alert. “Recall your men, Captain.”

Jael ignored the Xxcha. “Sir, we’ve found...something here.” He considered his next words. “Do we know for sure why the enemy abandoned this moon?”

Jael sensed Traw’s impatience. “As I told you in mission orientation, Captain, they’ve withdrawn to support their defenses against our coreward action...” The colonel suddenly paused; Jael heard agitated chatter in the background. “Stand by, Jael. Seems I got another unit checking in.”

Damn.

Jael switched transmission frequency. “Gather and caution,” he said in a low voice to the H256th’s unit channel. Ahead, in the shadows, his men would check their weapons and start their return to him.

That was when the first distant explosion lit the dusty atmosphere with a dull orange flash. A second or so later, the dull crunch of impact followed. Jael estimated the distance to be two miles to the south. Sliver rocket. A Federation scout unit had fired its heavy weapon. At what?

The remote clacking of firearms followed, then another rocket impact.

“H256th, to me!” Jael stood and roared down the street. Transmitter be damned.

More rocket blasts, more rifle fire. This time to the west. Another Federation unit had engaged. Engaged what?

The men began expertly emerging from the shadows ahead, silently and with weapons ready. Lt. Germaine stopped a few feet from Jael, a curt dip of his head an unsaid inquiry, What are your orders?

Jael was about to say “we go south to help” when he saw subtle movement out of the corner of his eye. A long dark shape slithered against the dust and rubble with a metallic sound, like a chain dragged over dry leaves.

“CONTACT!”

Pvt. Jens fired into the darkness. Muzzle flashes lit up the dark street. Yysho grunted unhappily.

Jens’s shooting seemed to wake more of whatever it was Jael had seen. Over the clattering of rifle fire, Jael heard the slithering noise intensify, this time from several directions. And there was another sound: the thin sonic whine of batteries, servos, and forced air coolant systems coming online. Dozens of them.

Pvt. Jens died, and the firing momentarily stopped. His body had been sliced in two by such sharp force that it left him standing whole for a few seconds before he slid apart.

Then the street came alive.

From windows, from alleys, from beneath dusty rubble, things rose. Slim snakelike appendages of dark banded metal, each a dozen or so yards in length. They emerged like a school of kraken breaching the surface of a grey ocean. At the tip of each tentacle was a slim leaf-shaped blade, black and sharp in the starlight.

A low thump sounded to Jael’s right, followed immediately by the splintering of black metal vertebrae and flying fragments that stung his face.

The shot from Yysho’s slug-rifle had severed the closest of the tentacles, its live end thrashing like a wounded snake. The business-end, the one with the bladed spike that surely would have speared Jael’s head, undulated in death-throes at the captain’s feet.

Pandemonium erupted as the men of the H256th all began firing as one.

Like a kick in the eardrum, Jael felt the jet vacuum of a Sliver rocket shoot past him. Fifty yards ahead, the rocket impacted its target with a dull crump that sent dust and metal fragments spinning through the already thick chaos of rifle-shots and waving metallic appendages.

The recipient of the rocket was briefly revealed in the red bloom of the explosion.

It was as large as a Carnivore class tank. Its bloated exoskeletal body was segmented in black metal plates that twisted like living scales, propelling the monstrous body towards Jael’s unit. The thing had no head or face – only a nexus of those metal tentacles, each extending nearly a city block to slash and stab at the soldiers. Jael unslung his rifle and sent a volley of plasma in the general direction of the monstrosity while he tried to read the tactical situation.

Three of his men were dead already, Lt. Germaine among them. A few more wounded but nobly keeping up the job of destroying flailing tendrils with rifle-shots and heavy slugs. The things seemed to come from everywhere. There must be at least five of those monsters out there! Jael thought. The able men of the H256th, a good dozen now, were dodging and firing the best they knew how, but this couldn’t last long. Jonas Kemp, the unit’s heavy weapons specialist, sent another Sliver rocket into the darkness before he was impaled simultaneously by three tendrils. Howling, Jonas was violently retracted into the darkness. Jael never saw Jonas again.

Yysho fired another shot. The stabbing head of another tentacle exploded in a mist of metallic dust.

“Into the yellow building!” the Xxcha boomed over the din.

Even if his accent made it sound like Jollo Booldun, Jael couldn’t agree more. He repeated the order with a bark, adding a traditional Sol “Go, Go, Go.”

Then the flyers struck.

About half of Jael’s men had ducked inside the doorway of the yellow civhome when the sky suddenly began to rain molten darts. Jael took three hits to his upper shoulders before throwing himself into cover under the doorway. The two men behind him were torn to shreds.

The barrage of darts stopped as suddenly as it had started. Over the grating and banging of the tentacles, they heard an unfamiliar oscillating whoop of many small but powerful propellers. Then, like evil daddy longlegs, about 20 enemy drones dropped into street view. Each of the machines had three lightweight propellers protruding from serrated backs. Hanging from each drone was a collection of slender robotic legs, each brimming with strange lightweight weaponry. Their heads consisted of a balled collection of whirring cameras, moving and refocusing constantly, each emanating a dull red glow.

