Kth'a Tjak e-wnar -- The Swordbreaker -- the Di'gatha Navy's priced crown-jewel, a Supercruiser-class dreadnought, was orbiting a desolate planet, somewhere on the rim of the known galaxy, dozens of light-years from the Empire borders. Its length was measured in kilometers and it housed more troops than a small country.
The planet below it presented a bleak landscape, completely lacking any trace of life. That is to say, it was now like that. A few weeks earlier, it was deeming with life. Sprawling cities spanned its surface and two races lived in perfect harmony, completely oblivious to their incoming doom in the form of the Di'gatha.
The destruction had been swift and complete. Nothing lived on the charred surface anymore. Its once-lush forests turned to lifeless crystal dust, its oceans boiled and dissipated into the now-toxic atmosphere. The Di'gatha were nothing if not ruthlessly efficient and brutal.
The same man who had visited P'mauwa earlier, was sitting behind a desk in a large room with a round window behind him, looking towards the lifeless planet. He was reading a datapad on his right hand, and he was anxiously fiddling with his left-hand fingers beside his face. His completely black eyes were staring coldly at the datapad, absorbing whatever information he was getting from it.
A door at the other end of the room opened slightly, and a tall and lean man with the same features as him entered the room. He was wearing a slightly simpler military-style uniform, and his bald head was exposed. He held his hat in his left hand as he neared the man behind the desk. He stopped a few meters from the desk and bowed deeply.
"General," he said, his voice shaking with deep admiration and a healthy bit of fear. "The reports are ready. We can have the new batch of the fighters ready in two weeks."
The man behind the desk nodded approvingly. "Splendid, Mr. F'rahn," he said with an icy voice. "You exceeded expectations. That is a rare trait."
F'rahn bowed deeply. "Thank you, General. I'm doing no more than you are, providing for our kind," he said.
"Exactly," the General said, smiling widely. "I trust you had no issues with the supplies or the transport either," he said, raising his eyebrow.
"No, sir. And yes, sir," F'rahn answered. "No issues with the supplies. We got more than we needed. Sir." He shifted uneasily. "But there's a problem with the transport."
"A problem?" the General asked, and an irritation entered his voice.
"Yes, sir. To be specific, there was no problem acquiring the transport, but it is not up to our needs. Sir." F'rahn said, apologizing. "The Treans had oversold their capabilities, I'm afraid. The transport is not capable of traveling through hypergates without some extensive modifications, and they are not able to land on a planet with gravity over three Nwhars, sir."
"Three?!" the General said angrily. "That's less than a lousy grade three moon! Get me a better transport, F'rahn."
"Already on it, sir," F'rahn said. "Not trusting Trean technology again, I'm aiming for something else," he said, and grinned evilly. "Our scanners spotted three Nellayan C-class cruisers yesterday. They don't have an escort, sir."
The General's lips drew into a horrible grin, and he nodded. "Excellent, Mr. F'rahn. Excellent. Dismissed, I'll be waiting for your report soon," he said, and nodded.
F'rahn straightened himself up and performed a respectful bow. "Sir," he said, turned on the spot and walked out of the door, closing it behind him.
The General leaned backwards, closed his eyes, and clasped his hands and placed them on his desk. He smiled contently, but was rudely awakened from his state as a device on his desk made a demanding beep.
He straightened up swiftly, fixed his jacket, and his face turned hard. He reached for the device and pressed a button. A cone of light shot above it, displaying a sinister, dark character within it, like a wavering hologram.
"General Ulera," it said in a computerized, hard voice.
"My Lord," the General said and bowed his head deeply.
"What's taking so long with the woman?" the hologram asked impatiently. "We need the Gate, Ulera. We need the Gate sooner rather than later."
"I know, my lord," Ulera said, and bowed again. "But she's of no use to us dead. I am out of options, as she refuses to cooperate with us. I've threatened, tried to bribe, held food and drink, blackmailed. She won't budge."
"You'd better get me results soon, or I will find it more profitable to find another general, Ulera," the hologram threatened, and its glowing eyes gleamed under its heavy, dark cloak. "Do I make myself clear, General Ulera?" it said with a threat so palpable you could have used that to slice air into blocks.
"Understood perfectly, my lord," Ulera said and bowed his head. "I'll get to it now."
"Good," the hologram said, and then disappeared. The room seemed darker and smaller now, and Ulera lowered his head to his desk and inhaled deeply.
Ulera's mind raced as he contemplated the hologram's words. Time was running out. He had exhausted every possible avenue he could think of, to make the woman cooperate, but she remained stubbornly defiant.
He knew his Lord was not one to make idle threats. Its power and influence were immense, and Ulera's position as a general hung in the balance. Failure was not an option, for both his career and for his continuing existence.
With a heavy heart, Ulera pushed himself away from his desk and stood up. He needed to devise a new plan, something that would break through the woman's defenses and force her to cooperate. They needed the Gate. He needed the Gate. His plan depended on it, and without the Gate, there was no plan. Without a plan, there was no need for a general. Without the need for a general, there was no need for Ulera.
He walked through the door and glanced at a guard posted at his door. The guard quickly straightened himself and bowed at him.
"Nobody goes in," Ulera said to the guard. "I'm going to go talk to my daughter again."
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