It was a tale of two cities. Or actually, two stations with the population of a small city. Two stations that beyond their utilitarian purposes, served as a political statement to the other.

Executive Flyer TC-TVC dropped out of hyperspace six-hundred and ninety kilometers out from Hyperspace Terminal Point One-four, usually known as the bottleneck. It was a relic of a bygone era, but still served as the main point of entry and exit from the Wolatarian systems. Traffic came in here and then jumped into the nebulous and dense star cluster. Though hyperspace advancement made this unnecessary, it was still the safest route into the cluster. Some shipping companies insurance even demanded they use the entry point, so the flow of traffic was immense.

The Roland Aerospace Executive Flyer VI was a sleek corporate shuttle designed for high-speed atmospheric travel, and fighter-like maneuvering. On board TC-TVC was President Sage Parvil of Or’rac SecureTransport Corporation and members of the board of directors. They were returning from a negotiation on Munnilist, and were now inbound for Brocan, in Wolatarian Space. The Wolatarian systems were split into two main sectors, the Brocan Royal House and the Freeworlds, each competing with the other.

The Brocan Royal House was the old Wolatarian Imperium, ruled as a Constitutional monarchy. It wasn’t an iron-rule state, as excessive bureaucracy prevented simples acts of oppression, yet also made it difficult for anything to progress quickly. Still, the wealth of the Brocan was incredible, and immense public works made impressive cities. Great emphasis was put on the patriarchal society and orderly conduct. Almost all cities had curfews, strict zoning laws, public dress codes and a rigorous educational system.

The Freeworlds were a newer lot of the Wolatarian system, and at most were minarchist, and for all practical purposes in an anarchist state. No formal authority, outside of a system of community arbitration courts, exist. They seem to contrast the Brocan house’s cry for perfection in society, and took nearly two dozen years to settle down from the early days after the revolution. They, however, had formed a society that was ever bit as orderly as the Brocan, though this order was maintained by each individual and a loose network of security services hired often by larger businesses to prevent looting of property. The Freeworlder society was geared much more towards the individuals, and the members of the society took great lengths to express themselves through art, dress and the design of their dwelling. Though some areas were designed by a community developers, most areas were a patchwork of homes, and in upper middle class areas, had homes of unique builds. A huge market for architects and construction had been created, and many artisans were moving out of the Brocan house to attend Freeworlder schools. In response, the Brocan house had made it illegal to move one’s residence to the Freeworlds without going through the citizenship’s office. This did little as Brocan’s still could ‘escape’ into Freeworld space, and once there, disappear into the society.

Freeworld life could be tough, however, and the population held a very ‘armed society is a polite society’ view. As your life was your own, with it, came the means of protection and that responsibility. There were occasional gun fights that broke out in dark alleys, or shopping centres, though these were becoming more rare. A great amount of wealth had been created, though still lower-class areas existed and within them, gangs and groups of pirates formed. Attempts to move security forces into these areas had resulted in bloody micro-wars, and the private defense agencies had all but refused to send personal back into the areas.

Though the two societies conflicted, neither would consider open war, and for the most part, simply remained hostile to the other. And that brings us back to the stations.

The old hyperspace station was a simple base, only around five-hundred meters long. After the split of the two sectors, the Brocan decided that the entry point was theirs and seized the station from the private company who previously managed the traffic control. In response, two Freeworlder billionaires decided to build a new station, one that would rival the old station and provide the latest services to those entering the cluster (not to mention direct travelers and business towards the Freeworlds). The result was a massive construction project that resulted in a massive fifteen-kilometer long station, with tall spindly towers and hundreds of docking ports. Investors and companies built their own towers on the station, one of the tallest, nearly a kilometer long. Thousands of neon-lights, windows, and flight path indicators made the mostly black structure glow in a amazing attraction of lights.

Not to be outdone, the Brocan began their own project. The original goal was to have a floating city, twenty-kilometers long, though in the end, it was only thirteen-kilometers. Perfectly rowed buildings were sloped to form a picturesque city in white, with a public use tunnel-train that went under every building. Massive spotlights lit up every tower and made it visible over a hundred thousand kilometers away. The Brocan government poured nearly four-times the cost of the competing structure to make it the ideal entry station for the cluster. Once completed the government of Brocan assure the public, it would be repaid by business that would quickly fill every room. The problem was, the cost pushed most smaller firms from being able to enter, and the larger ones found the cost still too high to make it profitable. Ten years after completion, only 15% of the structure was habited, and the upkeep was costing billions each year. It would be ironic that then, nearly 30% of the structure would be bought under the table, at a drastically reduce cost, by the same firm that backed the construction of the Freeworlder port. Breaking a whole slew of regulations, and having a team of lawyers gumming up the Brocan’s courts out of spite, the firm remodeled four towers into hotels of executive-class suites. The government finally backed down and rewrote most of the regulations to try and undo the public mess that station had become. With a smirk, the Freeworlder firm declared ‘victory’ and sold their share of the complex to a Corellian firm to add injury to insult. The Brocan House did retaliate and sized several hundred million credits worth of the firm’s assets under a criminal investigation for ‘unpaid fees’. The case is still in the Brocan court system.

This was as far as the hostilities went for the most part, tit-for-tat political games between Brocan royalty and Freeworld billionaires. However, sometimes the game became dirtier, and bombings and ‘accidental’ shoot-downs occurred. And this is what the Or’rac Secure Transport Executive Flyer was headed for.

Executive Flyer TC-TVC had two escorts, a pair of Corporate Sector Authority IRD-B fighters, with hyperdrives. Armed with six Roland Aerospace Rx-9 missiles, and 33mm revolving cannons, they matched the winged, fighter-like shuttle well. The trio made a turn as they passed a floating nav-beacon, three hundred kilometers from the station. Moving at just 1.5 kilometers a second, they closed in on the Brocan entry station, three minutes out.

