Diplomacy Starborn to HGRE - Ahch-To Dispute

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna Starborn sat draped in shadow, high upon the ivory dais that formed the seat of her dominion. Her throne room in the remains of the first Jedi temple was a sanctum of serenity and calculation, where the whisper of machinery and the distant hum of coils served as the only chorus. Light filtered in dully through thin slits in the durasteel walls—never enough to chase the darkness fully away.

She sat motionless, fingers steepled beneath her chin, silver eyes half-lidded in quiet thought. The Starborn were moving. The Migrant Fleet was sharpening its teeth. Across the stars, the galaxy groaned as rival powers vied for dominance over the ashes of order. Lyanna had seen it in visions—fractures beneath the surface, splintering empires crumbling under the weight of their own ambitions.

And then she felt the approach.

The air shifted—imperceptibly to most, but not to her. Her Operatives were punctual. Efficient. She allowed the silence to stretch for a few more seconds before speaking, voice a smooth ripple across the chamber’s gloom.

“Enter.”

The Operative crossed the threshold with crisp purpose, clad in the white armor of the intelligence corps, helmet under one arm, face unreadable even without the mask. He knelt without hesitation, head bowed.

“My Lady. We have confirmation. The HGRE has established a presence on Ahch-To.”

That name pulled Lyanna from stillness. A faint narrowing of her eyes, a tilt of the head.

“How very bold,” she echoed, voice cold as glacial stone. “To set up in our territory without so much as saying hello.”

The Operative nodded, rising only to hand her a small datapad. “Their intentions appear to be the construction of a cloning facility. The effort is still in early stages—supplies are being smuggled in, shielded under diplomatic routes. We intercepted the signal by chance the moment they entered the Archeon sector. The location was unmistakable.”

Lyanna accepted the datapad, eyes sweeping across the glowing lines of data. Coordinates. Topography. Satellite captures of a temporary landing structure perched precariously in the clouds.

To build here… to infringe upon her sovereignty…

She recalled stone and spray, ancient texts etched in languages older than any known script, hidden beneath the waters. The minds she’d tasted there had not been mortal. To meddle in this sanctum was to scratch at the skin of a god.

Her voice was quiet, but laced with purpose.

“They’ve chosen a path they cannot walk back from.”

She rose from her throne slowly, the long folds of her white robe spilling like fog down the dais. The Force shivered with the motion, the chamber itself seeming to exhale around her.

“Begin preparations,” she ordered. “Discreetly. We do not strike yet—not until the full extent of their intentions are known. But mark every supply ship. Every crew manifest. If they bring technology to my planet, I want to know the lineage of every circuit.”

The Operative bowed again. “As you command, Lord Fauste.”

Lyanna turned toward the stars beyond her chamber’s window. Somewhere in the mist-covered waters of Ahch-To, a fire kindled in defiance of ancient silence.

She would see it drowned.

Fauste motioned for the man to pause on his way out of the chamber. “One last thing. Inform the others to reach out to them. We will attempt diplomacy before resorting to violence on this matter. Having clones at our disposal… it sounds rather useful, no?”

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[ImperialEevee]

The G.R.E.S. Benefactor flew over the planet overhead with its shields blazing somewhat. Fighter wings flew overhead through the atmosphere as the boots of soldiers and infantry thundered along the floors of the massive carrier. Supply ship after supply ship descended and ascended from supply vessels.


The cargo ships touched down on the cloning facility and troops moved back and forth on platform hauling cargo back and fourth from the support ships to the cloning platform as some of the crew hauled crates and supplies to the engineers on board, white durasteel armor flashing as they worked. Everything came from meteoroids, asteroids, and a little from Zakuul.


The location of such things weren’t kept a secret as they were pretty standard things. Heavy crates were hauled in under strict conditions from H.G.R.E. Intelligence officers. The heavy crates were carefully hauled to the future command deck under very careful supervision with only two engineers approved to work on the command deck. The two engineers had been painfully background searched by intelligence officers.


Admiral Corsair, commander of the G.R.E.S. Benefactor was informed of a slight overlook by high command. Intelligence said they were fifty percent sure Ahch-to was uninhabited, not sixty percent sure. A conference room was already under construction, and the two storage bases were remodeled. Words had been sent back to the people first on the planet that their presence would be welcome aboard the G.R.E.S. Benefactor and a banquet was being set up in there honor.


Soldiers and crew hauled in crate after crate of food and alcohol. The massive table was decked out in several pounds of meat and placemats set out. The normal dura steel walls were painted and covered in colorful colors. They were offered the choice to send whoever they wanted to talk with them.

@Lyanna

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

From the arched windows of her private quarters, Darth Fauste—Lyanna Starborn—watched the white gleam of the G.R.E.S. Benefactor hanging in Ahch-To’s stormy skies like a wound against the clouds.

The influx of transports, the endless flow of supplies from orbit to surface, the rapid construction efforts… all of it weighed on the currents of the Force like an ill-tuned instrument. It grated against the primal quiet of this ancient world. And Lyanna could feel it, deep within, the rising temptation to sweep them away like insects disturbing a temple.

