P R E F S B E L T IV
NOVA AVALONIA
THE ROLF AMSEL PARADE GROUND
Even from the comfort of the concrete supported roofing Carlyle could hear it. The patter of rain against it. An unrelenting drawl. Unfortunate, but for the New Imperial and perhaps most pertinently, the Prefsbelt Command propaganda machine, it was the perfect time for a parade. To show the indomitable will of the Prefsbelt people. To display to the Galaxy the First Imperial exiles and how far they had come. Even beneath the dull roar of Fleet Admiral Karlist Rax’s speech, projected for all to hear, the rain cascading on concrete was present, competing at times for those hidden behind the large speaker system. Rax was the perfect entry point for such a parade. The rabid dog, to rally the troops with a fury and fervour.
Carlyle had entered through an underground entrance, and clambered up the duracrete stair. The building was brutal in design, with large arches, and very little furnishings. Guards, members of the elite 1st Prefsbelt Auxiliary and the 1st Stossjaegers lined the corners, at attention. Saluting as their sovereign made his way up through the structure. As Carlyle approached the main stage, climbing from the bunker side entrance, he did take a stop. On the same level as the stage, was a small reception. Couches, tables, chairs, perfect to celebrate a good speech with a cigar. But beyond that were change rooms. Specifically for make up and wardrobe. Staffed by an effervescent crew of specialist stylists and make-up technicians.
Everything about his appearance had to be manufactured. This was theatre, more than anything. And Carlyle was one to follow the script as the handsome, bold and courageous leader. His white, crisp uniform was pressed. A lovely cape, gilded with an outline of gold. A crisp ivory uniform. A gold and silver braid to be laid out. His Grand Admiral rank plaque, gilded from gold, sapphire and ruby red kyber crystals. And finally his hair, neatly parted. Blonde. He was perfect. “Thank you.” He bid the technicians farewell, before moving back to the waiting area. Already, technicians were prepared. Waiting with clipboards, and datapads, listening and analysing the feed.
“Milord!” One of them, a Pa'Deshi, jumped to attention upon sighting the man, “Sir, we are almost primed for your entry.” Rausgeber offered a soft smile. “The Fleet Admiral is almost primed to introduce you. And once he’s ready, we will be up. Across the Holonet.” She reached up to her headset, “We are go, whenever you are sir.” There was a brief nod from the petite crew member, before she drew her gaze to Rausgeber, “And we are go sir.”
Striding out, Carlyle could hear the end of the Fleet Admiral’s speech, “And we will never forget this! Forget them! Forget anyone!” Rax barked, letting his words echo over the crowd, “But. That is not for me to tell them,” Rax turned back. He was attired in his shale greatcoat, in the First Order style, “Ladies and gentlemen!” Rax snapped, “Your Grand Admiral!” Carlyle strode toward the podium, with a certain swagger to him. As Rax turned back, to take his place behind him, he leaned in, “They’re all yours sir.” . The dais he stood upon sat about three stories off the ground. A large, concrete pillbox almost. With the Prefsbelt Command sigil broadcast before it, in holographic glory. Around him were a conglomeration of the Prefsbelt Command’s finest. Officers, clad in neat black tunics, suits, and of course coats. All watching, and sitting. Men like Brigadier General Maxwell Horsch, Vice Admiral Tarsa Doon and Colonel Doctor Lionel Schutz. All sat in seats, guests of the Grand Admiral.
And before them, in the withering rain, one hundred thousand soldiers. Four brigades of the Prefsbelt Stossjaeger, in their white plastoid uniforms. Four brigades of the Prefsbelt Auxiliary, in their grey uniforms, helms and field caps. All standing to attention, their silhouettes illuminated over the duracrete parade ground, by large, fluorescent lamps, which made each brigades standard glow. And accompanying them, two fleet command groups. Crews of corvettes, standing in attendance, watching the pageantry. As Rausgeber took to the stage, the click of heels and the swinging of arms in salute was a nice, swift sound. Echoed by the roar of “Hail Rausgeber! Hail Rausgeber! Hail Rausgeber!” Behind the scenes, this was when the broadcast first went live. Across the Galactic Holonet, on official New Imperial channels.
A raised hand silenced the cacophony of fanatic adulation. “Comrades,” Rausgeber’s voice boomed across the parade ground, and over the rain. “Soldiers. Friends, and those who stand in solidarity across the Galaxy with our cause,” Carlyle’s face came into vogue as the cameras zoomed in on him. He stood behind the lectern, and looked out across the legions of troops assembled, casting a wide gaze over them. “We today, stand proudly at the precipice of a new era.” Carlyle informed the crowd below, “The Sith Empire, the vile beast, an avatar of the Zambrano family and their attempts to control the Galaxy, has been slain.” The Grand Admiral, or more accurately in his official political role of the New Imperial order, Admiral Regent, proclaimed. “As it sits, with our firm allies. The Silver Jedi. The Galactic Alliance. The Ashlan Crusade. We in solidarity, seek to liberate what remains beneath the yoke of these darksiders.” The former First Imperial pronounced. A ripple of thunder tore through.
