Chapter 498: Empire

The massive wedge-shaped ships streaked into existence only a few light seconds from the planet. One after another, in rapid succession, they appeared, until a formation of twenty-five of them, surrounding one three times as massive, hung in the blackness of space.

Satellites chirped out warnings for the ships to stay away, that they were not welcome, that the ships needed to leave immediately or face a strongly worded rebuke as well as a letter of disapproval to their superiors.

The ships ignored it, moving in at a stately pace, until they orbited the planet.

There were signals from the planet.

Automated. Emergency Alert System messages. Pleas for assistance from desperate people, long dead, the message on an automatic loop. Warnings to stay away from the planet. Visual loops of the devastation and the disaster that had turned into horror.

From the largest ship a shuttle emerged, bracketed by four heavy bulky looking troop transports, all of them followed by nearly a hundred small agile craft. The ship dropped down through the atmosphere, the sleek ships following. Finally, it stopped at the edge of one of the smaller continents.

Humans staggered from buildings, alleys, crawled out from under cars, and began to move toward the heavy troop transports around the smaller shuttle. Overhead the sleek craft moved in a steady organized pattern.

The humans staggered forward, opening their mouths and emitting a longing groan of need and dismay.

The transports opened first. The sides unfolding and white armored humans charging out. They quickly moved to a perimeter, firing their weapons as they moved forward. The short sharp plasma bursts shrieked from the weapons, hitting the staggering humans. Charred holes appeared in the staggering humans, but pinpoint accuracy began to drop them.

The back of the transport opened and smoke poured out.

A black armored figure strode from the back, a cape swirling around behind him. He surveyed his men, setting up firing positions and a reinforced perimeter. He nodded to himself, satisfied with the professionalism and skill.

A human in a black uniform with silver trim moved over next to the black armored figure. The human was holding a datapad and held it out for the black armored figure to look over. The armored figure read it, handed it back, and made a motion.

White armored troopers followed as he moved beyond the perimeter.

The fighting started immediately as figured lunged from the tall weeds, attempting to grapple and pull down the white armored troops. Skill and discipline carried the day, and the black figure slowly walked the two miles to the point that had been wrested from the planetary security systems.

It was a wall. The building was collapsed, a burnt shell, but the wall was intact.

It was pocked with impacts from weapons. Dark stains around the pockmarks.

The figure held out its hand and was handed the datapad again.

Lightning arcs around his feet, crackled up and down his cape, wreathed his biceps, as he watched the brutal video again and again.

"There," the figure said, pointing to a spot two thirds of the way down the wall.

The ground was still charred, bits of plasma glass in the dirt.

"She was there. He was there. And she died here," the figure said, pointing. He pointed again. "There, there, there, there, and there."

Several of the troopers jogged up, carrying heavy plas boxes. They were black, with silver straps around them.

The troopers opened the boxes, took the shovels from the side, and began digging in the spots pointed out by the black armored figure. They loaded the dirt into the crates. One suddenly knelt down and motioned at the black uniformed, unarmored human.

"Got what looks like bone here," the white armored troop said.

The black uniform one knelt down, touching it with an analyzer wand.

He moved slowly and carefully, able to feel the pulsing anger and hatred coming off the black armored figure, who had small hairlike tendrils of red, purple, and dark blue energy crawling all over him. After a second the wand pinged.

"Who is it," the black armored figure wheezed.

"Sindee," the officer said.

"Treat her gently," the armored figure ordered, clenching his hands into fists. "She's just a little girl."

The officer nodded, picking up the bone fragment with his hands, all that survived after the four year old girl had been 'pink misted' by the weaponry used to take her life.

Once the dirt, and a few other bone fragments, had been put in the boxes, which had bronze labels attached, the white armored troops took a single shovel full of dirt from other spots, putting them in different boxes.

The procession walked back.

The hungry dead were quickly dealt with on the journey.

Once the procession arrived and loaded the crates, the perimeter was quickly pulled back, the crew served weapons disassembled and hauled back into the ship.