Inside the narrow shuttle’s fuselage, the passengers sat around the main conference table, sipping drinks and going over strategy for the next deal. The group looked different from most business groups, resembling a group of musicians who should be playing in an underground club on Coruscant, rather than in a corporate board room. But that was the Freeworlder way, and appearance wasn’t going to be toned down, especially when going into Brocan space.

“Brocan Transit Authority, Executive Flyer Theta-Vector-Chi, inbound from approach beacon seven-niner, requesting approach heading.”

“Executive Flyer Theta-Vector-Chi, drop four-thousand and hold velocity until fifty-thousand out. Decelerate to two-hundred fifty and hold until contacted.”

Two minutes and forty-five seconds later they began to reverse power and slow their ships, when onboard the Ex. Flyer an alarm gave a signal that a high-velocity missile was streaking towards them at two kilometers a second. The Ex. Flyer shot up and then hard to the right, moving several kilometers in a matter of seconds. On board the passengers were nearly thrown from their seats when the vessel made its abrupt turn, and the grav generators took a second to compensate for the intense G-forces. They quickly scrambled for their seats, and fasten crash webbing. Two rockets torn from the belly, and streaked off towards the incoming projectile. The flew right into the missiles path and detonated, throwing out dozens of smaller explosives and were set-off as the inbound missile passed through them. They resulting explosion ripped the missile apart and detonated dozens of kilometers away. The two escort fighters turned and ramped up their engines, and torn off towards the direction of the missile.

The traffic was thick in that area, nearly five hundred vessels on tightly locked vectors in only two-hundred and fifty cubical kilometers. The Transit Authority controllers began screaming for the two fighters to stay on a set course, who disregarded the order. The Ex. Flyer moved back to a normal heading, though wary of other projectiles. Suddenly two more missiles read as closing in. The shuttle banked up and let two more interception rockets out that caught the incoming rockets only five kilometers away, debris from the explosion tearing into the shields at thousands of kilometers a second. This time the culprits were spotted. Three Re-190 fighters, with transponder codes of the Brocan Royal Defense Force. The two escorts didn’t even wait for a clear shot, or bothered announcing their intentions, they both let out two of their Rx-9 missiles, that streaked out into space, vanishing from sight in a second and leaving a long white trail. Both fighters were moving about a kilometer a second as they moved into the traffic dense space around the Brocan Entry station. A fierce bout of combat was about to take place in one of the most crowded parts of Wolatarian space.

The fighters watched their missiles track towards the three fighters, and explode as the fighters launched their own interception missiles. Screaming through the traffic, they once past a heavy freighter by just a mere two hundred meters. They closed within ten kilometers and fired another missile each. The Brocan fighters, split and through out countermeasures, which threw the missiles off and missed their targets, and then exploded once they had no other targets. The two fighters had the identification codes of TV-CCE and EF-XP, and referred to each other as Chi-Epsilon and Xi-Phi, respectfully. Both fighters broke and the Brocan formation split up, the began slowing down in their turns to match the speed of the enemy fighters through space. Rapid adjustments had to be made to avoid collisions at times with other vessels. At five-hundred meters a second, and two kilometers behind one of the Brocan fighters, Xi-Phi let off another missile. The Brocan fighter swiveled and fired his engines shooting him down just before the missile hit. The missile over shot and then cut its own engine and rotated in space and reignited its engine, throwing itself towards the retreating fighter. The Brocan fighter pulled up and the missile tracked him, setting itself for an interception at the top of the enemy fighter’s loop. The Brocan Re-190, rotated itself over and fired its engines to slow and try to maneuver downwards. The missile reacted and started straight for the slowing fighter when it tore through a fuel tank being towed by a transport craft. The liquid fuel was sprayed into space, but without air did not burn, and instead flash-froze into a cloud of ice droplets. The missile had not armed its own warhead, as it was still out two kilometers from the fighter. The impact destroyed its computer and the dead missile continued a tumbling flight path through space.

The Brocan fighter though wasn’t safe at all. Xi-Phi had been tracing his missile and after it plowed through the side of the fuel tank, he dove down towards the slowing fighter and fired a burst of 33mm slugs. The port wing of the Re-190 shattered in a spray of yellow sparks and glinting silver metal. The craft began flipping end-over-end and leaking fuel and atmosphere out of the destroyed wing, its debris forming a cloud around the vessel, which was still traveling upwards at about a hundred meters a second. Xi-Phi tore past the remains of his opponent, and turned out back towards Chi-Epsilon, who was now twenty kilometers away.

