Dark Lord: Bride of Vader

Chapter 18: Recalibrations - Part 2

I do not own any Star Wars and DC characters and ideas represented in this work.​ 

It wasn't like Maxima hated war. On the contrary, war was thrilling, intoxicating, one of her absolute favorite pastimes... when it was actually happening, of course. What she hated—no, loathed with the fiery passion of a collapsing star—was the planning. And worse than planning, the waiting. Endless waiting.

At the moment, she HATED that the upcoming war with the Gordanians—and the countless little warm-up campaigns leading to it—was still being talked about instead of fought. Talked about! For her, every hour in a strategy meeting was a duel against the galaxy's deadliest opponent: boredom.

Yes, yes, she partook in campaigns before marrying her delightful Sith husband, some had dared whisper that her leadership style was "reckless." Reckless! As if charging headlong into glorious battle wasn't the entire point. Besides, what was the use of battle if it began with enough logistical chatter to put a droid machine into standby mode?

From shuffling troop deployments, to drafting attack vectors, to assigning and reassigning fleets—oh, the lists, the charts, the diagrams—it was all a blurry haze of headaches, eye rolls, dramatic sighs, and the creeping suspicion that war was actually designed by accountants. To Maxima, this wasn't a strategy session. It was slow-motion torture.

This was Maxima: Empress of the New Galactic Empire, Matriarch of all Almerac, and wife to the Dark Lord of the Sith. And she was bored. Utterly, painfully bored. That was why, in the vast circular chamber with its towering walls and the massive holographic table glowing at its center, she alone among the mighty had chosen to sit. Everyone else stood, and here she lounged, the only soul unafraid to let her disdain show for these dreary little war councils

If Maxima was going to be bored, then she could be bored in comfort.

"Navy Intelligence has reported that several probe droids detected a hostile presence within the Dunlop star cluster," Fleet Admiral Ultraa declared, his voice carrying the calm precision of a man long accustomed to delivering facts and figures to Vader. As the Admiral was Vader's favorite naval officer and commander of Vader's personal battlegroup squadron.

The holographic table responded instantly, its blue grid cycled to the next subject of discussion. A mass of stars blinked into existence, swirling together until the Dunlop cluster fully hung above the holo-table in a perfect, blue miniature.

"Identification confirms that the hostile force belongs to the race known as the Imperium." Blue, scanline images appeared of slimy, featureless, opaque-colored alien humanoids on a rocky world devoid of life, with organic-looking factories creating oily smog clawing to the pale sky.

The former Captain of the Royal Guard—now promoted to General and Chief of Staff of the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps—General Sh'Kirry strode forward, planting himself beside Vader and Admiral Ultraa at the edge of the holographic table. Commander Radek was close to the Dark Lord and Fleet Admiral in a textbook example of attention.

Sh'Kirry wore the Corps' standard uniform: all black, sharp cut, medals from his previous battles before Vader came to Almerac. Maxima eyed it from her seat and stifled an invisible smirk. Black again. Always black. Was there some universal law that when an organization wanted to look "serious" and "fearsome," they raided a funeral wardrobe?

To her, the Stormtroopers already looked like an army of polished skulls—did they really need to dress their commanders like undertakers as well? Executioners? Still, she never made it a problem worth mentioning. If the Corps wanted to march around looking like a cult of humorless crows, she'd let them. At least it made it easier to tell who the boring ones in the room were.

"My Emperor, the Imperium is not to be underestimated, they are—" The old Sh'Kirry was cut off.

"I know what they are, Sh'Kirry." Vader said with notable irritation. "They are a near-extinct race of destructive aliens that leach off the greatness of others."

Vader's tone went to slight disgust, as though the idea of these advanced parasites was pests that needed to be stomped out. Exterminated. "They gain strength by assimilating other sentient life and have the unique ability to obtain any characteristics of any of their victim races. Their extinction is long overdue."

As her husband explained, the Imperium was no ordinary foe. They were a hive-minded species, a ravenous swarm that fed upon the very biomass of other sentient beings. The head of their leadership was their namesake—Imperium—who had driven the race to sweep across countless worlds a millennium ago, assimilating species after species into their amoebic fold.

No one truly knew where they had first emerged from; they simply arrived, multiplied, and consumed. In those days, entire empires trembled at their advance, for the nomadic scourge was feared by all who valued their independence—and their flesh.

"Of course, Your Highness," agreed Sh'Kirry apologetically, though Maxima could already tell the words were spoken more to please her beloved husband than out of genuine agreement.

Vader continued, his voice a low rumble. "It appears they are hiding in the Dunlop Cluster—regaining their strength, harvesting the lesser races in the region and expanding once they have full strength."

"My thoughts exactly." Replied Sh'Kirry. "If memory serves me well, their last major conquest was one of the planets in the Sol system, Mars, if I think about a millennium ago. But since then, they have been thought to be extinct and lay dormant."

Though unconfirmed, it was said the Imperium—the leader himself—met his end along with his hive on Earth. Specifically, at the hands of its so-called protectors, led by Superman. The very thought made Maxima sneer.

In some twisted little corner of her mind, she almost missed the buff Kryptonian. Almost. Muscles for days, yes—but a brain locked in a child's idea of "morality." His refusal to embrace strength as the natural order—something beings like her and Vader had every right to apply to lesser beings—was what soured him. Once, she had thought him a possible soulmate. In hindsight, laughable. No—her true match was Vader. Superman was better suited to playing dress up.

