Author's Note: Hey all! So this is my first attempt at a Star Wars fan fiction story. It's nearly complete - maybe 3 chapters more that I have to finish at this time. It stemmed from my fascination with the Empire in the original movies, particularly with General Maximilian Veers, Captain Firmus Piett, and Admiral Kendal Ozzel (even though I still find him annoying. :P) General Veers is the main character in this story, and it's based on the information I found on him on .
Sorry for some of the cheesy names I came up with - I'm not very good with names. Please leave reviews and let me know if you think I should continue posting on this story. It may start out as kind of slow, but if you read the summary, it'll pick up VERY soon. So please review! I'd love to read what you guys have to say!
Chapter 1: Arrival
"Transport Shuttle Isius is on final approach, Admiral. The Ambassador's party will be ready to dock in five minutes."
"Very good. Carry on, Ensign."
Admiral Ozzel's gaze was as steely as ever, but the impatient twitch of his hands clasped behind his back spoke to his annoyance. By his side, Captain Piett was less fidgety than his superior, but there was an almost bored-looking expression in his eyes. General Veers, on the other hand, held his parade-ground posture: back straight, eyes forward, shoulders back, face absolutely expressionless. But inwardly he smiled contemptuously. These Navy officers were not used to waiting; they've never known what it means to be patient. Positioning a strike force with painstaking exactness and then having to wait for three hours until your Navy counterparts are ready – that is patience. Standing at parade-ground attention while Lord Vader inspects the minutia of an army of 10,000 troops – that is patience. But standing in the Executor's main docking bay for a mere fifteen minutes awaiting the arrival of one shuttle was nothing. If the Army had taught the General anything, it was the value of patience.
A warning siren blared from the PA system, the atmosphere barriers were activated, and with an echoing clang the huge bay doors began opening their mammoth jaws. Down below, stormtroopers and officers began filing up in neat, military rows. Techs and support personnel gathered in clusters port and starboard of the landing pad, prepared to secure the ship as soon as it touched down. Ozzel's eyes passed over every detail, hunting for mistakes to be corrected. Everything had to be perfect. It wasn't every day that the Executor received a prominent political delegation.
And not just any delegation, Veers reminded himself. This was the first time that the Executor had been assigned the task of escorting an alien entourage to Imperial Center.
Some days before, the Executor had received a priority signal from Imperial Center. No one knew exactly what the message was all about, but immediately after Lord Vader departed the Super Star Destroyer without any explanation at all. The crew didn't have long to wonder why, however, when a second transmission was received, this time from the Imperial Military Council. Included in this transmission were a set of spatial coordinates – coordinates that would take them somewhere near the Outer Rim Territories. The Senior Staff was immediately called to a classified briefing, and the mammoth Star Destroyer left its routine patrol at maximum speeds. It had taken four days to reach their destination. . . but exactly what or who they were rendezvousing with the Junior Staff could only speculate. But when they arrived at the designated location, they were greeted by light-years of empty space.
Or so they thought. No sooner had they dropped out of Hyperspace than sensors detected a lone vessel off their port bow; no hail was received, but the monitor managed to identify it as the Isius, a Lambda-class shuttle. What an Imperial vessel was doing that far out from any known star base was anyone's guess. But they were heading towards the Executor at maximum Impulse; whoever was onboard seemed to be in a hurry. Admiral Ozzel ordered the Executor's docking bay to begin preparations to receive the shuttle, then he, the Captain, and Veers had made their way down to greet the new arrivals.
Through the atmospheric barriers of the bay doors, the transport shuttle Isius came into view. Her landing gear was already down, her long port and starboard stabilizing fins folding elegantly to a steeple over the cockpit.
The monitor tech glanced up at his superior.
"Atmospheric barriers are coming online now, sir," he reported smartly. "Admiral, sir," he continued hesitantly, "may I ask what this is all about?"
"Privileged information, Ensign, is not your concern," Ozzel cut him off brusquely. "Attend to your duties."
