CHAPTER 1
I.
Emperor Palpatine's piercing eyes went wide as he thrust out his hands, and fired one last salvo of dark energy into his apprentice. He leaned over the fallen knight, and expressed the core of his anger in the simplest possible terms.
"I have not been... embarrassed... in decades."
Darth Vader rolled onto his side, the last tendrils of blue electricity playing out over his black armor. A low groan echoed from his mask as he struggled to his knees. Acrid smoke rose from his body.
"Rise," the Emperor said through gritted teeth. "Rise, you fool."
Vader remained on his knees. The smoke around his hunched shoulders expanded and faded into a haze. His normal, thunderous breaths came as metallic wheezes, and still he did not move. This was not defiance on the Dark Lord's part. He simply lacked the strength to stand.
The Emperor turned his back on his apprentice in disgust, and with a slow malignance, made his way back to his throne. Vader managed to keep his head upright, and watched his master. The Emperor moved up the staircase, his shrouded form silhouetted against the enormous panoramic viewport that showcased Coruscant's dazzling cityscape.
Vader summoned everything he could-mechanical strength, human adrenaline, the force-and rose to his feet. He pulled his dark cloak closed from both sides, concealing arms that clutched his midsection against the pain. A moment later, the Emperor reached his throne, and turned in a way that was at once both frail and regal before lowering himself into it. He looked back at his apprentice, surprised that he had actually willed himself to stand.
"So. Your ineptitude does have limits, Lord Vader. Let us hope for your sake we have reached them."
With tremendous effort, Vader returned his arms to his sides and straightened his back fully. "I will not fail you again, my master."
"Were you to achieve the immortality of the Sith, you could hardly accomplish enough to compensate for the damage you've done." The Emperor leaned further back into the shadowy recesses of his throne. He let out a dry, serpentine sigh that seemed to mark the turning of a page. Vader sensed that the greatest danger had passed, and his master was prepared to move on to further business.
"The Death Star," the Emperor said, "was a monumental feat of planning and labor. Funding and resources." His yellow eyes shone. "Time and power."
"Its loss," the Emperor continued, "is a setback, but the setback is not limited only to those terms that can be measured."
Vader said nothing.
"The Death Star was to be the culmination of all the strength and potential of my New Order. Its destruction could now bring everything into question. Everything we have achieved will seem vulnerable to attack. If the rebels can destroy our greatest weapon, our subjects will begin to question what else they can do. What else they can destroy."
"I stand ready to redeem myself, my master."
"I hope so."
"What is your bidding?"
"Your failure at Yavin has allowed a pathetic band of criminals to graduate from a minor nuisance to a perceived threat."
"I will find and eliminate them."
"Understand this, Lord Vader. These idealistic fools won at Yavin through a miraculous intervention." He leaned forward. "You know of what I speak."
"I know what I sensed," Vader said. "A Jedi. Untrained. Unrefined. But the force was strong with him."
The Emperor's face contorted into a hideous scowl. "Find this... Jedi. Use every resource at our disposal. And deal with him as we have dealt with all the others."
"Yes, my master."
"And when you find him, you will undoubtedly find the rest of this rebellion."
The Emperor smiled. "Leave none of them alive."
II.
Baroness Varica Econa, former Alderaanian ambassador to Commenor, sat at her large desk, surrounded only by a profound silence. She was the former ambassador, because she represented a world that no longer existed. The silence that crushed down on her was because she had dismissed her small embassy staff that morning, and now, in the late evening, she was the sole occupant of a dimly lit office.
The day before, each member of her staff had used the embassy's holonet resources to confirm the inevitable: that every Alderaanian they knew outside of this office was dead.
Varica took a long sip from her tumbler of Whyren's Reserve, the clinking of the ice cubes sounding loud amidst the quiet. The amber liquid warmed her, and reinforced her already comfortable inebriation. Had she been prone to talking to herself she would have proposed a toast.
To pacifism.
She snorted softly as she set the glass down on her desk, and pushed a lock of blonde hair out of her eyes. Most Alderaanians frowned on libations, believing it could only obscure one's harmony and enlightenment. But she'd never been much like most Alderaanians, hence her dead-end assignment at a token outpost.
