The storm gods were angry. Like dragons of the ebon void, they raged across the sky. Clouds, black as the poisoned heart of Palpatine, churned and coiled
across a sky that was torn asunder again and again by vivid flashed of lightning. But it didn't rain, for the world ensnared in the storm gods' rage
was Karis Cephelon, and it hadn't rained on Cephelon for almost a millennium.
At least, that was what the records said and, as he stood upon a crumbling balcony and stared out across the blistered, ruinous panorama of the dead ecumenopolis, Kal Strife found he could believe them. Not that the skies never wept; no, more than once droplets had fallen from the heavens, but it hadn't been rain. At least, it hadn't been rain in the commonly accepted sense. No, when the storm gods of Karis Cephelon wept their tears were acrid and toxic, capably of searing flesh and metal with equal ease. That was one of the first things anyone learnt when they walked across the lifeless surface of Cepehelon. Not that many did so; the world was as lost and forgotten as it was dead. And that was why Kal Strife, late of the Corporate Sector, had selected it, why he had dispatched the automated construction teams to its barren cityscapes months previously. For two long months, the droids had laboured in the poisoned atmosphere of Cephelon, installing atmospheric scrubbbers, oxygen purifiers and all the other equipment that had been required to undo even a small fraction of the devastation that had been dealt to the once prosperous world. The attrition rate had been atrocious; Strife had been forced to expend a small fortune on replacing droids and equipment that were damaged beyond repair by the hostile conditions upon the surface.
Eventually, the vast expenditure had paid off. Even a month later, the Corellian could remember his first flight through the turbulent clouds, his first brief glimpse of the ruined cityscape through a gap in the raging storm. It hadn't been much, but it had been enough, enough to convince Strife that he'd chosen wisely. And so he'd plowed still more credits into the project; purchasing prefabricated structures, generators and defensive turrets through various subsidiaries of his beloved Datadyne Corporation. The many ships of his personal fleet had made countless trips to the world, delivering equipment, supplies and, most importantly of all, people. His most trusted allies and subordinates moved freely about Cephelon now, scouting the ruins and marking out structures that might be of use to the cause in the weeks, months and even years to come. And from the roof of a towering, domed building, Kal Strife stared down at them, a grim smile upon his handsome features. His cold, grey eyes swept across the scenery, drinking in the ruined vista with some small measure of satisfaction. And why not? Why should he not feel satisfied in knowing that, by his hand, a dead world would be granted a second chance at glory? Why should he not feel pride at the knowledge that he was undoing the results of some ancient madness that had driven an entire species into self-destruction and the devastation of their homeworld? He, for one, could think of no good reason.
"Credit for them?"
The voice, feminine and alluring, yet still possessing a coolness that would have maddened many men, distracted the Corellian from his musings, but he didn't turn. Instead he simply chuckled softly and shook his head. "Just thinking about all we've done here. All we've managed to achieve..."
"...and all we've got left to do?" the woman answered, and though she spoke the words as a question, Strife knew that she already knew the answer.
"Of course," he replied, turning and smiling almost wearily as his gaze fell upon the familiar, not to mention beautiful, features of Karin S'jet, his second in command and one true confidant, "This is a great start. A glorious start. But that's all it is. A start. A beginning. And there's still so much left to be done."
At least, that was what the records said and, as he stood upon a crumbling balcony and stared out across the blistered, ruinous panorama of the dead ecumenopolis, Kal Strife found he could believe them. Not that the skies never wept; no, more than once droplets had fallen from the heavens, but it hadn't been rain. At least, it hadn't been rain in the commonly accepted sense. No, when the storm gods of Karis Cephelon wept their tears were acrid and toxic, capably of searing flesh and metal with equal ease. That was one of the first things anyone learnt when they walked across the lifeless surface of Cepehelon. Not that many did so; the world was as lost and forgotten as it was dead. And that was why Kal Strife, late of the Corporate Sector, had selected it, why he had dispatched the automated construction teams to its barren cityscapes months previously. For two long months, the droids had laboured in the poisoned atmosphere of Cephelon, installing atmospheric scrubbbers, oxygen purifiers and all the other equipment that had been required to undo even a small fraction of the devastation that had been dealt to the once prosperous world. The attrition rate had been atrocious; Strife had been forced to expend a small fortune on replacing droids and equipment that were damaged beyond repair by the hostile conditions upon the surface.
Eventually, the vast expenditure had paid off. Even a month later, the Corellian could remember his first flight through the turbulent clouds, his first brief glimpse of the ruined cityscape through a gap in the raging storm. It hadn't been much, but it had been enough, enough to convince Strife that he'd chosen wisely. And so he'd plowed still more credits into the project; purchasing prefabricated structures, generators and defensive turrets through various subsidiaries of his beloved Datadyne Corporation. The many ships of his personal fleet had made countless trips to the world, delivering equipment, supplies and, most importantly of all, people. His most trusted allies and subordinates moved freely about Cephelon now, scouting the ruins and marking out structures that might be of use to the cause in the weeks, months and even years to come. And from the roof of a towering, domed building, Kal Strife stared down at them, a grim smile upon his handsome features. His cold, grey eyes swept across the scenery, drinking in the ruined vista with some small measure of satisfaction. And why not? Why should he not feel satisfied in knowing that, by his hand, a dead world would be granted a second chance at glory? Why should he not feel pride at the knowledge that he was undoing the results of some ancient madness that had driven an entire species into self-destruction and the devastation of their homeworld? He, for one, could think of no good reason.
"Credit for them?"
The voice, feminine and alluring, yet still possessing a coolness that would have maddened many men, distracted the Corellian from his musings, but he didn't turn. Instead he simply chuckled softly and shook his head. "Just thinking about all we've done here. All we've managed to achieve..."
"...and all we've got left to do?" the woman answered, and though she spoke the words as a question, Strife knew that she already knew the answer.
"Of course," he replied, turning and smiling almost wearily as his gaze fell upon the familiar, not to mention beautiful, features of Karin S'jet, his second in command and one true confidant, "This is a great start. A glorious start. But that's all it is. A start. A beginning. And there's still so much left to be done."