"Admiral, with respect," Veers interjected quietly, keeping his eyes forward, "I believe it is time the crew knew what is happening here." Ozzel turned his irritation on the Army field commander at his side.
"General Veers, our orders from Starfleet specifically stated, quote: 'In accordance with Imperial Regulations, all officers are to consider this mission and all its contents classified –'"
"'–Until the Executor arrives in-system at the designated rendezvous point, at which time all restrictions on the preceding information shall be lifted," the General finished calmly, turning to face the Admiral. Ozzel was glaring blaster bolts at him, but Veers remained unmoved. "The crew has a right to know what we're doing here, sir," he pointed out.
The Admiral turned back to the main viewport and said nothing; he would tolerate correction from the General, but he would never stoop so low as to explain anything to a lowly Ensign. Veers turned his head slightly and regarded the tech sitting at the docking bay control station; the young man was gazing up at him expectantly, and there really was no harm in telling him at this point.
"Our current assignment, Ensign, is to transport a political delegation to Imperial Center as quickly as possible."
"A political delegation, sir? From all the way out here?" the tech asked incredulously. "But there aren't any known established governments out this far."
"This entourage does not belong to a system within the Empire's boarders, Ensign. Imperial Center will soon be playing host to a species that, until a few years ago were unheard of." He nodded towards the incoming shuttle. "The Bak'el." There was a pause, as the tech seemed to digest that bit of information.
"And General, sir, how much do we know about these . . . these Bak'el?"
"Very little," he confessed. "The first reports we heard of them were from an Imperial scouting expedition that was exploring the Unknown Regions. Their home world, Tel'kar, is approximately twelve light-years outside of Imperial Space: a binary star system with one planet in a tidally locked orbit. The Bak'el's major settlements are on the dark side of the surface."
"But what do we know about them, sir?" the Ensign pressed. Veers paused, narrowing his eyes at the shuttle.
"Intelligence reports have been sketchy at best," he said after a pause. "A telepathic humanoid species that in all appearances seems to be xenophobic. Their technology is comparable to our own, and their government is based on a Caste System with a Monarchial Rule. The rest is all wild speculation. The Empire made first contact with them about two years ago when a high-priority transmission was dispatched from Imperial Center by the Emperor himself. Messages were sent back and forth for some time, until about two months ago. Apparently, the Bak'el were invited to Imperial Center to participate in negotiations with the Empire. Hence our presence here."
"Negotiations for what, sir?" the tech inquired, peering up at the General.
"Mining rights," the older officer answered. "According to the scouting expeditions reports, Tel'kar's moons contain the largest concentrations of Aurodium ever found in the galaxy. In exchange for their permission to set up Aurodium mines and refining facilities in their space, the Empire will guarantee the Bak'el full access to Imperial commercial space lanes."
"Fripping waste of time, if you ask me," Ozzel muttered contemptuously. "We are the Galactic Empire; if we see something we want, we take it. No negotiations." Piett glanced at the Admiral briefly but didn't say anything. Veers didn't either; there was no need to remind the Admiral of the rumors about the Bak'el coming from that part of space. And if they were to be believed, then this alien race was not one to be trifled with. Instead, Veers minutely turned his head to regard the monitor tech out of the corner of his eye.
"Mind your board, Ensign Tiylers," he admonished.
"Yes, sir," the other acknowledged, reluctantly returning his gaze to his control board.
By this time the Isius had passed through the atmospheric barrier and was in its final maneuvers for landing. The loud hiss of the ship's landing thrusters echoed harshly on the durasteel walls and ceiling of the cavernous docking bay. Then a gentle set-down on the deck, the whine of the engine dying away, and it was time.
"Let's get this over with," Ozzel grumbled, tugging his dress uniform straight. Motioning for the Captain and the General to follow, he led the way down the stairs from the overhang to the floor of the bay.