The Executive Flyer was racing out of the area, back towards the Freeworlder station, four-hundred kilometers away. The two Re-190s were tracking it eighty-five kilometers behind, and trying to evade Chi-Epsilon’s missiles. He had let off the final missiles, which had been thrown off by burst of chaff from the Re-190s. Now he tried to close the gap between him and the two Royal Fighters. His IRD-B was a faster vessel than the Re-190, though not by much. And he could only go so fast safely. At three kilometers a second, he would never see another vessel before he ripped into them. He closed the distance to three kilometers and could make out the two fighters. He surged the engines and rushed forward, as he closed to nine-hundred meters he let off a burst of his twin autocannons, spraying hypersonic slugs towards the fighters. They both split and shot away to his left and right. He tracked into the one going left, and began to slow a bit so he could maneuver. His sensors had the other vessel at his nine o’clock and seven kilometers away. In a second the Re-190 had moved to seven o’clock and five kilometer and had launched another missile. Chi-Epsilon clicked the flare ejector and fired out and burst of burning flares and twisted the yoke, throwing his craft down and to the left. The missile overshot by only two hundred meters. The Re-190 had closed to less than a kilometer and opened fire with its six 13.8mm cannons. And 2.5 kilometers a second, Chi-Epsilon jinxed left and shot out of the fire, but the Re-190 followed. He pushed his nose over and flying backwards at breakneck speeds, took a burst of fire at the closing Royal fighter. The fighter moved upwards, avoiding the burst and pitched downwards as it continued moving upwards to fire again at the IRD-B. Several shots ripped through the fuselage of Chi-Epsilon, one of the top engines tearing apart as fuel and oxidizer mixed and exploded. Control wasn’t lost, but the impact tossed the vessel over itself. The pilot rolled it back level and reversed the engines. He rapidly slowed and the Re-190 flew past, distancing the two ships at about a kilometer a second. Just as he was beginning to turn back towards the Ex. Flyer’s path, the other Re-190 zipped past him, guns blazing. Slugs from the Royal fighter tore his starboard wing and engine off. He spun out of control and fought to stabilize the wounded IRD-B. The Re-190 spun around and began coming back from about ten kilometers out. As he closed in on Chi-Epsilon, his wingmate flew past and fired his last missile at the incoming Re-190. The pilot fired chaff and began to pull up, though not fast enough. Phi-Xi’s Rx-9 tore the Re-190 apart in a ball of flames and shattering metal. He broke hard right to avoid the cloud of expanding debris. Chi-Epsilon began limping his wounded fighter towards the Freeworlder station and issued the first distress call. The Executive Flyer was entering the patterns to guide them in for an emergency landing.

Back toward the Brocan station, Phi-Xi faced off the last Re-190, though a new problem had emerged. A Brocan cruiser was making it’s way into the area, about three-hundred kilometers a way. Loaded with long-range anti-fighter missiles, he had already began launching several that streaked towards him. With only guns remaining, he had to face off the Re-190, while avoiding the missiles. The missiles were still two minutes away and his wingman was limping back to safety. He turned towards the Re-190, which was barreling towards him. He slowed to around four-hundred meters a second and waited till the Re-190 got within a kilometer and fired a burst at him. The shots missed, as did the Re-190’s fire. The enemy fighter slowed…

--

“Do we have tail numbers yet? I want them ran as soon as we get them.” Sage Parvil shouted up the the Executive Flyers communications manager.

“We’re tracing their electronic signatures in lieu of their tags. Need to run it again, but we may have a match.” He answered back, and a moment later called to Sage again. “Confirmed, electronic emission makes one fighter, Kappa-Gold, tag Alef-four-four-two-six; origin, Vandar. Mark Kappa-Gold, Vandar on the cruiser as well.”

“Any significance?” Said Sage, unbuckling himself and moving to the cabin.

“Vandar would put the fighters under the jurisdiction of Countess An’Tran and the ninth house of the commons. Which directly controls Vandar State Shipping..”

“..Investment Corp.” Sage finished. “Well, that, explains that.. Are we out of their weapons range yet?”

“We’ll be in the defensive bubble of the station in thirty-seconds. Lamar Defensive has already been contacted and are scrambling a sortie to intercept, and our insurance will cover operating cost for up to thirty minutes. We should have X-Zar Protection in the area by then” The pilot said. Lamar was a local defensive company, that work directly for the stations owners. Insurance owned by Or’rac Secure would cover their flight operations for up to thirty minutes, after which for continued operations it would cost the company a hundred and ten thousand credits an hour to sustain their operations. X-Zar was directly contracted by Or’rac Secure and their policy covered their operations indefinitely. X-Zar also could provide other services as well. Operations of a more clandestine nature of which Sage was about to put into practice with just the right nudge of credits.

A multi-trillion credit war was brewing far from the galactic core.

Four Days after the Waypoint Incident
Planet Brocan, Bra’an City

Brocan was the Wolatarian’s Alderan. Gleaming cities, designed from the ground up, all designed in elaborate patterns and matching colour schemes. Despite is more arid climate, the planet was one of the most aesthetically pleasing in the galaxy.

The capital was located in Bra’an, on an island continent in the planet’s second largest ocean. Bra’an City was established just six hundred years ago and centered around five stark white, diamond shaped towers that was the government complex. Herein, the sixteen Houses of the Commons convened in the four senate towers; and the monarchy was housed in the centre tower, which was exactly a hundred meters higher than the other four towers.

Directly under the monarch, were the four archdukes (or archduchesses), each leading one of the senates and the four houses contained therein. Each house was led by a count or countess, and the representatives of each house were elected by general election. The Twenty-Seven Articles of Constitutionalism guaranteed broad rights to all citizens, however it still granted preference to those of royal heritage.

It was ten minutes past local sunset in Bra’an City, as a small blue speeder slowly entered the Awen-Roth Shopping Labyrinth; a high-class outdoor centre five klicks from the government complex. Though there was an obvious Wolatarian majority here, foreigners, mostly embassy workers, were about. A few humans and many assorted aliens, most notably, three Muun dining outside with two Wolatarians at Llotaran Exotic, a xeno-bistro in the park square.

The speeder took a fee-spot to park, and the driver crawled out dressed in a deep blue sport coat and took out a data pad case and headed for the bistro.

The driver was a Wolatarian, but stuck out from the rest of the population, as the sides of his head were shaved in a decorative pattern, and the exoskeleton underneath was tattooed. Contrasting the martial-styled jacket was a crimson waistcoat, defiantly marking him as an outsider. ‘A Freeworlder’, onlookers thought with spite, and his presence was noted by a local security official, who approached him.

“Card, sir?” The officer asked bluntly. The driver spun his torso, drawing a booklet from his coat pocket and flashing it opened at the officer.