The ship took off, ignoring the howling wails of millions of hungry dead they left behind.

Once they landed in the docking bays of the largest ship, the armada turned and vanished with a streak.

The planet returned to being nothing more than the domain of the dead.

--------------

"Daddy, come look!" La'amo'o heard his daughter call out.

"I'm hurrying, little one," La'amo'o said, putting the starfruit cups onto the plate and hurrying back into the living room.

The Tri-Vee was showing a huge gathering in the Capitol. People were lined up along the streets, watching the procession as Darth Harmonus and his aides rode in a heavy military vehicle.

"Look, Daddy, Red Prince," Alma'ana said, pointing at the Tri-Vee.

La'amo'o nodded, able to see the glittering red form of his digital friend.

"Wow, he's standing right next to Grand Moff Hector and Darth Harmonus," Alma'ana breathed, her eyes wide with excitement. She looked back. "I didn't know they were friends."

"Neither did I, my little heart," La'amo'o said. He handed her a starfruit cup. "Here. It's snack time."

On the Tri-Vee the announcer was talking about from here on out, this day each year would be a holiday to commemorate "The Beloved Sister and the Treasured Kindred" that Darth Harmonus had lost.

On the Tri-Vee was shown pictures of a human woman, dressed in rude homespun clothing, smiling as she did such things as hand wash laundry, pick fruit, sweep the floor, read to small children.

She looked happy to La'amo'o's eyes and he felt a little jealous.

La'amo'o nodded. He could understand the desire to toss away everything involved in modern society and just living somewhere with your family. Sure, it would be hard labor, with never enough hours in the day, but was it so different from the life he had lived before the Empire, and Darth Harmonus, had arrived? Full of hard work?

La'amo'o shook his head.

No. He could see that she was washing her own clothing and the clothes of her children. She was not doing work to enrich some Most High, was not toiling away for a hypercorp's profits. She was cooking for her own children, cleaning for them and herself.

Now he knew, in a way he had never known before, that there was a certain sweetness in doing something that had tangible effects upon your own life.

He pulled his attention back to the screen, away from his own thoughts, as the Tri-Vee swooped in on Darth Harmonus slowly walking up the steps toward the massive white marble building. On one side of him was the Lanaktallan Mo'otTwo'ot, a political prisoner of The Empire.

On either side of the steps were marble statues of the Terran men, women, and children who had been massacred with the Beloved Sister and the Treasured Kindred.

Alma'ana read out loud each name as the Tri-Vee identified the statues and showed pictures of the dead Terrans engaged in family activities.

At the top of the stairs was the edifice. It was a heavy marble roof, supported by thick marble pillars instead of walls. There were eight sarcophagus inside the building, made of white marble, with a granite surface cared in bas-relief to show the occupants as if they were asleep.

Alma'ana recited the names of each of Darth Harmonus's nieces and nephews. The oldest had been eleven, the youngest less than a year.

La'amo'o had seen the footage when it had been released. The Lanaktallan officer had set the baby down and executed it with his pistol.

The footage, which La'amo'o had seen on the GalNet, had made him sick and he had been forced to rush to the bathroom so he did not vomit on the floor.

Despite the fact that the armor's faceplate was immobile, La'amo'o could sense the sadness, the feeling of loss, emanating from Darth Harmonus as he touched the brow of the carving of the young Terran female adult.

La'amo'o knew how it felt to lose a loved one, and dabbed his eyes with a cloth and he wept in sympathy.

After a long few minutes, Darth Homonus, Red Prince, Mo'otTwo'ot, and the others turned and began to walk back down the steps that led up to the crypt.

The broadcast cut off to personalities, who were discussing the fact that the Empire was experiencing peace and stability like the inhabitants had never experienced. That no longer was there an uncurrent of fear through the whole society.

La'amo'o turned off the Tri-Vee, stood up, and held his lower left hand out.

"Would you like to go for a walk in the park? It is sunny and warm, and walking is good for us," La'amo'o said.