But temptation was not strategy. Not yet.

The message delivered to her had been clear enough. A banquet, a welcome, the thin veneer of diplomacy meant to shield what they knew—even if they pretended otherwise—was an intrusion. High command’s own intelligence admitted as much: they were fifty percent certain Ahch-To was uninhabited. Fifty percent. Lyanna’s lips curved into a humorless smile.

And yet here they come, building and feasting atop a foundation they do not understand.

Still, war was not always the first blade drawn. There were advantages to patience. Advantages to words offered before blood was spilled. The Starborn Sect’s strength came from precision, not wasteful fury.

She turned from the window, her heavy cloak sweeping behind her, and moved with measured purpose down the hall toward the private hangar. Her guards and aides fell into step without needing a word. The ship had already been prepared: a sleek, white courier vessel, minimally armed, its silhouette more diplomatic envoy than battle cruiser. It was a message in itself.

They would see that she did not come to strike them down. Yet.

As the ship ascended through Ahch-To’s atmosphere, Lyanna sat silent in the command chair, hands folded loosely in her lap, her presence in the Force muted to a cold, calm ember. She extended her senses outward, reaching beyond metal and fuel, feeling the tremors in the currents of destiny around the Benefactor and its bustling crew.

There was tension aboard that ship, hidden beneath banners and painted walls. Fear. Pride. Hope. So many raw edges to be pried apart with a careful hand.

Her silver eyes narrowed slightly as the Benefactor grew larger on the viewscreen.

They have extended the hand of civility. I will take it, she thought. And if they are wise, they will listen. If not…

The thought trailed off into silence, like a blade sliding back into its sheath—for now.

The ship angled toward the designated landing platform, communications hailing the Benefactor politely for docking clearance. Lyanna adjusted her hood as the pilot guided them in.

The Starborn Sect would show its face. The invaders would offer their feast. And Darth Fauste would listen carefully… before deciding if Ahch-To would tolerate their presence a moment longer.

The ship glided in smooth and silent, angling toward the marked landing platform nestled against the skeletal frame of the growing cloning facility. The Benefactor loomed above, a great steel giant watching over its scurrying servants. Even through the hull, Lyanna could feel the thrum of its shield generators and the faint pulse of hundreds of minds, moving in their orchestrated chaos.

The landing gear touched down with a hiss of hydraulics. A wave of warm, humid air flooded the hold as the boarding ramp slowly extended downward.

Lyanna moved forward, her white cloak trailing behind her like fog. As the ramp lowered fully, she stepped onto it without pause, walking calmly down into the heavy, expectant air of the facility.

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[ImperialEevee]

The white courier vessel landing platform was somewhat crowded, a hanger bay aboard the Benefactor. It didn’t have time to be dressed up. It was its usual gray color with starfighters packed away. Five hundred soldiers stood at arms, soldiers in shiny white armor with clean black blasters. The ground thundered with noise as the soldiers saluted before moving off to the sides in unison. Over the hangar bay speakers a joyous marching song began playing, an old song originating from the Zurltar Dynasty.


A red carpet had been rolled out for Fauste and her advisors which led to the conference room. The path towards the destination itself was laid out with red carpet with crew and soldiers saluting as they passed by. Inside the conference room were the finest wood chairs they could get in such short notice. The table itself was piled high with hot food and liquor ranging from ten percent to sixty percent alcohol.


“Glad you came to visit us. Sorry about the surroundings. It’s a warship and we weren’t particularly expecting guests. Can’t get good intelligence officers anymore these days either. I am Admiral Zakur.” The older man spoke as he stood up to shake Faust’s hand. The four other officers wearing the black captain’s uniforms saluted as they stood around the table.


“I expect the journey wasn’t too taxing. Would’ve given the order for a few of my pilots to fly you in. Perhaps do a few stunts with the starfighters. Too late for that now though so shall we talk about clearing our mistakes up and forming an alliance or about your favorite movie?” Admiral Zakur said with a smirk, attempting to hide his nervousness around this Sith. Force users were good soldiers and having one as an enemy wasn’t something he particularly fancied.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna descended the ramp with the measured grace of a queen entering her court. The thunder of synchronized boots striking the hangar deck rolled across the cavernous space, vibrating faintly beneath her steps. The soldiers — five hundred of them, clad in gleaming white armor — moved in perfect, saluting unison before parting to either side, a living corridor of respect and apprehension.

The air was thick with the scent of fresh durasteel, engine exhaust, and the faint, almost nostalgic notes of the old Zurltar Dynasty marching song crackling over the loudspeakers. A red carpet, hastily but dutifully laid out, guided her path deeper into the vessel.

She did not slow, nor did she let her bright eyes wander long from the destination ahead: the conference room.

Upon entry, the warmth of food and strong drink washed over her senses, but she offered only a slight nod of acknowledgment. The wood chairs, the heaping feast, even the liquor — they had gone to impressive lengths under short notice. It was almost charming.