“Let ‘em have it!” Jael ordered his men.

Jael emptied his plasma magazine into the face of the nearest flyer. The thing disintegrated, legs blowing off of it like rotten stalks. Its head exploded with an electric hiss, and its body crashed to the ground in a mess of metal joints. One of its propellers had been pried loose by Jael’s shots and careened like a saw blade into another of the flyers. The second flyer was torn apart in a storm of white sparks. Gotcha!

Another four of the insectile machines were destroyed by Jael’s men before the remaining drones had calculated their situation. Delicate servos whining, they each raised two of their many legs in line with the yellow civhome, and the hellish rain of darts started again.

The survivors of the H256th fell to the floor and rolled desperately against the front wall as thousands of tiny red-hot darts disintegrated the plaster of the outside walls and anything in view of doorways and windows. The sound was thunderous. Dust and bits of building flew everywhere.

After what seemed an hour, but couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, the intensity of the shooting lessened. Jael straightened his helmet and brushed the dust off his face. His ears were ringing and he didn’t feel right. He was dizzy, nauseous, his vision blurry. C’mon soldier! He shook his head to clear it up; it didn’t help. Did they use gas? A sickness suddenly erupted in his middle, and Jael heaved his guts onto the floor. As he recovered, he realized Yysho was next to him. One of the Xxcha’s strong arms had propped him against the wall, while the alien investigated the wounds on his back.

“What! Are you a Medic trainee now?” Jael quipped drunkenly. The Xxcha didn’t laugh. It wasn’t funny.

A few of the men had started returning fire, and from the sound of it, they were nailing a few more of those damned daddy longlegs. The Xxcha produced a thin plastek-sealed cylinder from his vest. He bit off the cylinder’s wrapper and plunged its short thick syringe into Jael’s upper back. Jael squealed like a stuck pig, the needle stabbing him like a knife. The ‘2X must have some damn tough skin. The injected fluid stung like a scorpion bite. Almost immediately, Jael’s entire body began to burn like hot soup.

Yysho grabbed Jael’s moaning face, prying open one of the captain’s eyelids. “Arsenic poisoning,” the alien mumbled and released Jael. “From the dart wounds.”

Jael threw up again, a dry heave. His body still felt like warm goo, but his vision was clearing a bit already. “Thanks, I get that a lot.”

“You’ll live.” Yysho nodded in satisfaction and took up his slug-rifle to help in the defense. “At least for another few minutes,” he added.

The barrage of flaming darts continued, now rejoined by the tentacles stabbing at the walls and lashing the windows and doorways. The screech of metal on ceramite was like a needle poking in the brain. The noise cleared Jael’s head.

“You just happened to have medication for arsenic poisoning with you?” Jael asked the Xxcha between a round of firing.

The alien glanced at the recovering captain, shrugged, and took another shot at a drone that had come too close. The enemy exploded in a white flash of burning phosphor and the stink of ozone.

“You know what those things are, don’t you?” Jael gestured to the street as he groped for his rifle and inched toward the window. Damned if he wouldn’t have some of the action too.

Yysho thought for a moment. “My commanders recently came to suspect something dangerous was infesting this quadrant,” he said. Jael noticed smoke. The back of the house had begun smoldering, no doubt ignited by the heaping piles of red-hot projectiles. The Xxcha had seen it too, but seemed far more concerned with the enemy in front of the building.

“At first we thought the ‘1X had some form of new weapon, an advanced force of some kind,” Yysho continued. “But there were intercepts, indications that the ‘1X themselves were fighting it.”

“I guess this place proves that theory,” Jael said as he stabbed his knife into a metallic tendril that had slithered over the windowsill near him. The knife grated in between two joints. Jael twisted the blade, sending sparks flying. With a violent jerk, the tendril retreated back into the street, Jael’s knife with it.

The Xxcha nodded distractedly, he was now listening for something. Jael heard it too. A deep rumbling that made the floor jitter. Something big was coming.

Yysho gestured at Jael’s transmitter. “Now would be a good time for another helpful talk with your CO!”

Jael grabbed his transmitter and adjusted the signal. Nothing. He drew back the flap of his equipment pack. The transmitter was smoking; it had taken two direct hits by the arsenic darts. Jael looked at the Xxcha and shook his head. So much for the cavalry.

The rumbling grew louder, and the ground began to shake tangibly.

A thought occurred to Jael. “Yysho?” he asked. “When you were assigned to the H256th, I was told you were a training embedment.”

The Xxcha reloaded his weapon. “That’s right,” he grunted. It sounded like das rewt.

Jael grinned. “Except we weren’t supposed to train you, were we?”

The Xxcha blinked once, then cocked his head to look at Jael with his large yellow eyes. “No, Captain,” Yysho answered. “I was tasked to train your fleshy little behind.”

Jael couldn’t help but laugh out loud. It hurt his wounded shoulders. Then he noticed the rumbling had stopped. Whatever vile device the enemy was deploying, it had apparently rolled into position.

At least I don’t have to worry about getting combat pay, Jael thought and reloaded his weapon.

The real fighting was about to begin.