CITADEL COUNCIL CHAMBER
The holographic display flickered with the cold reality of astronomical data. Numbers scrolled past—energy readings, gravitational anomalies, spectroscopic analysis—all painting the same impossible picture.
A star had been forced into supernova.
The silence in the Council Chamber was absolute. Not the comfortable silence of contemplation, but the heavy, suffocating quiet of beings confronting their own insignificance.
Councilor Tevos stood frozen, one hand resting on the railing before her podium. Her normally composed features had gone pale, her eyes fixed on the swirling remnants of what had once been the Bahak system. The blast wave, captured by long-range sensors, spread outward like the hand of an angry god.
"They... detonated a star." Her voice was barely a whisper.
Councilor Valern's fingers moved across his omni-tool with mechanical precision, though his hands trembled ever so slightly. "Confirmed. Multiple sensor buoys recorded the event. The star underwent forced nuclear destabilization. Proton-to-neutron conversion at a rate exceeding natural stellar evolution by several orders of magnitude. The resulting supernova consumed the entire system within—" He paused, rechecking the data as if hoping it would change.
"Impossible," Councilor Anderson muttered, though his tone lacked conviction. "The energy requirements alone... the precision needed... no one has that kind of capability."
"And yet," Valern countered quietly, "the evidence is irrefutable. The Empire possesses technology capable of weaponizing stellar collapse."
Councilor Sparatus had remained silent throughout the exchange, his mandibles tight, claws gripping the edge of his podium. When he finally spoke, his voice was hard as duracrete.
"Then we must assume every system within their reach is a potential target. Every star could become a weapon." His eyes swept across his fellow councilors. "This changes everything."
Tevos turned to face him, recovering some of her composure. "We don't know the circumstances and cannot assume the worst. There may have been—"
"Circumstances?" Sparatus' voice rose, his military bearing cracking under the weight of strategic nightmare. "What circumstances justify the annihilation of an entire system? What threat could possibly warrant such devastation?"
"The Reapers," Anderson said quietly. All eyes turned to him. "If the intelligence we've been gathering is accurate—if they truly are an existential threat—then perhaps the Empire believed it necessary."
Valern interjected, his voice clinical despite the tension. "Strategic analysis suggests multiple possible scenarios. The Bahak system may have been compromised by Reaper forces. It may have been a demonstration. Or—" He paused. "—it may have been the Empire eliminating a threat preemptively. This also explains the predating explosion generated by the destruction of the Relay."
"Eliminating a threat," Tevos repeated slowly. "You mean genocide."
"I mean pragmatism," Valern corrected. "If the Batarians were responsible for the attack on Imperial forces, and if the Empire believed the Hegemony would continue to pose a threat, then from their perspective, not to mention the possibility of the abnormal signature being of Reaper origin… then it would equivalate to solving multiple problems with one solution."
Sparatus snorted. "Or perhaps they simply wanted to demonstrate their power. To show the galaxy what happens when you stand against them. It's what any civilization would do to make unruly smaller one listen."
Valern's omni-tool chimed. His large eyes widened fractionally. "Additional data incoming. Batarian communication networks have gone... silent."
"Silent?" Tevos frowned. "Define silent."
"No transmissions. Diplomatic channels with the Council have been closed. Nothing." The Salarian's fingers danced across his interface. "Last recorded activity was approximately six hours ago. Since then—complete blackout."
Anderson leaned forward. "Could it be related to the accusations? The Empire claimed the Batarians attacked them."
Tevos shook her head slowly. "We investigated those claims long ago. There was no conclusive evidence. The Batarians denied involvement, and while their denial was... less than convincing... we had no proof."
Sparatus' mandibles clicked in what might have been dark amusement. "Given the Hegemony's propensity for raiding and territorial aggression, such an attack would have been entirely within character. Proof or no proof, in the eyes of the galaxy, they did it."
The Turian councilor turned back to the holographic display, watching the supernova's expanding death shroud. When he spoke again, his voice carried a grim pragmatism that sent chills through the chamber.