Commenor was a major trade center and maintained virtually no regulation over the nature of that trade. They believed policing their economy could only slow the flow of credits. Luxury consumer goods and financial products were sold alongside weapons, spice, and slaves. Just before the Clone Wars, when Viceroy Organa stated his world would boycott any system that condoned the slave trade, the Alderaanian ambassador to Commenor was ejected.
It was only two years ago, when Senator Leia Organa reopened diplomatic ties with Commenor, that the embassy was reestablished. Alderaan officially lifted its embargo, but decades of bad blood staunched the flow of trade, and the people of each world found little desire to visit the other's planet. With no trade, and no travelers, the embassy served no purpose she could name.
Except for being my purgatory.
She strongly believed that Leia had engineered the entire summit with Commenor just to maroon her here, in a useless job where she could have virtually no impact, and achieve nothing.
It was the perfect revenge, tailored precisely for Varica.
She deserved it, of course, but even if she hadn't crossed her cousin so severely, it was unlikely her fate would have been much different.
The fact was, she was a pretty poor excuse for an Alderaanian.
And she had taken pride in that all of her life.
It had not made her many friends, whether it be at court or elsewhere, but at a very young age, she began to question the purpose of the tranquility Alderaanians so revered. What did it do? What did it accomplish?
She was an ambitious girl on a world where the greatest ambition was to do nothing. The vast majority of Alderaanians railed against this notion, but despite whatever colorful terms scholars used to describe their slothfulness, Varica could never embrace that lifestyle-a lifestyle that the few people who achieved positions of authority on their world made it their sole mission to uphold and protect.
Leia and her father had been the two greatest such authority figures, and their willful agenda of opposing the Empire while leaving their world defenseless had now resulted in nothing less than the death of their entire civilization. The failed experiment of a utopian society had reached its inevitable conclusion.
It was a known fact that Senator Leia Organa had been off world aboard Alderaan's consular ship Tantive IV when Alderaan was destroyed. The ship was reported lost with all hands shortly before the Alderaan tragedy. It was reported immediately after the tragedy that Leia had been in collusion with the Rebel Alliance, and that her ship had been destroyed while they were engaged in terrorist activities.
As Varica stared at the words glowing on her holonet screen, she was shocked all over again. Leia Organa, a rebel.
Varica never thought she could be so impressed by her peaceful cousin.
So you finally found a reason to fight. But as usual, your actions were too little, too late.
Still, it became immediately clear to Varica that whatever actions Leia had taken now held the key to her future. With the Empire's declaration-however dubious-that the bulk of Alderaan's citizenry had been collaborating with the rebellion, she had no doubt that Alderaanian survivors would become pariahs, or worse.
For her, the Rebel Alliance was the only game around, and she intended to join them. At least they were out to achieve something-and had already achieved something so monumental, that it had captured the attention of the entire galaxy-if the scandal bytes 'Death Star' stories were to be believed.
Whether or not the Alliance had actually destroyed the Empire's planet killer, their goal was certainly to carry out more military strikes against the murderers who had annihilated her planet. This was an agenda she could absolutely get onboard with.
She opened up a communications channel, and input the security code for the Royal House of Alderaan. She began typing her message.
While they didn't know it yet, Varica represented the rebellion's best chance to grow their forces and capitalize on their newfound status as a force to be reckoned with.
And she had no compunction about using that fact to leverage a leadership position within the Alliance.
III.
"Princess Leia?" General Jan Dodonna said, looking at her from the opposite end of the large stone table. Leia wondered if the ancient Massassi had been forced to endure staff meetings in centuries past.
They had gone around the table, hearing enthusiastic strategies and reports from the various division heads. Evacuation of the Yavin base was nearly complete, and the nearest Imperial warships could not hope to arrive for another twelve hours. They would be long gone by then.
There was a positive charge in the room, and with good reason. They were in an entirely new league now. With the destruction of the Empire's premier super weapon, there was a saturated confidence - a conviction that anything they decided to do could be done. They just needed a plan.
And the materials. And the ships. And the men.
And the money.
"Your highness?" Dodonna repeated. Commander Willard cleared his throat in discomfort.
"Yes, General," she said. "I do know the ambassador."
Dodonna smiled, his long white beard giving him the air of a magnanimous wizard. "That's excellent. Do you wish to handle the negotiations, then?"
Leia didn't respond immediately, but she also didn't exhibit any of the normal body language to show that she was thinking about it. She simply stared at the table.
"Perhaps we called this meeting to soon," Willard interjected. "Have you slept, your highness?"