“I’m with the consulate.” the Freeworlder said dryly, his four eyes peering from behind green-tinted, solar shades. The officer took the papers and studied them intently, looking for evidence of forgery. Dissatisfied, but unable to find anything amiss, he handed the flimplast booklet back to the Freeworlder, who subsequently snatched to back shoved it back into his pocket as he turned and headed for the bistro.

He took a seat on the patio, just across from the table seating the Muuns with their Wolatarian contacts. Setting the data pad case in the chair beside him, he made a glance across the menu, taking a peek across at the other party, making a visual identification. ‘An’Tran, jackpot.’ He averted his eyes back down at the menu as the waitress approached, setting a glass of water with a citrus wedge down on the table for him.

“Welcome and good evening, sir. Welcome to Llotaran, what can I get you started with?” She said, giving him an unsure, forced smile.

“Yes, could I get a Corellian-Caf to start. I’m probably going to have something light..”

“Yes, sir. May I see you identity card?” She inquired, and the Freeworlder nodded, and handed her the consulate booklet. She took it and frowned. “I’m sorry, I have to have to have your identity card.” She said and handed the booklet back to him.

The Freeworlder scowled as he took the booklet back. “That’s ridiculous. That has date of birth and everything. My card is in the speeder.”

“I’m sorry, it’s required by law.” She said and paused, adding hesitantly. “By law, it’s suppose to be on your person at all times as well.”

The Freeworlder huffed, but relented. “Alright, give me a moment to fetch it.” He crawled off the bench. “Would you mind watching my datapad? I’ll be right back.”

“Al-right.” The waitress said, as the Freeworlder left. As he was walking out of the bistro’s court, he locked eyes with the Countess, just for a moment, from behind the green-tinted shades. Something seemed wrong to the waitress, who turned to an inquisitive looking patron. “Everything alright?” She inquired, holding a small datapad used for orders to her chest.

“Who is he and where is he going?” The Countess asked flatly.

“I’m not sure, and he said he had to fetch his card.”

Back at the speeder, the Freeworlder simply crawled in as soon as the door opened and pushed the throttle forward, guiding the craft down the street. He reached into the passenger bench and grabbed a small plast box, and clicked a lever twice.

The blast wave tore out at nineteen hundred meters a second. A searing bright flash illuminated the square for a fraction of a second and every window within two blocks shattered. A towering column of grey dust and smoke shot up into the evening sky and bright burning cinders of burning metal and stone rained down like fruit sized sparks. The bistro itself was lifted off the foundation and the whole building collapsed forward with a roar almost as loud as the blast itself. All that remained of the patio scene, was a couple of twisted durasteel benches that landed over two hundred meters away.

---

“..it’s just an incredible scene, here. The building has literally fallen over; authorities are reporting that at least fifty are buried in the rubble. At least three hundred are injured and at least thirty-three are confirmed dead at this time in what is one of the worst acts of terrorism in the last decade..”

The broadcast spoke to aerial images of the square, with dozens of pulsating lights and flood lamps from emergency services illuminating the area in the late evening hour, while thick steam rose off the debris where fire crews were smothering the last of the flames..

“..awaiting the conference for the press at Bra’an palace is our own, Klaud Zajac.”

“Thank you, Janna. We’re expecting a statement from the constable’s office any minute now and we are just now receiving word that the seven more deaths have been confirmed by the coroner’s office bring the death toll..”

“Sage? You seeing this?” Said Rudy Eisenhart, chief of marketing at Or’rac Secure. Sage stepped into the receptionist room from his ninety-fifth floor office in the Fairfax Tower in Saana, Or’rac.

“No, what’s-- Good gods..” He said, looking up at the view screen. “What happened? Bombing?”

“Yeah, someone tried to put some restaurant in low orbit on Bra‘an. Took them like five minutes into the broadcast to go from ‘reported explosion‘ to ‘coordinated Freeworlder attack‘.”

“..establishment at 1937 local time. Rescue and recovery efforts are under way and the three district medical division has set-up a triage centre and a family support line. Armed Forces medical teams are also arriving on the scene to assist with the rescue efforts. We do not currently have any indication of who may have been responsible for the attack, however our agency will be beginning..”

“That’s typical. Who do you think was behind--” Sage began and was interrupted by a two-tone hum from the comm. He walked over and keyed it on, introducing himself to the caller.

“Sage, it’s Knard from over at X-Zar. Cleared up a little competition for you.” The caller said with an air of satisfaction. Sage’s head turned back to the view screen, staring at the monitor with his jaw slack and a loud hum feeling his ears as his head began to pound.

‘What have they done?’

--

Four days ago
Freeworlder Waypoint Station

“Brocan Cruiser, Brocan Cruiser! We will engage, I say again, we will engage! Alter your present course and stand down weap- Frack! Hold fire!” The comm officer disengaged the transmission. “Two hots inbound! They’re firing again. Scratch previous, four hots in the sky. We‘re going to have to go offensive.”

“Roger that, weapons free.”

Flight Gamma-6 was composed of two Brocan-built YB-18 torpedo bombers. Though the design was eighty years old, many were used by both the Brocan Naval Forces and the Freeworlder security groups. Gamma-6 was a patrol flight operated by Lamar Defensive Corporation. They had just been rerouted to cover the retreating Executive Flyer. Closing on the Brocan cruiser, there was just under a hundred klicks between the two ships.

The Brocan cruiser had yet to hail the ships, but continued to fire salvos of anti-fighter missiles at the two IRD-B fighters. The two torpedo bombers had moved to intercept, letting loose defensive missiles to engage the Brocan’s deadly torrent. The cruiser then let loose three anti-shipping missiles at the torpedo bombers, and in response they were interdicted by more defensive missiles. The torpedo bombers tried to hail the cruiser again, and only received four more missiles streaking towards them.