"This silence is exactly what should happen when you find out you have angered an entity capable of detonating stars."
Tevos' head snapped toward him. "Sparatus—"
"I'm not endorsing it," he cut her off sharply, raising his hand. "I'm stating reality. If the Batarians did attack Imperial forces—and given their history, it's an undeniable truth no matter the actual fact—then they drew this response upon themselves."
Anderson's jaw tightened. "You're saying we should just... accept this? Accept that an entire system was destroyed?"
Sparatus turned to face the human councilor directly. "And what if we don't accept it? … … … I'm saying we should acknowledge the reality of power. How did they suddenly appear on the Bahak system? Any of you gave that a single thought? When all our fleets reported no breaches from their sides, an Imperial fleet had already intruded deep into council territory. What does our authority as representatives amount ot in this case?"
The four councilors stood in the dim light of the chamber, surrounded by the soft glow of holographic displays showing a galaxy that had suddenly become far more dangerous... at least to themselves.
=================
EARTH - VANCOUVER, SYSTEMS ALLIANCE PARLIAMENT
Knight Laris Varran stood perfectly still in the center of the parliamentary chamber, his black armor a stark contrast to the modern, sterile aesthetics of the Alliance building. Around him, representatives from a dozen different Earth nations whispered frantically to their aides, their faces pale as they processed the news.
Varran's helmet concealed his expression, but beneath it, he allowed himself a small, bitter smile. This was not how he had envisioned his mission would proceed.
When the Emperor—through Lord Vader—had tasked him with securing Earth's integration into the Empire, Varran had imagined a slow, careful process. Diplomacy. Cultural exchange. Perhaps a demonstration of Imperial superiority through trade or technology.
He had not expected to prove himself through his own foolhardy ambition.
The plan had been straightforward: infiltrate Earth society, establish connections, build networks of influence. The Systems Alliance—humanity's supposedly unified governing body—was in truth a confederation of squabbling nation-states, each jealously guarding its sovereignty. A pathetic display of short-sightedness, politicians clinging to power even as the galaxy burned around them.
But that fractured authority was also an opportunity. With patience, with careful manipulation, Varran could have brought them into the Empire's fold willingly. Or at least, without excessive resistance.
And then Bahak had happened.
The notification had appeared on his helmet's internal display during a tedious meeting about "resource allocation frameworks" or some other bureaucratic nonsense. At first, Varran had ignored it, focusing instead on the task at hand.
Then he'd read the header: PRIORITY ALERT - IMPERIAL KNIGHT STATUS UPDATE.
His hand had moved automatically to his helmet controls, opening the encrypted file. The text had been brief, clinical, and devastating.
IMPERIAL KNIGHT COMMANDER ALAN SPACER - DECEASED
CIRCUMSTANCES: K.I.A., BAHAK SYSTEM, OVERWHELMING ENEMY PRESENCE
CAUSE: TOTAL DENIAL MEASURES. (STELLAR DETONATION)
Varran's jaw had clenched behind his helmet. The Emperor gave, and the Emperor took away. Such was the way of service. But still, this was the first. Alan had been a brother... in purpose if nothing else.
And his death had served a purpose. The Bahak system had been eliminated. Reduced to radioactive dust and expanding plasma.
A necessary sacrifice if a knight deemed it such.
Varran had barely finished processing the notification when he'd felt it—the sudden spike of tension in the building. The representatives had gone silent, then erupted into frantic whispers. Aides rushed in with datapads. Omni-tools flickered to life across the chamber.
They knew.
Someone—probably their intelligence servicesm or the council's—had detected the supernova. And they would have connected it to the Empire somehow, most likely by design.
Ambassador Donnel Udina had approached him then, his normally composed features barely masking his alarm. "Knight Varran, I apologize, but we must postpone this session. An... urgent matter has arisen that requires immediate attention."
Varran had inclined his head graciously. "Of course, Ambassador. I understand that unexpected events can disrupt even the most carefully laid plans."
The irony had been delicious.