“But this is not the end of our crusade. Or the end of the existential conflict upon which the New Imperial Order was founded.” The Dosuunian proudly proclaimed, “Rather, the demise of this incarnation of the Sith, provides a new, and dangerous Galaxy we live in.” The Admiral Regent continued to announce, “One need only to look upon what remains of Csilla, and the rampant destruction engineered by the Barbarians of the Maw!” Rausgeber announced, “But we know of the Maw. We know of those renegades and their insidious agenda. Their dedication to the destruction of what all civilised peoples hold dear,” Carlyle preached, “No, no this is time dedicated to those are perhaps the lesser of two evils. One we must remind ourselves of,” The Admiral Regent contnued, “An opponent of our Empire, of everything we have created! Who has raised their arms in violence against us, and yet who has largely flown beneath scrutiny!” The man’s grip tightened on the lectern, “And who now try to parlay and barter with us. To form in solidarity against the Maw, and call us friends! With daggers ready to plunge into our backs!” Carlyle viciously spat, flecks of spit visible on the feed.
“The Confederacy of supposedly Independent Systems. A den of liars, and criminals!” Rausgeber barked, sneering at the camera, lapping its affection and praise, “Whose government, out of cowardice and fear has tried to latch us onto their teat as a partner. A friend and ally. In fealty to destroy the Maw. For this supposed greater good, they believe in,” Carlyle thundered, before raising a finger, and wagging it. A disappointed father addressing the Galaxy, “But we, we of the New Imperial Order. Of Prefsbelt Command. Cannot and will not accept the word of those lead by the Sith.” He snapped, voice cracking like a whip. “And we will not accept the words of those, who harbour criminals!”
“The Confederacy, is a weak government, whose wanton slaughter of our men and women, in service of the liberation of the Galaxy from the Dark Side. Will not be forgotten! And cannot be forgiven!” Carlyle hunched over the lectern, “And while they may claim that this, this Darth Metus. This shadowy Emperor, whose own profligacy and perfidy rivals that of the Zambrano’s! Whose own impotence as a cowardly leader,” He glowered, “Somehow believes that we should believe he has resigned, on his own accord?!” Carlyle rolled his eyes, “That we are to take, a man of the Dark Side of the Force. A manipulator, a lecherer, and monster, has on his own impetus, relinquished the reigns of power of a militant, terrorist state?!”
“There is no honour in these words, or promises! There is no conviction in taking such a monster at his word. But,” And Carlyle’s tone softened somewhat, “There are ways to prove to the wider Galaxy, an earnestness if you will to abide by the new order heralded by not just the New Imperial Order. But the stalwart Galactic Alliance and Silver Jedi.” The Admiral Regent raised his posture, from the animalistic, shouting to that of a refined diplomat. Tall, and erect in posture. “ If this is, some genuine corrective action on the part of the Confederacy, than it is on them to provide a definitive show of conciliation. An attempt to rectify their place in history.” Rausgeber paused, “If this such the case, then the following, as just an opening gesture, must be executed.” Carlyle paused, and threw up three fingers, “The following Confederate war criminals must be surrendered to the New Imperial and Galactic Alliance.” He licked his lips, and began to count them down.
"Kiff Brayde ,” One. “ Verin Oldo .” Two. “And the hooded wanker, known as Voph .” Three. Carlyle smirked at this, “That is the first three. Beyond those of Darth Metus, or this Isley Verd creature he uses as a mask, to hide his madness!” The Admiral Regent glowered, “But he is not first or the last dark side user who should be ushered to justice. All other known darkside acolytes, whose wanton slaughter of our personnel. Our brothers and sisters must be avenged!” Rausgeber thundered to the silent audience, a pregnant pause fell over the procession “By of course the necessity of a trial.” He slyly reminded the cameras, the Galactic Alliance would want their due diligence regarding justice provided. “Unless this great error of justice is not rectified by the new Confederate regime, then I assure you, we will come for them.”
“One way or another. Some way. Somehow. We will come for those who sent their scum to Dantooine. To Genaris, and half a dozen other worlds where you tried to press the will of the Sith unto the free peoples of the Galaxy,” Carlyle stormed “And we will come for those who went there. We will come for those who will try to stop us. Because unlike our new brothers in the former Sith Empire, there will be no amnesty. No deference. No, mercy.” The Admiral Regent commanded the stage, pounding his fist on the bully pulpit, “There will be the hard realisation of the long reach of the Iron Sun.”
“The New Imperial Order, has ascended to the status offered, as the greatest Empire to exist in millennia.” Rausgeber crowed with a great deal of pride. “We, with our partners now dictate policy of Galactic affairs. In this new era, the Galaxy will not bow to the whims of craven Sith on Naboo, or the manipulators on Droummund Kaas.” Carlyle continued, a satisfied grin coming over his features, “But the main lesson which must be taken into consideration by the Confederate regime is this; Do not take my words as mere threats. But promises, of action. You have taken the first steps of conciliation. But unless you provide us the means to cleanse your regime from the Sith, you are little more than cowardly worms whose collapse is imminent.”