Almost.

At the head of the room, an older man stood up to greet her — Admiral Zakur. His handshake was offered, and for a brief second, she accepted it, her gloved hand firm but not aggressive. She sensed his nerves — not raw terror, but a respectable caution. That much, she could respect.

His banter, light and disarming, drew the faintest smile from her lips. Not a wide or welcoming thing, but enough to show she had a soul beneath the black-lined white robes.

“You have my appreciation, Admiral,” Lyanna said, her voice soft, but carrying a weight that silenced even the subtle shifting of boots and armor around the room. “Your hospitality is… not unnoted.”

She released his hand and took a single step back, surveying the room. All eyes were on her. Good.

“But I am not here for spectacle,” she continued, her gaze sharp. “I am here for clarity.”

Her voice, though calm, brooked no argument.

“The Starborn Sect, and by extension the Migrant Fleet, are open to an arrangement with your Holy Galactic Republic Empire forces. We will permit your facility on Ahch-To. However, the Temple — the old one — remains under our sole stewardship. That is not up for negotiation.”

She allowed a moment for the statement to settle, cool and final as stone.

“In addition,” she said, folding her hands neatly behind her back, “we are interested in securing a monopoly over the clone production of your facility here. Should you be unable to agree to a monopoly,” she allowed herself a polite incline of the head, “then we will, at the very least, require prioritized contracting rights and exclusive access to your services over any other competing powers within the sector.”

She paused, letting her words hang like a blade at their throats.

“In return, you will receive both military protection from those who would see your efforts undone… and monetary compensation proportional to your ability to meet our demands.”

Her eyes glinted coldly in the artificial light of the conference room.

“I advise we find a compromise quickly and cleanly,” she said, her voice lowering almost to a whisper, though no less audible. “The alternative… would be far less profitable for either of us.”

She let the moment stretch, heavy and unrelenting, before finally — mercifully — allowing a slight, cordial smile to return.

“Shall we sit?” she invited smoothly.

Tag; @ImperialEevee

 

[ImperialEevee]

“Well. I’m not any kind of politician. Folks like those are going to talk and talk with all their words being nothing. We will be more than free to offer to clean up the temple under your supervision.” Admiral Zakur spoke as he nodded bluntly. He paused and poured himself a shot of whiskey and sat down, swirling it around in his mouth. He sat down and tapped on the table.


“We can’t arrange a monopoly. We can arrange your second set of demands. I do just have one catch. We are allowed access to fifty percent of the planet. Of course where this fifty percent is up to you. You will, of course, maintain priority contracting rights and exclusive rights. We can make sure you are welcome to visit the stations as well.” Zakur spoke as he smiled.


The other captains sat only when she suggested it and only when they received his permission. One of the captains offered her a bottle as they started to eat, even offering her advisors some of the food.


“Monetary compensation is agreeable. Perhaps we could also talk about future military operations?” Zakur spoke as he slid a document toward her containing the base shape of what the finished cloning facility would look like. It's a disc-like shape with at least twenty different floors. It also featured small hangar bays.

 

[Lyanna Starborn]

Lyanna remained standing even as Admiral Zakur and his officers seated themselves, observing them with a measured gaze as she listened. His offer was… not without merit. His directness was almost refreshing. Almost.

She declined the offered drink with a graceful motion of her hand, though her expression remained civil. Her advisors, silent as sentinels at her back, accepted food and drink with the same quiet professionalism that masked their predatory alertness.

Only once Zakur finished speaking did Lyanna draw in a slow, deliberate breath, letting a brief silence hang between them like a veil.

“The Temple,” she began, voice even but ironclad, “is not a ruin to be cleaned. It is a sacred place, consecrated to ages far beyond our reach. You will not enter it, not for maintenance, not for salvage, not for curiosity. It is under Starborn protection alone.”

Her words cut with gentle precision, the tone of a queen, not a negotiator. She allowed no room for misunderstanding.

“However,” she continued, shifting the conversation forward without missing a beat, “you may keep seventy-five percent of the planet’s surface. The Temple grounds and a reasonable perimeter around it will remain solely ours. Beyond that… the Starborn have no territorial ambitions here.”

Her bright eyes glinted slightly as she leaned forward, fingertips resting lightly on the edge of the table.

“Seventy-five percent of a world, Admiral. Far more than most receive in negotiations such as these.”

She tapped the table softly, the metallic ring of her glove punctuating the point.

“As for military operations — we are open to discussion. If you are amenable to further cooperation, the Starborn Sect would see it mutually beneficial to coordinate deployments and logistics where our interests align.”

Her voice softened, just slightly — enough to lend an air of invitation without sacrificing command.

“Regarding the contract and rights, the Starborn and I find those as agreeable terms. I will admit that monopolizing the facility was a bit of a stretch.”

Lyanna’s hands folded neatly before her, signaling the conversation was now back in their court.

Tag; @ImperialEevee