Leia had not slept. The last time she had slept was onboard the Death Star, when Vader called off his torture droid and she had collapsed into black unconsciousness. After that - after Alderaan was destroyed - she had escaped with Luke and Captain Solo. She had reviewed the Death Star plans on the flight to Yavin, and then helped to oversee the actual assault. And when they won, and she had expended any last shreds of energy in jubilant cries of victory, she had then proceeded to officiate at the award ceremony. She then went on to celebrate their victory at the impromptu party afterwards.
And when she finally left the festivities, and had finally laid down on the cot in her quarters, she closed her eyes.
And watched Alderaan blow apart.
Her eyes had snapped open again. It still seemed so surreal, the notion that everyone she had known and loved and hated in her youth was dead in an instant. No suffering. No regrets. No goodbyes. No professions of love. No oaths of vengeance.
The candle was snuffed. The lights went out, and only smoke and ash remained.
That same night, on her cot, exhaustion had closed her eyes again, and again she watched in exquisite detail as the verdant laser bored into her world, exploding it into chunks of rock and earth that hurled themselves at her mind's eye, so much so that she had thrown her arms up in front of her face as she lay there, alone, in the dark. Alone even as the celebratory sounds of patriotism and victory echoed from the great hall and through the corridors.
She was the only Alderaanian at Yavin base. For all she knew at that moment, she was the only Alderaanian left in the galaxy.
And now, a message with the security code for the Royal House had been received, and there was one member of her family confirmed alive.
And it had to be her. Because the universe hadn't tormented her enough.
"It's all right, Commander," Leia said. She cleared her throat. "Varica Econa and I grew up together, in the high court."
"Baroness Varica Econa," Mon Mothma said, as if remembering someone from another lifetime. "I remember her being there, when I would come to see your father. Striking young woman."
Leia nodded.
"I don't recall seeing her in recent years," Mon Mothma said.
"She became Alderaan's Finance Minister, very briefly," Leia said. "Then she was reassigned, and became our Ambassador to Commenor."
"Difficult assignment," Willard commented. "Alderaan and Commenor have had chilled relations for decades."
Leia swallowed. "All academic now."
A silence settled over the table. As though the hollowness in Leia's core had expanded to engulf the room.
Dodonna looked down at his weathered hands. "There are no words. I just hope you know how profoundly sorry we all are."
Leia nodded again. It occurred to her that she had not cried since just after it had happened. When she had sat on the steel bench in her detention cell, cradling her head in her hands, and feeling as if it too would explode.
Leia sighed, and pulled her thoughts back into the present. "I'll set up her extraction and handle the negotiations. But it would be best if some or all of you were present at the meeting. Varica and I have always had very different philosophies. With all that has happened - with our past history together - I think we would all benefit from other, more objective perspectives."
"So it shall be, then," Mon Mothma said. "If Ambassador Econa has what she claims to have, it would be exactly what we need to bring the Alliance to the next level. We must do everything possible to make an agreement."
"Agreed," Leia said. She would definitely need to sleep before having that conversation.
"Good," Dodonna said. He smiled cautiously. "And have you had an opportunity to pass along our business proposal to your friend the smuggler?"
Leia put her face into her hands.
IV.
"I ain't got time to discuss any non-profit work with you, sister," Han Solo said, hooking his thumbs into his gunbelt. He stood on the temple hangar deck in front of the Millennium Falcon's open gangway. All around them, rebel crews hustled about, loading every last important belonging into their motley collection of transports and freighters.
"Maybe you didn't hear," he said, "but the guys who built that battle station we just lit up-got friends. And those friends got ships. Lots of them."
"So why wait around?" Leia asked.
Han looked beyond her head, craning to scan every corner of the hangar area. "Waiting on the damn fuel truck." He came down off his toes and refocused on Leia. "It's been great, Princess, but Chewie and me gotta gas and go." He fixed her with a brazen smile. "Maybe you could put in a good word for us. Bump us to the top of the heap?"
Leia smiled regretfully. "I wish I could, Captain. But Alliance ships have to receive first priority."
Han's brows narrowed. "Yeah, yeah, I see how it is. Do whatever job it is you have in mind or be the very last ship off this rock-right?"
"So you do want to hear our offer."