Two security officers—polite but firm—had escorted him from the chamber. Not arrested, not detained, but certainly not free to wander. They'd brought him to a suite in the Alliance building's diplomatic wing, a comfortable prison with soft furniture, reinforced walls, and plenty of surveillance equipment.
"For your safety and comfort," one of the guards had explained with practiced neutrality.
Varran had thanked them and settled into a chair by the window, watching the city of Vancouver spread out below. The setting sun painted the sky in shades of orange and red, casting long shadows across the urban landscape.
And he had smiled.
Because this—this panicked reaction, this desperate scrambling—was exactly what he needed.
The Systems Alliance was afraid. Truly, deeply afraid. Not of some abstract threat or political maneuvering, but of immediate, overwhelming annihilation. The Empire had just demonstrated that it could erase entire star systems. That it possessed power beyond anything the Alliance—or anyone else in this galaxy—could comprehend.
Fear was a tool. And Varran was a rather skilled craftsman.
The Alliance representatives would return to him soon. They would have questions. Demands. Accusations, perhaps. But beneath all of that would be one overwhelming need: to understand what they were dealing with. To know whether Earth and humanity was safe.
And Varran would have answers. Carefully crafted, strategically deployed answers that would lead them exactly where the Empire needed them to go.
He would explain that the Bahak system had been compromised. That the Empire had acted to prevent a greater catastrophe. That such extreme measures were reserved only for the most dire of threats.
He would emphasize the Empire's commitment to stability. To order. To protecting its own, and of couse, humanity was the core of the Empire.
He would paint a picture of a galaxy teetering on the edge of chaos. The Reapers. The Collectors. The lawlessness of the Terminus Systems. Some of it true, all of it terrifying.
And then he would offer them hope. Safety. Protection under the Empire's aegis.
All for the small price of sovereignty. How much they would believe was not important.
The politicians would resist, of course. They always did. They would cling to their precious little fleeting specks of power, their democratic ideals that kept them in power, their national pride.
And the Empire would let them keep it, and once they joined, it would display these parasites for what they were, and let their own people hang them.
And if subtlety failed? Well, the Empire had just proven what happened to those who stood against it.
Varran stood from his chair and moved to the window, gazing out at the city below. Somewhere out there, Alliance officials were scrambling. Admirals were probably convening. The Parliament was likely in emergency session. Intelligence agencies were analyzing every scrap of data they had on the Empire as if their life depended on it, holding meetings in their chances of repelling them if things went south. They would all come down to the same answer.
Let them scramble. Let them analyze. Let them fear.
Fear would make them pliable. And Varran was patient.
His comms chimed softly. An encrypted message from one of his assets within Alliance Intelligence, well… his associated assets, courtesy of a little -yet well funded- human supremacy group he found that shared the Empire's vision.
"Parliament calling emergency vote on 'Imperial Threat Assessment.' Sentiment shifting toward diplomatic engagement. Hawks being sidelined by pragmatists. Your window is opening."
Varran allowed himself a genuine smile this time.
Alan's death had not been in vain. The supernova at Bahak had accomplished more in a single devastating moment than years of careful diplomacy could have achieved. The Alliance was terrified, and in their terror, they would seek safety.
And the Empire would provide that safety. For a price paid in generations to come.
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Knight Varran?" The voice was respectful, almost deferential. "The members request your presence. If you're willing, the Parliament would like to resume discussions at your earliest convenience."
Varran turned from the window, his armor gleaming in the fading light.
"Tell thm," he said calmly, "that I am always willing to discuss matters of mutual benefit. I will attend as soon as I make myself presentable."
A few minutes later, as he followed the aide back toward the parliamentary chamber, Varran's mind was already three steps ahead.
Behind his helmet, his smile widened.
He just required the right leverage. The right pressure. The right fear. And the right hope.
Hope was always the hardest, but as he removed his helmet and stepped into the chamber, he saw the widening eyes of the members… and he knew… he had all four in his pocket.
A.N: Hope you enjoyed it. (HEY!!! More than 200k words. Not too shabby)