Still, she couldn't help but fantasize. One day, perhaps, on some battlefield of Earth, she would stand and watch as her beloved husband carved the Kryptonian into a pile of smoldering meat. Oh, how glorious that would be! She could already picture herself cheering from the sidelines, like a wife at a sporting match.

Yes. That would be wonderful.

"In any case," Maxima's darker visions were cut short by Sh'Kirry's voice. "The Imperium lost the bulk of its holdings after its last great conquests a millennium ago. What remained of their hives withered—some starved, others fell to outside invasions. Even Almerac was not untouched. One of their splinter broods attempted an incursion on Saleir Minor."

Sh'Kirry turned his warm gaze toward Maxima, choosing his words carefully. "Surely, if our Lady's grandfather, Maxin, had not crushed that attack—alongside the Saleirs' help—the Imperium would have reduced Almerac itself to fodder for their brood and—"

"We are not here to discuss history, General." Vader snapped, "We are here to make it." He then ignored Sh'Kirry's apology and directed his masked gaze to Ultraa. "Admiral, what are the conditions of the worlds that this Imperium controls and neighbors?"

Admiral Ultraa answered alongside, gesturing to the holo-images. "As shown here, my Lord, almost, if not all of the planets that the Imperium has control of are stripped bare of any life. There are worlds in the cluster that do support and host life, but the Imperium extinguished most of the larger populated worlds. The rest are...survivors, even after a thousand years."

"Not survivors..." Vader corrected as his town turned to a growl. "Victims of Lantern incompetence and Oan idleness!" The Sith Lord let his words hang in the chamber air for a few moments in thought. "No matter, once Imperial forces arrive and take over the cluster, these locals will be grateful."

"Eh... grateful for liberating them against the Imperium, my lord?" Imperial Chancellor Sazu asked, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty. She stood a little apart from the others, in the section reserved for the conference's non-military attendees. Most of them were civilian administrators and ministers—men and women handpicked and appointed by Sazu herself.

They were the sort of people whose concerns revolved around taxation quotas, manufacturing, agricultural yields, and bureaucratic decrees—things that Vader and Maxima rarely, if ever, troubled themselves with. Their attention rarely strayed beyond matters of military strategy and conquest.

Vader did not turn to Sazu as he answered. "They should be grateful I judged their lives worth saving." His gaze remained fixed on the hologram. "The advancing fleets entering the cluster will deploy droid units to counter the Imperium's dependence on organic matter. Ground forces will need to commit chemical sub-units and deploy defoliator weapons to ensure the enemy's complete and total extermination."

Some would consider that genocide, to Vader and Maxima, of course, it was pest control. Maxima darkly thought.

Admiral Ultraa gave a curt nod as his eyes passed over the fleet commanders assigned to spearhead the Dunlop cluster. Once he was certain they grasped their orders, he pressed on with the briefing. "While the 4th, 12th, 22nd, and 24th fleets drive through the Dunlop cluster, the 3rd, 5th, and 9th will come out the the captured Hydra Nebula and converge upon the B'Jorkas Hegemony, seizing system by system until they stand at the threshold of the Omega quadrant."

The hologram shifted, revealing the southern expanse of the Hydra Nebula—where it was one of the starting points of Operation: Falling Sword was set to begin its campaign. The previously mentioned fleets appeared in the simulation, their arrowhead markers driving downward to pierce the frontiers of B'Jorkas space. From there, the offensive would press onward toward the Messier stars, poised at the very edge of the Omega Quadrant.

As several of the senior commanding officers studied the broader field of the operation into B'Jorkas controlled space, Maxima telepathically sensed that Sh'Kirry was troubled when he registered the plan of attack.

"With all due respect, your grace," Sh'Kirry spoke up, drawing Vader's attention. "But...is it necessary to attack the B'Jorkas Hegemony? The B'Jorkas have a reputation for being fierce warriors. Their naval capacities are not as well-in-depth compared to their army, but they are dangerous nonetheless. Once more, they are known to fight down to the last man over worlds they control. Going deep into their territory will only be costly."

Darth Vader whirled around to glare at Sh'Kirry. Maxima felt her husband's impatience flare with the Stormtrooper General. "I am not committing a host of fleets, war materiel, and millions of troops to battle against the B'Jorkas for the sake of it!" His large hand jabbed in between the air of him and Sh'Kirry, then pointed to the section of B'Jorkas, specifically at the western edges of the Messier stars.

"The westward advance into Gordanian space requires secure supply lines for the upcoming front. If these systems aren't taken, then the logistics will be congested and vulnerable to flanking attacks to the south."

There was a remarkable hush of tension in the room after Vader spoke. Maxima understood that the old General didn't mean harm or criticism from the question; rather, he was genuinely concerned. Vader's tolerance for questioned orders was thin; officers who pressed him often found their careers ended, and sometimes their necks with them. Sh'Kirry remained in service only because of his skill and competence.

The silence was broken by the Thangarian ambassador, Darl Klus, who cleared his throat. Thanagar's delegation attended because the Imperial invasion of Gordanian space would affect the Hawks and their campaigns. Paran Dul had once acted as a pseudo-ambassador to Vader; now, after the first trade shipments of Hawk Nth metal and Imperial vessels, the High Council of Thanagar had sent a formal representative to the Empire, while Paran Dul was put in the role as Vader's personal liaison and advisor.