Alma'ana stood up, nodding, expressing eagerness and happiness.

"I would like that very much."

--------------

No matter how confident a being is, no matter how self-assured, the arrival of a being nearly eight feet tall, clad in a combination power armor-life support suit, with a plasma blade on his hip and the ability to throw lightning and perform telekinesis without the assistance of drones, made everyone nervous.

The gathered beings in the room all stiffened and more than a few felt sweat bead up as Darth Harmonus strode into the room. Almost all of them wore Imperial uniforms.

Almost.

Four of them were wearing different military uniforms. Eight were Lanaktallan wearing Unified Council uniforms.

"Gentlemen, ladies, both, and neither," Harmonus wheezed as he stopped in front of the huge holotank. "Thank you for joining me."

"Of course," one said, dressed in the livery of the Mechworlds of Terra.

"The systems around us have come under attack by Precursor Autonomous War Machines as well as some kind of temporal attack in other regions," Darth Harmonus said. He began pointing out stars. "These can be used as bases to launch attacks upon other regions."

He stepped back. "The worlds around us cry out for peace and stability," he said. "Peace and stability like the Empire can offer."

Everyone gathered nodded.

"While my forces are not stretched thin, I still have four heavy occupations going on, tying up a full twentieth of my forces," Darth Harmonus said. He turned to one of the Mech Lords. "Your offer of assistance has been considered."

The man nodded, resisting the urge to swallow and wipe the sweat from his forehead. Seeing Darth Harmonus on needlecast, SolNet, or through a transmission was one thing, being in the room with him was quite another.

"The Federated Star Systems are willing to offer their support," he reaffirmed.

"I have found your proposal acceptable. We will replace all combat losses and finance the repair of all combat damage, in return, your mech warriors will fight to liberate those planets from the Autonomous War Machines," Harmonus said. He turned to one of the Lanaktallan. "The Federated Star System Faction of the Mech Worlds of Terra will liberate your worlds."

The Lanaktallan looked grateful.

"However, they will then establish their own star nation," Darth Harmonus said. "Your people had their chance, and provided nothing but misery and despair."

The Lanaktallan nodded. "I care not for rulership. As Grand Most High of eight systems currently under attack, I have one simple request."

"You may make your request to those of us assembled," Harmonus said.

"Save my people. Protect them and those worlds are yours," the Lanaktallan pleaded.

"I find your request..." Darth Harmonus led the pause draw out.

"Acceptable."

--------------

La'amo'o stared at the screen of his deskcomp.

The site he was looking at showed him one of his heart's desires.

He had taken the tests and found out he qualified.

The site was asking him if he wished to speak to an Imperial recruiter.

He didn't need to think about it.

He touched no, then shut down his deskcomp.

Turning back to the 1:12 scale model of one of the Imperial attack ships, he ruefully shook his head.

Perhaps when Alma'ana grew up, moved out, had a family of her own.

Then, maybe, he would still be young enough to sign up for Imperial Flight School.

He wasn't worried that the Empire wouldn't be around.

He wasn't worried that pilots would not be needed any longer.

Life in the Empire was good.

And La'amo'o knew that there were others that would hate that. Not that they wanted it, not that they couldn't just become citizens. They'd hate it merely because beings like La'amo'o and his daughter were happy, safe, and secure.

The more luxury and safety another being lived in, the more they would hate that La'amo'o lived in security and safety, as if there was only so much safety and security to go around in the universe.

As he began slowly, painstakingly, assembling the interior of the cockpit of the large scale model, he knew that sooner or later someone would come and try to take away Alma'ana's safety.

He would help the Empire protect her.

For the first time in his life, since the Empire had arrived, La'amo'o knew what it was like to have something to lose.

He carefully finished the ejection system of the fighter's cockpit and picked up the base of the seat.

Tomorrow, he would call Red Prince and talk to him about his feelings. The feelings he didn't quite understand.

He looked through his rear facing eyes at his daughter, who was sitting at the table playing an interactive educational game.

She was what was worth fighting for.

Long live the Empire.