"Forget it. Me and the Wook contributed more to your revolution in two days than most of these guys will in a lifetime. Now I didn't get greedy and take extra for helping the kid blow that thing-
"Because we refused your demands," Leia interjected.
-so you do your part," Han continued, "and get us fueled up on the quick time. It ain't asking much."
Leia sighed. "Hear me out on the proposition."
"Fuel me up."
Leia crossed her arms. "I can't prioritize non-Alliance ships. Especially when there's a fuel shortage."
Han snorted and shook his head. "You rebels can't negotiate worth a-
His head whipped up sharply. "How big of a shortage?"
Leia shrugged. "I don't know to the liter, but I know the General thinks we may have to leave some of the older ships behind. I'm not sure where that leaves you." She looked over the Falcon appraisingly and frowned. "Even if you do join."
Han gritted his teeth and pointed his index finger at her. "I need that fuel."
Leia took his hand in both of hers. "Then join us."
Han's face softened for a moment. Then he pulled his hand away. "This is no way to start a partnership."
"Then how about starting at five percent?" Leia asked.
"Five percent of what?"
"Five percent of the purchase price of all black market goods you procure for the Alliance."
Han's eyes lit up, then narrowed. "You idealists really are out of touch," he said. "Finder's fee is ten percent standard."
"But with us, your work will be constant," Leia reminded him. "And with our success against the Death Star, our ranks will grow by leaps and bounds. You'll be supplying an army. Think of it."
Han was nodding in spite of himself. "I'm interested," he said. "But I ain't signing up. I'll be an independent contractor. Same as before."
Leia shook her head. "You can't be part of our operation and not be a member."
"Then count me out."
"Come on, Han. We checked you out. You can barely work on the fringe because of the bounty from the Hutts, and now your involvement at the Death Star has made your ship a priority target for the Empire."
Han pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "How big of a priority?"
"A million credits big."
Han's eyes went wide. "No way."
"I'm afraid so. But that's only the half of it. Literally."
"Please. Don't say it."
"Jabba matched the offer," she said regretfully. "You know how proud the Hutts can be."
Han swore and marched up the Falcon's ramp. He stopped midway and spun around. "I am really starting to hate you people," he said. "I shoulda told the kid and the old man to kiss off back in Mos Eisley and gone about my business."
"But you didn't, and now you're a hero. I'm very sorry."
"Yeah. I'm sorry, too."
"You have nowhere else to go, Han. You need our protection-
Han's eyes blazed.
-our support," Leia quickly corrected. "And we need you, too. Come on. We'll make it worth your while."
Han came back down the ramp and stood toe to toe with Leia. He glared down at her, and she looked straight back at him, cool and totally unintimidated. Han felt simultaneous and conflicting impulses to hit her and kiss her. Just like the start of every other shipwreck relationship I've ever had.
Han pushed that notion out of his mind. It was one thing to get stuck joining up for business reasons, but he'd be damn sure not to make any personal attachments with these philanthropic whack jobs. As soon as he staked enough to pay off Jabba he'd be a distant memory.
"Fine, Your Worship. Sign me up."
Leia nodded. "Wonderful."
"Yeah, wonderful." Han shook his head, and then his roguish smile returned. "You're not a bad negotiator, but you've still got a lot to learn. You're just lucky I was already thinking about the financial benefits of sticking around."
"I'm sure you're right."
"Always, sister." He leaned in closer. "Stick with me and maybe you'll pick up a few things."
Her face betrayed annoyance. "I look forward to it."
Han put a hand on his chest and bowed at the waist. Leia shook her head and walked away. She waved at a passing hover-tanker and it pulled up alongside her. She gestured to the Falcon and the driver nodded. He maneuvered over to Falcon and Han met him as he hopped down from the cab.
"What kept you?" Han asked.
The crewman answered as he unhooked the large hoses for fueling. "You kidding? Every ship we have has to lift off today. They're running me ragged."
Han clapped him on the back. "Hey, nothing personal, pal. I just want to make sure we get our share of the gas before you run dry."
The crewman latched the coupler to the Falcon's fuel port. "Well, no worries there. We took on fuel right before the battle. Enough to last us three months. Now we're gonna end up leaving most of it behind. Damn shame, really."
Han's jaw dropped and he turned to watch Leia's small figure recede into the crowds of people hurrying about the base. Embarrassed anger welled up inside him.
He took a deep breath, blew it out sharply, and smiled.