Eight silver missiles ejected from the torpedo bomber’s sides and then in wisp of white smoke, streaked out to intercept the inbound missiles. The rear bays opened on the torpedo bombers and in a burst of compressed gas, three elongated cylinders ejected from each of the bombers. A flash of yellow and columns of white smoke, the boosters pushed the torpedoes forward rapidly and towards the cruiser. A dozen more smaller missiles took off and moved ahead of the torpedoes to attempt to intercept any defensive rockets the cruiser might have. The boosters died on the torpedoes and they continued to glide towards the target.

The Brocan cruiser let loose three dozen interceptors at the torpedoes. In response the missiles defending the torpedoes moved forwards and began tracking the weaving defensive missiles. A large dish atop the bombers pivoted and aimed towards where the Brocan’s defensive missiles were. In an invisible, repeated burst hundreds of thousands of watts on electronic signals went out, tracing up and down the extremely high frequencies of the defensive missiles guidance. The missiles computers tried to cut through the noise and switched through channels rapidly to attempt to continue on their intercept path. Though a few missiles fail to track, several located the torpedoes through the noise and homed in. The bomber’s defensive missiles tracked them as they came in and detonated as close as they could to the missiles. Flashes of light filled the void of space a dozens of missiles exploded in couple seconds. Four of the Brocan’s missiles made it through and destroy two of the six torpedoes, and critically damaged a third. The three remaining torpedoes continued toward the cruiser and the torpedo bombers again turned the dishes towards the cruiser and began attempting the jam their fire control radars for their close-in cannons.

Despite the radio frequency noise, the defensive guns sprung to life, spraying explosive rounds out into space, making a wall of fire and shrapnel into the path of the torpedoes, two kilometers from the cruiser. Seven kilometers out, the next boosters kicked in and the three remaining torpedoes streaked towards the cruiser. They hit the defensive wall at three thousand meters a second. Two of the torpedoes exploded as the struck thousands of tiny shards from the exploding rounds. The final torpedo’s guidance was shattered, but it tried to correct itself for the terminal flight into the Brocan vessel, just before it was struck by an 46mm round from one the cruiser’s defensive guns. The torpedo exploded into hundreds of fragments spreading out into space, yet still traveling towards the cruiser. A rain of near molten metal painted the side of the ship, tearing dozens of small holes in the hulls and rocking the vessel with their impacts. The vessel would have recovered, as damage control crews rushed to plug the holes and control any fires, but then the critically damaged torpedo tore into the vessel at just over a kilometer a second. Unguided, but continuing on its original trajectory, the torpedo ripped deep into the hull before detonating. The explosion blew the raised superstructure off the top of the ship as the hull around the impact and detonation shattered, and a column of fire and debris shot out from the opposite side from the impact. Secondary explosions tore the rest of the ship apart, until only the forward most part of the vessel was intact. The last visible lights in the remaining structure of the ship fizzled and winked out. Leaving the vessel dark in space, save for a few molten embers.

--

“Sage, Lamar just shacked the cruiser. We’re going to have to get out of here before this place turns into a war zone. Hyperdrive is coming online, shall we jump to Or’rac?” The pilot said to Sage, who was sitting behind him.

“Yeah, get us out of here. Comms, patch me through to X-Zar HQ.” Sage said.

The comms officer dialed the link to the X-Zar Protection, and in a minute the screen showed an image of Knard Lansing, the head of operations for the company and an older acquaintance of Sage’s.

“Knard, it’s Sage.”

“How are you, buddy?” He said casually.

“Not great, I’m en route to Or’rac now. Brocan tried to toast us before we entered their space. Ninth House ships.. That’s the third time we’ve had Vandar State Shipping related vessels attack us in some way. I need this taken care of, and soon.” Sage said, getting straight to the point.

“Define, ‘taken care of’. How far? And how much?”

“Send them an obvious message that we are not going to be screwed with any further. And standard, two mil’ flat-- Wait, we’re about to go into hyperspace. I’ll call you back when we get to Or’rac…”

--

Five Days after the Waypoint Incident
Consulate of the Freeworlder Society for Peace and Relations, Bra’an City

Ten minutes before dawn, and the first speeders pulled up to the consulate gates. Three heavily armored officer’s appeared from behind the stone wall by the gate and took down the two guard with stun shots. The convoy of constable cruisers and armored personnel transports rushed in, klaxons blaring and blue and orange strobes pulsating. Two black embassy speeders, with the X-Zar corporate logo on the doors and green beacon lights met the convoy coming up the main pathway and blocked the road. One of the armored transports fired two blue ion blast and the speeders dropped to the ground. The guards inside stepped out, both armed with Flechette rifles. The first constable cruiser stopped and the officer‘s jumped out, raising their automatic handguns and badges.

“Royal Constables! Drop your weapons!”

A rifle blast rang out and the forward and aft windshield of the cruiser exploded, as the driver’s door shredded and slammed closed; the officer on the right of the cruiser flew back in a spray of blood. Two more shots and the cruiser dropped from its hover, the bonnet and frame torn apart by the Flechette rifles.

“…hearing from the Constable’s office at this time is that just under an hour ago, officer’s from the Constable entered the embassy with search and arrest orders. There has been sporadic gunfire, and at least four officer’s have been killed by mercenaries . The Office is saying that the have quote ‘undeniable’ proof that connects the Freeworlder consulate to yesterday’s terrorist attack in Bra’an City that so far has left a hundred and thirty-two dead and at least four hundred injured. The Constable’s office is saying that it was necessary to make the rapid strike on the consulate here in Bra’an City to prevent key conspirators from fleeing with evidence. At this time the Office is saying that exact details of who and what they are looking for is being withheld from public release as to not jeopardize the investigation. Now, several fires are currently burning in the consulate and authorities are saying these are the result of consulate personnel attempting to destroy evidence--”

Beep. And the holonet channel changes.

