[O15 - Bannistar Station - PK] The Strategist

The Reign was nearly out of fuel, and the accompanying warships of the 9th Fleet weren’t fairing much better. Reign was an Urbanus-class light cruiser, a rare design from which the popular Allegiance class was derived. Its commander, Cyril Rooke, had been promoted to Grand Admiral following the death of Afsheen Makati. The 9th Fleet had been detached from the usual chain of command since Imperial forces withdrew from the Trailing Sectors, and now operated as an independent entity. Months of raiding New Republic shipping had depleted the 9th Fleet’s materials, and a refit of the entire fleet would need to take place soon. As long as the New Republic remained focused on the Core, the only major issue would be finding a port willing to assist. It would need to be sufficiently removed from the domain of any Warlords, and New Republic space was out of the question. This narrowed things down significantly, leaving only a few options for the Grand Admiral to consider.

Cyril sat alone in his study, researching each system’s defenses, recent history, and favorability towards the Empire. One location stood out from the rest, Bannistar; the system contained a handful of sparsely populated worlds as well as Bannistar Station, a fuel depot operated by Imperial loyalists but no longer under the Empire’s direct control. It was technically part of the relatively new Protectorate of Kalarba but as the remnant had only a handful of frigates and corvettes, Rooke dismissed it as a threat. Without warning, Cyril was interrupted by the door to his study sliding open.

“Have you come to a decision?” Asked the intruder; it was Cyril’s sister, an admiral and captain of the Reign.

“You might knock next time, Vesta.” Cyril remarked.

“What’s with the armor?” Vesta inquired.

“Just a precaution,” Cyril replied. “I’m sure you’ve heard what happened to Marshal Aves.”

“I have not, actually.”

“In that case…” Cyril selected a datapad from his desk and passed it to Vesta. “You can read this.”

She quickly scanned through the report on the datapad then looked back at Cyril, an expression of sheer disbelief on her face.

“A walking accident?”

“That is the official cause of death.”

“Has nobody looked into this?”

Cyril shrugged, “Nobody cares enough, aside from myself apparently. I’ve noticed an alarming trend: Imperial warlords killed off in mysterious circumstances, their assets seemingly vanishing from the galaxy. I would prefer not to be next.”

“You believe yourself to be a target?”

“I can’t rule it out.”

“Surely no assassin could reach you undetected; they’d have to pass through a whole cruiser, not to mention getting on board in the first place.”

“And Admiral Fendar’s stronghold was supposedly impenetrable, yet I believe he was the first victim,” Cyril responded, growing agitated.

“You’re paranoid, brother. Regardless, the Umbra Guard is quite capable of providing–”

“The Umbra Guard can’t stop every threat!” Cyril snapped. Vesta didn’t press the matter further, this outburst was most uncharacteristic. Cyril seemed to register her concern and quickly apologized, “Sorry, I don’t know what came over me. You wanted to discuss our next objective?”

“Yes. I take it Malastare has been completely ruled out?”

“Correct, reports of Red Moon activity in orbit have validated my concerns about their security.”

“I didn’t think the Red Moons were so bold.”

“Nobody seems interested in checking their behavior, save maybe Delvardus.”

“That leaves us with a rather short list, doesn’t it.”

“Hardly a list anymore; there is only one viable system within our projected range, Bannistar Station.”

“Isn’t that Protectorate space? What if their fleet arrives? None of our ships have enough fuel for prolonged combat.”

“Most of our remaining fuel will be transferred to the Blight, allowing it to screen against possible attacks. It is unlikely that any will manifest, however.”

“You don’t expect any interference?”

“Reports indicate the Protectorate’s home fleet has left the sector.”

“And where are they now?”

“Last report has them at Arrgaw, too far to interfere.”

“I see.”

“Send word to the fleet, we’ll rendezvous over Enarc to make the final preparations.”

“It will be done.”