Oh, you'll pay for that, sweetheart.
V.
Armand Isard flicked his wrist, lightly tossing a datapad across his enormous black marble desk. It slid to a halt in front of the raven haired young woman sitting across from him.
"Another one," he said.
She picked it up.
"Read the headline," he said.
"Palpatine Murders Defenseless Billions."
"And the byline."
She looked back down at the pad. "Voices of Reason Drive a Coward to Genocide."
He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
"It's drivel," she said.
"You're not here to critique."
"Then why am I here?"
Isard glared at her.
Her mismatched eyes - one blue, one red - met his glare unflinchingly.
"You told me you addressed this, Ysanne. I need to be able to count on your word."
Ysanne quelled the urge to fire back at him. Her jaw worked for a moment, and then she answered levelly. "I located the last scandal nest inside of a day and turned it inside out. The entire staff of that rag is now enjoying the ministrations of our interrogation droids."
"And yet I read more of their lies. Are you sure you found the right traitors?"
"It's a rather large galaxy, Director," she bit out. "Did you consider that there may be more than one basement worth of miscreants out there?"
His face reddened with anger, but instead of eviscerating her, he smiled. "Naturally. But a father must keep his offspring on her toes."
She sighed with a sharp exhale. These patronizing exercises were growing as tiresome as they were insulting. She doubted that he was truly playing with her and testing her responses. He was genuinely blaming her for not instantly extinguishing all holonet dissent against the Empire, and wouldn't acknowledge the absurdity of that until she waved it under his nose.
"So then," he said. "How will you handle this next batch?"
Ysanne scanned the text. "Based on the overtly earnest style of ranting, I'd say they're more Alderaanian survivors."
Isard shook his head. "I fear we may be going through this exercise for months to come."
And you'll blame me for that. As he had taught her to do with others, she would manage his expectations.
"Years, more likely. I just got the vetted figures back from the Census Ministry."
"And?"
"Forty-thousand Alderaanians are confirmed as being off-world at the time of the planet's destruction."
He closed his eyes. "They'll be sniveling for decades."
"I agree. It's exhausting to even contemplate." Particularly since you'll have me mopping up after them instead of focusing on the actual rebel threat.
Isard opened his eyes and leaned forward. Ysanne knew by his expression that he had just struck on an idea. She cleared the propaganda piece from her datapad and prepared to start taking notes. He might not be the paragon she had believed him to be in her youth, but when it came to the ideas—the concepts and strategies of intelligence—he was absolutely a force to be reckoned with.
His voice was distant with thought. "Refugee camps. Mandatory internment." He turned in his high-backed chair to look out of the viewport. His view of the Imperial Palace was stunning, but he had long chosen not to keep his offices within it. "Alderaan had become the epicenter of the rebellion. Her citizens were unfriendly to the New Order. Patriotic backlash against the survivors will be fierce."
He turned back to her. "We must collect them all." He smiled. "For their own protection."
"What about the Alderaanians serving amongst our forces?"
He considered for a moment. "Round them up as well. There aren't many of them, and we can't risk having compromised soldiers - especially now."
Ysanne nodded. "I'll add them to the list and begin immediately."
"Delegate it. I need you on the scandal rags."
Ysanne's chin came up. "I'll do both. This is too important."
He shook his head. "It's a simple matter of having regional governors send out troops to gather the Alderaanians. Our sweeps will surely miss a few troublemakers who will continue to sow doubt amongst the Emperor's subjects. Each time one group flares up, I need you at the ready to stamp it out."
Ysanne had no intention of delegating the assignment, but there would be no gain from arguing the point with him. "Very well."
"And forward me a copy of that census list."
"Yes, sir," she said.
Isard's comm system pinged. "Yes?" he asked.
"Excuse me, Director," a man's voice said. "We've intercepted a communication coming out of Commenor that you'll want to see."
Isard turned to his monitor as the data queued up on his screen. His jaw dropped. "Is this Econa's claim even possible?"
There was a moment's hesitation. "Yes, sir. The transfer was made immediately after the Alderaan incident. Because it went to the Corporate Sector, we were unable to intervene."
Isard punched the desk. The relationship between the Galactic Empire and the Corporate Sector was complicated, and until the rebellion was crushed, the Emperor seemed to be putting any plans to assert himself on hold.