“…now the Peace Society, who manages our sixteen consulates, is stating that they lost communications with the Bra’an City consulate at around zero-five-forty this morning and that attacks began at around five-twenty, when police opened fired on the embassy security. Explosions have been heard by our embedded reporter there in Bra’an City, who had to leave the scene when he was threatened with detention. Obviously, this is a gross violation of sentient rights and we can only offer our hopes and prayers to those trapped there in Bra’an City…”

Seven Days after the Waypoint Incident
Saana, Planet Or’rac, Freeworlder Space

Oddly enough, the incident at the Waypoint Stations, including the loss of the cruiser, went mostly un-noted, summed up as a tragic case of mistaken identification and self-defense; both sides issued apologies and stand-downs to try and ‘discover what went wrong‘, and ‘how future incidents could be avoided‘. The bistro bombing, however, had spurred a great outcry for blood, namely when five members of the parliament, were listed among the dead. The consulate seizure came after a call from an officer who was moments later was killed in the explosion, reported that a Freeworlder with the consulate had been acting suspicious and just left the square.

It took no time for the Bro’can to connect the consulate with the security contractor’s at X-Zar Protection and plan their next strike. The next move in this Sabbac game was the opening shots to the War.

There was no coordinated defense of the planet of Or’rac. X-Zar and Lamar both had corporate offices on the planet, and a few field offices at various space ports. The traffic control of the planet was mostly in the hands of an aerospace companies that managed the largest ports on the surface and one station in orbit, a thousand kilometers above the northern pole. No air defense and no security authentication made it easy for six groups of bombers to get into the atmosphere and en route to their targets. It would be the aerospace traffic control at Saana Intergalactic that would first notice something horribly amiss.

--

0746 local time, Day Zero of the War
Saana Intergalactic Port, Aerospace Control Node

The chief of the watch set is steaming cup of stemcaf down on the table, as he made his rounds, and looked over the shoulder of a tired controller, who was obviously zoned out. He jumped a little when he noticed someone standing beside him.

“How’s it going?” The lead controller asked.

“Thirty-five more minutes. I think I saw max of a dozen vessels in the last eight hours. Quiet night, chief.”

“Yeah, mid-week. Usually just business travel-- Eh, what are those four up there?”

The watch jumped to alertness and checked the display.

“Err-- They were..n’t there a minute ago. Up by Athor.. Registering mach.. Three?” The watch blinked a few times to see if he was reading the screen right. The screen was a display of a six hundred kilometer area around Saana, fed directly from a satellite in synchronous orbit. The chief frowned and picked up the comm, keying for Athor Control Node.

“Ah, yes. This is Chief Tyson with Saana Control. We’ve got four contacts just transiting your airspace, angels two.. We’re showing speed of plus-three. Can you confirm?”

“Yeah, Chief. We’re really not sure. We just picked them up about two minutes ago and-- speed is confirmed at plus-three-point-two. No ID, but they’re outside controlled space. We’re limited to radar here, no signature ID. I just kinda assumed they’re security forces doing some training.. Do you have a better idea than us?”

“Hold for a moment, we’ll try to get a signature.” The chief said, turning to the satellite operator behind him, who had just returned from getting a cup of caf. “Hey, four contacts about four hundred klicks north-east, can I get an IR and electronic signature scan.”

“Eh, one sec.. You’ll loose your monitors for a couple though, but I can.” The operator said, and keyed the computer. The scanning display went out as the satellite switched functions to scan the four contacts in detail. For two minutes the control station only had the surface radars, with a range of a couple hundred klicks.

“Scanning… Fifty seconds remaining and.. Whoa! No, not good.” The satellite operator bang the keyboard. “Uh, just lost all connections with the satellite. I can’t even ping her computers for a reboot.”

“Say what--” The chief began, only to be cut off by the local radar operator.

“Hey, Chief.. I’m getting a negative electrical feedback on the scanner, we’re going to have to switch to high-band-- wait… I think we have a problem.” He said, looking at a screen that was now completely washed out. The operator switched to a more reliable high-band frequency, which limited their range to the horizon. Some source of electrical interference was blocking their radar. The chief looked around and picked back up the comm.

“Athor, do you have any sensor problems?”

“That’s affirmative. I’m on the link with Polar and they’re saying that their getting a lot of interference. And they can’t link with their scan-lites. We’ve also got two contacts that just moved within our high-band range, and--” The operator at Athor cut himself off and covered the comm as he yelled across the room. There was shouting in the background and a lot of commotion before the operator came back on the link, frantic. “Chief, we just lost our high-band and I’ve got a couple explosions across the field from the tower. I think we’re under attack here. Let me comm you back.”

The chief froze for a moment, before disconnecting and calling the X-Zar hanger at Saana Intergalactic. Everyone in the control room stared at him blankly, waiting some further instructions; the satellite operator piped up, asking what was going on. The chief flashes a single raised digit, gesturing for him to hold for a moment.

“Yes, Chief Tyson here. We need combat patrol wheels up now. Reported attack at Athor, and we’re sensor blind right now. Possible boogies inbound from the northeast.” The chief listen to the hectic conversation on the other side of the link. “Wheels up in fifteen? You do realize that they’ll be over us in six, right? … Yes, that’s right. Six minutes, better hurry…” The chief disconnected the comm and keyed for the port’s only air defense station of three small missile batteries, also owned by X-Zar.

Meanwhile, the four crimson painted fighter-bombers began to split formation, as the city of Saana appeared on the horizon.