As soon as they reached the deck the Honor Guard snapped to attention in unison like a thunderclap. Ozzel paced briskly up the isle towards the shuttle with his subordinates in his wake, their boots clicking on the durasteel deck plates and the whine of the boarding ramp's servos the only sounds to be heard. About twenty paces from the base of the ramp the three officers came to a halt. Then they waited.
They waited for what felt like an eternity. And the longer they waited, the more impatient Admiral Ozzel seemed to become. Only years of strict discipline kept Veers from showing the same of irritation. But it wasn't just the waiting that was getting on his nerves. Though nothing had physically changed in the docking bay, every man present could somehow sense that something had happened the moment the shuttle had touched down. The recycled air in that vast space suddenly seemed too close, almost oppressive. Reality just felt . . . "off" was the only word that came to Veers' mind. As the ramp locked into place, Veers felt a twinge of some faint emotion travel down his spine. Was it fear? No; uneasiness, perhaps, but not fear.
Veers was not a superstitious man by nature; in his mind the galaxy was a thing to be conquered, every life form in it things to be subdued. But he did realize, however, that there were some things in this galaxy that were beyond his comprehension and control. That was exactly the feeling he was getting from the shuttle; there was something in there that was unlike anything he had ever encountered, something so totally alien that he somehow knew he would never be able to understand it. . . or predict it.
Suddenly a rustle of uneasiness swept over the assembly; the air suddenly seemed colder than before, and Veers only just managed to suppress a shudder of his own. Something – a powerful alien presence – had just brushed over all of them; whatever it was it spoke of a supremacy beyond anything any of them had ever felt, a primal sensation of dominance. Only Lord Vader's dark presence could illicit this same type of apprehension.
Veers felt his back involuntarily stiffen in expectation. A whisper of movement was suddenly heard from the inside of the shuttle, and at last the Bak'el delegation began to disembark. And when the party finally came into the full light of the docking bay, he found himself looking on one of the strangest group of beings he had ever seen.
There were about twenty or twenty-five of them in all, pacing so quietly down the ramp that they seemed more like ghosts than living beings. All were dark-haired and ranged in height from about 1.6 to nearly 2 meters tall; their dark robes almost seemed to swirl around their feet like an unnatural mist. But the thing that made them extremely unusual was there eyes; none of the normal shades of eye color were present on any of them. Variations of yellows and reds stared back at them from pale, expressionless faces. Nearly all were male. They took up flanking positions on either side of the ramp, and then remained as still as statues, gazing out at the human assembly with an air of cold neutrality. On the heels of this first group, a smaller party walked down the ramp.
If the appearance of the first group of Bak'el had been a surprise, the second group was even more so. There were four, two in front and two walking silently behind. The two individuals in the back must have been the chief advisors. The one on Veers' right wore long robes of silver and deep, vivid green with what looked like gold-plated chain-mail shoulder epaulets. His eyes were a shade that was nearer mahogany, watching the Imperials with a look of unconcerned neutrality. To the right of his companion was a Bak'el that was dressed in robes so black they looked like liquid shadow; he wore no other color aside from a single large clasp at his right shoulder. He was nearly 2 meters in height, and he was a far more imposing figure than his companion. His arrogant face held a pair of eyes that were such a bright red that it looked like he had molten fire in his soul. Veers somehow got the distinct impression that this one was not pleased with what he saw.
The other two walked hand-in-hand with slow, measured steps. One was a female of such striking beauty that Veers stared at her for nearly a minute. She was tall and stately, wrapped in a long elegant gown of midnight-blue silk. The trailing edges were lined with what looked like silver embroidery in long, twisted, complicated designs. A thin silver circlet wound its way through her long sable hair. Her only other adornment was an ornate medallion hanging around her neck. Her almond-shaped amber eyes were watching the assembly with a look of interest. It took nearly every ounce of discipline that Veers possessed to force himself to look away from her face.
