Star Wars: Reclamation

by Queen Jane Approx

Something is stirring in the underworld of Coruscant. Suspicion and mistrust are ripe among the Jedi Order. Meanwhile, an endless war terrorizes the citizens of the Galactic Republic. A young warrior, alone and stripped of honor, duty, and privilege, holds the key to ending it. But not even this vigilante can stop the impending doom of a secret directive: Order 66.

STAR WARS: RECLAMATION

Prologue

A great stretch of shadow crept with a daunting hum over the heights of skyscrapers and along the broken pavement. Beneath fell no light; its blackest reaches engulfed all it surveyed. In its lustful grasp, armies fell and worlds drew a unified breath of terror. Yet upon many eyes, it came as a chariot of hope, a flag of freedom waving gloriously for peace and justice. Perhaps it was the ship's elegant commander, and her gentle blue aura, that captivated the towers' wealthy inhabitants. Perhaps it was the charcoal armor of the men aboard that so infuriated the scantest of street dwellers. Whether as a grand army of keeper of the peace, the Oaken was a sight to behold.

The planet Coruscant's great sun was soon obscured by this sprawling starship. Though many looked on in awe, one among the Coruscanti people glowered in contempt. Only for a moment did the eyes of this dark figure narrow, for in another it had slunk away, further into shadow. Its shape was slender and angular; its every movement was catlike. Steady breaths and precise footwork guided it along the side of a modest shop on the planet's surface. A series of punctuated leaps found the figure upon a vacant rooftop. Beneath its cloak, tip-toeing feet splashed in filth. Worn but sturdy legs led the silhouette over a wide berth to an adjacent landing.

Hidden in the starship Oaken's embrace, the wanderer produced a small set of macrobinocolars from within its cloak. Through the tool's lens, even the darkness could not hide the Oaken's magnificence. Whether battleship or cargo cruiser, it s size simply stunned: entire districts of the capital city were blanketed by this behemoth. The vigilante noted rows of cannons stretching incredible lengths. Every inch of the triangular fortress spoke to its immense power. The macrobinoculars were lowered, and a sigh passed from within the shadow's drawn hood: She must be the biggest ship in the fleet.

With the macros fastened securely and Coruscant's sun low enough now to peak under Oaken's port side, the many folds of a billowing cloak took off against the pavement once more. Tearing through the air like a ferocious cat, the shape halted at last before the edge of a fathomless pit. Miles deep, it was lined entirely with rusted districts and old apartment complexes. Many such depressions dotted the planet's surface: some for sleep, many to shop. All housed the scum of the streets. The poor, the criminal, the desperate.
The shadow.

And, with a great dive into Coruscant's endless underbelly, the figure's thoughts rested on another of the underworld's patrons. Neither scrum nor criminal. Neither merchant nor resident.

Just a woman.

Turmond.