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| - Rising out of the skyline of central Yuilnokrad was the Politikdel, the supreme center of government for the Srav Federation. Built to withstand heavy bombardment, with security systems and guards covering every floor, the building also served the purpose of providing a place of protection and solitude for the man who had produced its specifications. The man who was also the guiding force behind the expansion of the Srav Federation, and the spreading of its ideologies. Seated at a desk in an office on one of the highest floors of the building, with a drizzle-covered window overlooking the city center, Jasef Yuiln, clad as usual in uniform, flicked through wads of papers and reports, most providing the daily statistics—how many rounds of ammunition produced, how many Drakuv tanks, how many uniforms, the progress in the orbiting shipyards, and so on. On one wall, a screen displayed a map of the galaxy, straight from old Rakata astrological archives, with a red portion highlighting Srav territory, with this portion expanding a little every day. With so much to concern himself about, he sat back in his chair and viewed a latest report: a court sentence for a group of citizens found spreading dissidence and decrying him in public. He scrunched the sides of the paper in anger as he read through it—all he had achieved, all his vision being put into practice, and these little insect-brained rodents dared to spread such malicious lies? They bleated about him ‘denying the rights of the people’—what the cretins failed to understood that everything he had been doing was for the good of the people. Clearly parroting from some idealist leaflet smuggled in from offworld, they had been preaching about him suppressing ‘democracy’ and ‘rights’. He almost felt like laughing. The narrow-minded idiots failed to recognize that once his vision reached fulfilment, there would be no need for squabbling, corrupt politicians vying for office nor for people encouraging unrest and disharmony by speaking against him. The only way to create a just, peaceful galaxy was the establishment of an equal society overlooked by a strong, infallible figure—such responsibility had fallen to him. He had formed his ideas back in the days of the Rakata—it was then that he had earned the trust of his people, pretending to grovel to the greens as an apparent overseer while he had aided those who needed help. With access to Rakatan archives and systems, he had been able to watch as their empire collapsed from within due to uprisings, disease and their own corruption and selfishness. He had realised then what needed to be done to fill in the space they had occupied with a government that would not fall or fail as theirs had done. Now, fortunate enough to be left with the industry and the population for this, he would bring in the galaxy under his direction. Worlds that refused to comply peacefully would be forced—denying their people a better, stronger future was more morally corrupt than enforcing it. He had learned of the debauchery of businessmen and corporate figures on such worlds as Corellia, leeching their people for their own greed—nothing infuriated him more. As soon as he could, he would strip their ill-gotten riches from their hands and give it to those who had actually deserved it. After all, he had made it his duty to shield his people from the corruption of democracy and the all-consuming greed of capitalism—such pariah ideas would be long forgotten when he was finished. Snapping himself out of his thoughts, he looked to the next report—a message discussing collaboration with a manufacturing corporation called Simiyar Tech, operating from one of the moons of Mon Calamari. As far as he was concerned, working with them was all for the better; the more allies for him to transfer pressure to, the better. Some would no doubt call him hypocritical, but it was only common sense—he would bleed these short-sighted coveting pigs dry until he had the strength to seize their assets for himself. Until then, he was perfectly content with them building the machinery with which he could carry out his plans. The next report was more disturbing—news of another powerful, growing government—the ‘Necasian Military’. These people revolved around a clearly fascist, imperialistic core of ideas incompatible with his; they would probably represent the greatest threat to his vision. But with the armies being marshalled and the weapons being produced, he was confident that they would be overcome. He had the clear support of his people. With all these assets combined, success was inevitable.
*
* Hanging in the upper fringes of the atmosphere of Havez, the large Guardian-class orbital platform Manitz, one of a network of such stations over the planet, sat stationary as other ships assembled around it. Bristling with various weapons emplacements and docking facilities, the rod-like station had been chosen to be part of the inspection of the First Necasian Fleet, by none other than the Necasian supreme leader himself. Within an observation room on one of the middle decks of the station, Carsal Redharn observed the assembling fleet through a reinforcement viewpoint. Dozens of wings of Elthior-class assault vessels, curved, beautiful ships each nearly a kilometre long, were forming over a plane of hundreds of square kilometers. Produced in shipyards both orbiting over Havez and elsewhere, Redharn felt proud that his engineers and designers had managed to produce versatile, high-quality vessels such as these. Once they had fully assembled, he would commence the inspection, and would fully appreciate these works of art up close. These new ships would be, of course, another tool in spreading Necasian territory, and the order that came with it. While the few individual worlds that could stand up to him, such as Corellia, wasted this opportunity to fill in the power vacuum of the galaxy with parties in their stock markets as they tried to exploit the new ‘business markets’ formed by the end of the Infinite Empire, he would see to it that the confused new worlds were given purpose and order. With the largest and most advanced armies in the galaxy, he doubted that any of these could offer serious resistance if they tried; and, of course, some had had the sense and the vision to join his ‘sphere of co-operation’ willingly. In such a short time, he had managed to mould his previously disorganized new government into a military and political machine that would brush aside anyone foolish enough to stand up to it. He thought about the troubling reports his intelligence masters had given him regarding another aggressive faction in the Inner Rim rapidly seizing territory just as he was, which called itself the ‘Srav Federation’. Supposedly, it espoused nonsensical, ludicrous ideas about ‘equality’ and socialism—those fools were obviously too devoted to the rubbish they spouted for any chance of compatibility. They said that all were equal—he could just as easily say that some were more equal than others. Of course, they had managed to get some things right—like him, they recognized the foolishness of democracy and ‘freedom of speech’, ideas that few took seriously to begin with—who needed whining, ungrateful idealists trying to impede the order he would bring? Unfortunately, he had an uncomfortable feeling that sooner or later, these ‘Sravs’ would become an obstacle that would need removing by any means necessary. In a way, he thought, turning his mind to different things, he was carrying on the legacy of the Rakata. He had hated them as people; they had abused him and others, and naturally they had fought back. But their basic ideas were right—at their prime, their empire was infallible, ran like clockwork, and created order and purpose for species that would otherwise have none. They had proved to him that expansionism and imperialism were vital to the continuing survival of a society. Like them, he too would see to it that every world would have something to contribute to the greater good of things, but this time he would not repeat the mistakes they had made. Some would protest, some would refuse, some would even try and fight back, but sooner or later they would all respect their place in things, and him for making things clear for them. A few were already willing to contribute to his cause—his subordinates were in the process of negotiating with a body called ‘Simiyar Tech’, which had expressed a desire to produce weapons for him. Of course, they were clearly more concerned about making quick credits than to aiding his cause, but the more assets at his disposal, the better. “Sir.” On a table behind him, a heads-up screen flickered into life, displaying the wrinkled face of Admiral Kan Harres. “The fleet is in position and is awaiting your inspection.” “Excellent, admiral. I’ll be there soon.” He took a moment to properly take in the sight of countless vessels spread out before the planet, before turning around towards the door. With his leadership, with the strength of his people, with his industry and technology—he couldn’t imagine a way he could fail. In the end, all would inevitably submit, or perish.
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