Ysanne studied her census data. "I sorted the survivor list by highest governmental rank. After Leia Organa, the next name is Baroness Varica Econa."
"What do you know of her?"
"She was their ambassador on Commenor. Beyond that, this is the first mention of her I've come across."
"Become an expert on her. Immediately."
She pushed back her chair and stood. "I'm on it. Who do we have in the Commenor system that can take custody of her?"
Under normal circumstances, they could just send in a squad of stormtroopers, but given the stakes here, they needed someone from their own ranks who they could trust to bring her in alive.
Isard called up a report. His back straightened and his level of tension rose a notch. "Agent Moss."
Ysanne winced. There were some harsh people serving under her father, but most of them she felt she could reason with, or at least exert control over. After encountering Moss in debriefings several times, she still had no idea what made the man tick. She just knew the vicious force he always found it necessary to deliver.
She spoke carefully. "This is a little delicate for him. Isn't there another asset we could call on?"
He shook his head. "Not without an extra day's delay. We can't risk it." He exhaled slowly. "I agree that Moss is not known for this type of work, but he's loyal to me. He'll do as I say."
She nodded.
He tapped out the order and sent it over the net. "He's been dispatched. I want you to meet him at Folor in two days and take possession of Econa."
She eyed him questioningly. "You don't want him to bring her all the way in?"
"Loyal or not, the man isn't entirely sound. And she's Alderaanian royalty, armed with a massive grudge. If she also has their traditional ability to run off at the mouth..." He looked at his daughter warily.
"No one knows how easily a man like Moss can be provoked."
VI.
A Lambda-class shuttle dropped from the belly of the Imperial Star Destroyer Accuser. Its wings folded downward into its three-point deployment as it headed for Commenor's atmosphere.
Sitting on a cushioned bench in the main hold, Lieutenant Tycho Celchu gently tugged at the stiff collar of his grey dress uniform. He was the commander of a TIE fighter squadron, and was rarely expected to wear his formal naval uniform. But given the tragedy at Alderaan, his wing commander had strongly urged him to take shore leave, and officers on shore leave were expected to make a professional impression.
And he was not the only one taking advantage of Commenor's facilities. He was packed in shoulder to shoulder with officers from every department on the ship. Most seemed very much at ease. Smiles and low laughter came easily, and they were clearly anxious to dive into whatever degree of debauchery they thought they could get away with planetside.
It had been six days since his home world's destruction. But onboard the Accuser, it was just a report. A news byte. A major one to be sure, but since so many of his countrymen were pacifists, it was rare for Alderaanians to be in the service. He knew of no other Alderaanians on the ship, so there was no one he could relate to on the unprecedented subject.
Tycho had actually been speaking to his family via holonet video feed when the planet was destroyed. For days afterward, he fought the absurd temptation to dial up his home and reestablish the channel. It seemed like it should have been that easy.
The men in his squadron discussed Alderaan regularly-conspiracy theories about the true motives behind its destruction, who would benefit the most-but just as quickly the conversation would shift to sports or women. Each topic was of no more concern than the other.
If anyone bothered to remember Tycho's heritage, they usually had the good sense to move any Alderaan talk to another room. He knew there were those men in the Imperial service who saw Alderaanians as weak, idealistic nerfs. They would shed no tears on her behalf, and worse yet, may have even taken amusement from the event.
Tycho had functioned in a numbed haze for those first five days, interacting-and listening-as little possible. This isolationist behavior was almost certainly what had prompted his commander to insist he take some time off.
Tycho had agreed, but it wasn't until he actually stepped onto the shuttle that he realized he had nowhere to go, in the absolute worst possible sense.
I can never go home again.
That realization cored him hollow. His stomach clenched and his chest felt like someone was standing on it.
As the shuttle bounced gently through Commenor's atmosphere, he felt a panic try to engulf him. He clasped his hands together in his lap, and focused on breathing, and nothing else. It was about the only task he could handle at the moment. He knew if he could keep it together for another few minutes, he could walk off the shuttle, check into a hotel, close the door behind him, and disintegrate into grief. It was all just a few minutes away.
"I'm just glad to be taking leave on a core world," one officer said from across the small hold. He recognized the man as Lieutenant Raynor from gunnery. "I was supposed to take leave on Alderaan next week, but my travel agent said all the rooms were long gone."
Several men laughed. Tycho kept his eyes on the deck.