--

0758 local time, Day Zero of the War
Outskirts of Saana, Autoroute 27S

Sage Parvil guided his red land speeder through the early morning traffic headed into the city of Saana. He had picked up Rudy about five minutes before and got onto the autoroute. They moved into the speed lane, and locked into the grid, moving them forwards at nearly a couple hundred kilometers an hour. Up ahead was the bridge over the Saana river, which was just over a kilometer wide. The twenty-lane bridge was the only way into the downtown district from the northern suburbs.

The sound system was locked with one of the audio links out of Saana, and Sage and Rudy conversed over the syndicated morning talk program from Corellia. Out of the corner of his eye, Sage noticed two fairly low vessels moving overhead at a high rate of speed. He followed them for a moment, trying to identify their delta wing shapes. He also thought he saw something fall off of them, but couldn’t quite be sure. Rudy noticed his inquisitive expression and looked up.

“Eh, you recognize those?” Sage said and gestured upwards. Rudy looked worried as he tried to get a better view through the windshield.

“I-- I hope not.. Looks like R-B-fifties-- Frackin’ hell!” He shouted and both him and Sage quickly snapped up against the restraints, as the bridge, just a kilometer-and-a-half in front of them erupted into a cloud of dark grey smoke and debris flying into the air, that appeared to be whole vehicles. The shockwave hit them a few seconds later; three invisible walls in rapid succession. Though the vehicle regained control almost immediately, the inflatable curtains extended over all the windows. The klaxons on the heads-up display went off and an automated voice came on.

“Grid disruption detected, emergency stop initiated. Please remain inside the vehicle and follow all directions from the GridLock representative. Do not attempt to operate your vehicle. An emergency stop has be initiated, please remain inside your vehicle and a GridLock representative will be with you in a moment. An emergency stop has been…”

Sage tore the deflating curtains away from the front windshield as the land speeder came to a stop. Debris were still falling through the air, and three massive clouds of smoke were boiling into the air above the bridge. The smoke and dust around the bridge was thick, however it was obvious the center of the bridge had collapsed the two hundred meters into the river below. Downtown Saana was visible with dozens of high-rise buildings, and one of the buildings, a sixty-story tower, was moving. Sage blinked his eyes for a moment, and strained to check what he thought he was seeing was real. The sixty-story building he quickly recognized, was falling over on its side and a plume of smoke was rising from where its base was. The tower’s top struck the side of another eighty story tower; the Fairfax Tower. The tens of thousands of commuters, and hundreds of thousands of citizens of Saana, could only watch in horror and the first building snapped in two, falling atop six other building all under thirty stories, and the top of the Fairfax buckled back on the first and began an eighty-story plummet, tearing out the east side of itself as it fell. In thirty seconds, eight buildings in downtown Saana were nearly leveled, and a cloud of smoke and ash rose from the center of town as if a proton weapon had been unleashed. From Sage’s vantage point, he could see several plumes of smoke rising from the direction of the space port and the militia centre.

“GridLock automated. Please bear with us, we are facing critical failures on seven networks. If you are injured, please press the emergency button and we will connect you with local rescue services. Otherwise, please stand by for the next customer service representative. Please do not leave or attempt to operate your vehicle.”

Rudy snapped out of his horrified trance and then began shouting random profanities, his four hands tearing at his fur on his head. Sage pounded the steering column a few times and rested his head against it.

“Gods Sage-- That--that was the Fairfax tower it hit.. Frack, they’re dead. They’re all dead..”

“Shut up! Just-- Please, let’s.. Oh gods..” He hit the steering column again. “We’ve got to get out of here..” Sage spat out, head spinning as he realized anyone at his office was now in the twisted carnage that was downtown. In less than two minutes, air strikes had crippled his home city. He reached under the steering column and turned the auto control off. The automated system began audible alarms and Sage all but punched the mute. The speeder rose five meters off the surface and moved over the now stopped traffic of the non-auto lanes. He maneuvered the speeder over the side of the elevated autoroute and it dropped fifteen meters, repulsors whining as they came to a hover just a couple meters above the ground. Sage did a 180-degree turn and headed down the narrow lanes of the Villages, an older artisan district he frequented.

--

0917 local time, Day Zero of the War
The Villages district, Saana

Sage and the rest of the small café were glued to the screen, where the local news was broadcasting the devastation of the surrounding area. Occasionally another explosion was shown somewhere in the city, and when viewed from some of the distant images, it seemed as if the whole city was burning. What had really gotten their attention in the café was when the building rocked, as less than six hundred meters east, a comms relay site was struck. The comms network in the city had already been jammed with traffic, and then went out as relay sites were bombed. Every now and then, the news feed would drop, as it switched relay sites.

Sage had managed to get a comm call through to his daughter, and told her to try and get to his house before another relay site was hit and the call dropped. His daughter was a student at a renowned boarding school of arts, well known for its radical students and faculty. Several of which were arrested in an incident of smuggling censored art work into Bro’can last year.

On the screen, video showed dozens of small watercraft around the collapsed bridge, looking of survivors and retrieving hundreds of bodies. Earlier an airlift was seen moving into the area from one of the local hospitals, yet just as it was taking off from the bridge a white streak of smoke shot across the screen and in a flash of yellow flames and black smoke, it plummeted into the water. The current broadcasters were hysterical, as they tired to communicate what was going on.

“…we can only assume that.. what’s going on in Saana must be happening across the planet. We spoke with our affiliate in Kendal and they did confirm at least two explosions in the area-- it’s just horrible.. Why would this happen? It‘s just unimaginable that anyone would do this to the civilian population.”

“I-- I really don’t know, Estella. To our viewers at home, at work.. Where ever you are right now. I’m not a military commander, or anything of that nature. But I am saying our world is under attack and it is going to be our duty as citizens to repulse these invaders. I, for one, refuse to leave this station, or stop broadcasting until they drag my body out of here.”