The final Bak'el, a tall, powerful figure in blood-red robes, could not be mistaken for anyone else other than the Ambassador himself. The Mantle of State that hung around his neck was so ornate that it could have rivaled that of the Naboo royalty at the height of the Old Republic. Eyes the color of burnt umber stared at the faces around him; no one, not even Admiral Ozzel, could look him in the face for long. But it wasn't just his appearance that was imposing; it was the feeling of power that seemed to emanate from him in palpable waves. The very air around him seemed cold and dangerous. This was the one that had touched their minds even before they disembarked.
As the party reached the bottom of the ramp, Admiral Ozzel stepped forward and bowed stiffly.
"Ambassador Selto, on behalf of the Galactic Empire, it is my pleasure to welcome you aboard the Executor." The Ambassador inclined his head slightly.
"It is an honor to be here, Admiral," he returned. His voice was so quiet that it was nearly missed; Veers could almost hear amusement in his reply, as if he could sense that the Admiral meant just the opposite of what he said. The Bak'el gestured to his two companions behind him. "My advisors: Prefect Gayrn," here the man in green bowed respectfully, "and High Councilor Baine." The man in black bowed as well, but with a mocking twitch of his head and a sneer on his face. Veers felt his eyes narrow at him; that one was going to be major trouble down the road.
"And this," the Ambassador continued, turning to the woman, "is my daughter Shakir, Head of State and Chief Negotiator. She will speak for our people's interests during these proceedings."
The woman bowed gracefully, but her eyes never left the assembly. Veers found it very difficult to keep from singling her out in the delegation. She was very beautiful . . . but there was also a feeling of danger hidden behind the veil of her physical appearance. Lady Shakir, gracious as she seemed to be, might become just as dangerous as her father. The paradox was baffling.
Admiral Ozzel turned, indicating the officers that waited patiently behind him.
" Captain Firmus Piett and General Maximilian Veers, my subordinates." Both men saluted to the Ambassador smartly, but once again Veers felt his gaze drawn to Lady Shakyr. When he looked up he saw to his amazement that she was already looking at him. Her dark eyes bored into his with an uncomfortable intensity, and he thought he could sense a brush of alien consciousness touch his. His Academy instruction so many years ago had trained him how to block his mind from unwelcome intrusions, in order to protect himself during potential interrogations. Automatically he threw a defensive wall up around his mind, and the alien presence withdrew. But now Lady Shakir was watching him with a new look in her face: curiosity.
"If you and your party will follow us, Ambassador," Ozzel's voice broke in, and the Lady Shakir finally looked away, "we would be happy to escort you to your quarters." The Ambassador smiled – but it was a smile that for some reason did not come off as friendly.
With his daughter by his side, Selto walked forward to join Admiral Ozzel at the head of the procession, Veers and Piett taking their places behind and to the side. The delegate that Selto had called High Councilor Baine paced beside him. Veers kept his gaze fixed ahead, but he could see the Bak'el smirking at him out of the corner of his eye. The General was used to stares like that; nearly every politician on Imperial Center looked on the soldiers of the military as the underdogs of the Empire: useful in their own area, but hardly worthy to participate in political gatherings. He had learned to ignore such looks and snide remarks, having been to Imperial Center many times in his career. It therefore surprised him that he felt greatly annoyed at this particular individual. More than just annoyance; it was quickly edging closer to anger. There was just something in this Bak'el's arrogant attitude that Veers found greatly irritating.
Up ahead, Ozzel was inviting the Ambassador and his delegation to a formal reception ceremony in the Executor's Assembly Hall later that night. Selto, of course accepted, and Veers felt his mouth twitch upward in a slight smile; the Senior Staff had been instructed to extend every courtesy to the Bak'el, but the General felt very sure that the Admiral had been hoping Selto would decline the invitation. Ozzel's distaste for these aliens seemed to be growing with every moment he was forced to spend in their company.
Veers' smile broadened – the first time he had allowed his emotions to show on his face since the shuttle touched down. It was certainly going to be amusing to see how this played out in the days to come.