"Terrible shame though," Raynor said. He grinned and snapped his fingers. "You've all heard that recycling efforts will continue in the Alderaan system, right?"
Some of the men chuckled in anticipation of the joke.
"Apparently, you can take a vacuum-frozen Alderaanian and use him for-
Tycho lunged across the hold and grabbed the black clad officer by the throat. Before anyone else could react, he hauled Raynor off the bench and slammed him into the bulk head. As Raynor gurgled and tried to pry Tycho's fingers loose, the other officers got past their momentary shock and intervened. It took three men to wrestle Tycho back to his side of the hold.
"What the hell is your problem?" Raynor rasped, rubbing his throat. He made to move in on Tycho, but his comrades held him in place. Tycho was being held down in a sitting position by his shoulders, his chest sharply rising and falling. Tears ran down his face, but his blue eyes were hard and bright with rage.
An authoritative voice cut through the fervor. It was a commander, and the only man who had not gotten to his feet after the fight broke out. He spoke impatiently from his seat. "Well he's obviously an Alderaanian, you imbecile."
Raynor glared daggers at Tycho. "I don't give a damn what he is. He-
"Shut your mouth, now," the commander said. He now rose to his feet and walked up to Raynor. "And if you don't call me sir the next time you address me, I'll finish what he started."
Raynor's eyes fell to his boots. "Yes, sir."
The ship shuttered gently as the landing skids touched the deck. The pilot announced over the intercom that they had landed on Commenor.
The commander turned to Tycho. "And as for you, Lieutenant. You need to develop a thick skin promptly. Remain here a moment." He addressed the other men. "The rest of you are dismissed. Do not embarrass our ship while you're here. Go."
The gangway ramp opened and the officers filed out silently. Tycho remained seated.
The commander exhaled sharply. "You're an Imperial soldier from a rebel planet. You had better get used to the insults. They won't stop anytime soon, and the next time a fight breaks out, I can guarantee you'll be brought up on charges."
"It's only been six days, sir," Tycho said. "How can I be expected-
"Six days, six years-it doesn't matter. No one in this fleet has a speck of sympathy for dead rebels. And you need to make a quick peace with that fact, or you'll have a very serious problem."
Tycho felt sick again. "Sir, may I have your leave to go?"
The pilot emerged from the cockpit. There was a strange intensity about him. "Commander, an order was just issued that you'll want to see."
The commander pointed at Tycho. "Wait here." He joined the pilot and disappeared into the cockpit.
How can this be my life now? I'm a decorated pilot and a loyal officer.
He closed his eyes and focused again on his breathing.
A few moments later, he heard footfalls approaching, and opened his eyes.
The commander held a pistol in one hand, and shackles in the other.
"On your feet, Lieutenant."
"Sir?"
"Now," he said sharply.
Tycho stood.
"Turn around slowly."
Tycho continued facing him. "Sir, what am I-
"I'm not one of your peace-loving cousins, boy. Turn the hell around right now or I'll burn you down."
Tycho turned around and faced the grey bulkhead.
I won't live this way.
"Put your hands on your head."
He did so.
"By general order 266, all Alderaanians serving in the Imperial military are to be placed under arrest."
Tycho felt the first shackle close around his right wrist.
He whipped his elbow back hard, cracking the commander's nose and sending him reeling backward.
The commander staggered and then found his footing. He swung his gun around to bear on Tycho. Tycho crossed the hold instantly and made a deflection jab that knocked the gun hand away. The blaster shot went wide, but was deafening in the small hold. He snapped a kick into the commander's knee, dropping him to the deck. A vicious punch in the temple laid him out cold on the deck.
Tycho dropped down on one knee and picked up the pistol just as the pilot came running out of the cockpit, blaster drawn. On instinct, Tycho fired.
The blaster had been set to kill, and a ruby bolt ignited the man's black tunic into flame. He made a gurgled cough that brought up blood and steam, and then collapsed to the deck.
Tycho stood for a moment, chest pounding, waiting for any other attackers. After several seconds, no one else came. He cautiously moved into the cockpit. There were no other crewmen onboard. He saw that the shuttle control board had been locked down.
He stepped back over to the downed pilot and checked for a pulse, but there was nothing.
I have to get out of here.
He tucked the pistol in his belt, pulled his officer's cap back on, and walked briskly down the shuttle's gangway.
To be continued...