“Too right!” Said an older male Wolatarian, hitting his caf cup on the counter. “Just wait till they come down here, we’ll take them street by street.”

Sage turned to Rudy, who was finishing his fourth cup of caf and chewing on a sweet, woody plant nervously.

“They targeted the Coleman tower, because it’s X-Zar Corp. That means this is all a response to the Awen-Roth square bombing. So, do you think they’ll even land troops?” He said, voice still quivering a bit.

“I don’t even know.. Just depends on how far they take this. Maybe they’ll be happy with a few hundred thousand casualties and crippling our economy--” Rudy began, and glanced back to the screen.

“…both bridges over the river are destroyed, so there is no traffic in or out through the north. We are hearing reports of a few of the causeways heading South are blocked with traffic accidents, but it seems to be the best evacuation path. If you are not downtown, please don’t go out. Stay in your homes and let’s free up the autoroutes for casualty evacuations. We have no word from any of the rescue groups, but our airborne cam was showing significant activity headed downtown. We will awai-- Hold a moment. It seems we just got a comm connection out to the Holonet and with the State Media of.. Bro’can. (“It‘s an emergency feed, wanna patch it through?”) --Yeah, put the feed through-- Viewer’s, really unsure what this is about, however Queen Daphne is giving an emergency address. We’re going to tune that through to you.”

The screen split and the feed, directly from the state run news service of Bro’can played. The audio took a moment to connect.

“…acting on emergency recommendations of the sixteen houses, just two hours ago, Royal forces began attacks on military targets on Or’rac; these attacks continue as I speak. The purpose of these attacks is to cripple the war making capabilities of terrorist and mercenary groups in the Freeworlds. An emergency vote has decided that to prevent further terrorist and mercenary activities in those worlds, they must be brought under royal subjection and the massive criminal networks and black market activity that has threatened the peace of our Monarchy be eliminated.”

The whole café erupted into shouts and jeers, and Rudy looked at Sage.

“There’s your answer. I guess all the Queen’s men are coming along, anyways.” Rudy said, slamming the cup of caf.

“I wish I had more shares in defense industry right now.”

--

1558 local time, Day Zero of the War
Outskirts of Saana, Or’rac

The traffic and mayhem of the city meant it took Sage four hours to get back to his home. As he pulled up, he noticed that his neighbor’s speeder had been crushed where it was parked by what appeared to be a piece of a fighter craft. I few pieces of debris were scattered in the street, but this was no surprise. Fighter craft had been launching all day and the skies above Saana were stained with trails of white, grey and black smoke from the aerial combat that had taken place. Sage was relieved to see his daughter’s speeder parked in front of the house, and he rushed inside, Rudy behind him. His daughter met him at the door to the house, where they embraced and both began sobbing.

It took nearly half-an-hour before everyone was calmed to the point of rational thought. One of the first things Sage noticed about his home was the power was out, and he went to the cellar to start the auxiliary generator. Once everyone was settled and a herb tea was brewing in the kitchen, Sage sat down with the group. There was himself, his daughter Elna, and her friend Arianne, and Rudy. The four sat around the main living room and quietly sipped on tea. Sage was the first the speak up and confront the reality of what was happening outside.

“Its going to get much worse.” He said gravely, interjecting into the small talk. “The Queen will be sending a ground force, and I would say it will arrive sometime tonight.”

Everyone froze in place, as if waiting for the ‘good news’, to which Sage offered none.

“They’ll try to secure the militia centers first, though I suspect they’ve bombed them all. So, I would say airborne forces will land in mostly the surrounding areas to the city. Including here. They’ll also be hitting the smaller towns that have aerospace facilities. There is going to be a lot of fighting…”

“Are they going to win?” Elna asked.

“I don’t know, we’ve lost the aero war from what I can tell..” Sage began slowly.

“--but we’ll fight them here.. In the streets, right?” His daughter said, her eyes narrowed in a fierce sense of independence. Sage paused for a moment before continuing. He realized that his whole world had changed. He was no longer a wealthy corporate executive in a million credit home, with a custom SorroSubb speeder. He was just a citizen of a world under siege, and no chance for a return to normalcy. He could hide and hope to be spared by the onslaught, or he could attempt to repel it.

“We have your collection, papa. I..” she looked at her friend, who was giving the same narrow eyed stare. “..we don’t want to be Bro’can. We’re free here, and I am not going to sit back and do nothing while everything we’ve created is taken from us.”

Her words took him aback and he pondered. There would be no place for them in a society dominated by Bro’can royalty, and there was a very good chance he would be connected with the bombing. He locked eyes with Rudy, and crawled off the couch.

“You’re right. We can’t and we won’t. Rudy, I’m going to go check with Mr. Ardan next door. Elna, you and Arianne go with Mr. Eisenhart upstairs. The code is one-two-two-eight for the safe. Start counting rounds, we need to know how much we have of what.”

--

O’ran System, Freeworlder Space

In orbit of Or‘rac, dozens of ships had battled, leaving wreckage everywhere, and hundreds of disabled satellites. The main orbital stations had been seized and the Bro’can Navy dominated the skies, despite heavy losses. Most the vessels, civilian, merchant and defense corp’, had retreated to Lybi and the vicinity of the other gas giants in the system, trying to regroup into a cohesive naval unit.

The largest vessel in the group was that frigate, Lord Rosse, a retired Bro’can frigate that X-Zar Protection had bought before it was scraped. It had been refitted to carry a heavy load-out of anti-shipping missiles and defensive cannons. The commander of the ship was Captain Stratton, and he was already being seen as the head of the naval group as they planned to retake the planet.