Author's note: I welcome reviews, as long as they are intelligent. Unconstructive criticism will be sauteed and eaten in a wine sauce.
I've probably played havoc with the actual, "official" Star Wars universe, but don't nitpick, OK?
Also, there are no Rebels in this part. Thay show up in Part 2. I reserve this section for everyone's favourite bad guys.
Part 1: The Empire
The Imperial Star Destroyer Villainy cut smoothly through the mass of civilian traffic surrounding the Imperial throne world of Coruscant. As the Villainy settled into orbit, a small shuttle dropped from its docking bay, unfolded its wings, and sped towards the planet.
Inside the shuttle, the pilot leaned over the comm. "Coruscant Control, this is Imperial shuttle Praetorium requesting immediate docking clearance for the Palace."
"Copy that, Praetorium," a bored voice came back. "Uh, I'm afraid you're in for a bit of a wait. We've got a great number of ships docking at the Palace today. Something to do with a big Imperial reception. Very prestigious."
"Look, Control," the pilot snapped. "I don't care if the Emperor is holding a reception attended by God Himself. My passenger needs to meet with His Majesty - right now! So may I - please - have docking clearance?"
"You just keep a civil tongue in your head, my friend or I'll put you in a holding pattern until you fall out of the sky. The important people get to dock first; then we can deal with your little ship. Who do you think you're carrying, anyway - Darth Vader?"
The pilot's voice became cheerful. "Yes, Control, that's exactly who I'm carrying." He typed in some numbers. "These would be his personal clearance codes."
There was a long, long pause. Then, the controller's voice came back. It was very quiet. "Clearance granted, Praetorium, for Docking Bay 2, Level 443, Tower 78. I think I'll spend my lunch break writing out my will."
"Enjoy yourself, Control. Praetorium out."
As the shuttle prepared to land in front of the monumental Imperial Palace, Lord Darth Vader sat in the passenger compartment and wondered to himself, How do I explain this? How can you explain that you've let a battle station the size of a moon get blown up out from under you? And, most importantly, How do I get out of this alive? Vader knew perfectly well what the Emperor's reaction would be, and it wouldn't be pretty. He sighed and resolved to place the blame on Governor Tarkin. He wasn't alive anymore to defend himself, anyway…
A sudden thump roused him out of his musings. The shuttle had landed.
Vader stalked through the lavish hallways of the Palace. An aide had informed him that Emperor Palpatine was in the Grand Reception Hall. Vader arrived at the Hall, entered, and stopped dead. The Emperor was there, as the aide had said. What he had failed to mention was that he was in the middle of an enormous party. The Hall was crammed with people, ranging from lowly servants bearing food and drinks on trays, to the top brass of the Imperial Fleet. Palpatine's cronies from big business were there, too, as well as aristocratic snobs from the grand old families of the galaxy. There was a festive mood in the air, although Vader couldn't imagine why. He made his way through the crowd to the Emperor, who smiled and greeted him as he approached.
"Ah, Lord Vader! How delightful to see you! And how good of you to attend this little soirée of mine. It's so thoughtful of you to bring us the good news in person." One of the half-dozen concubines standing by him handed him a glass of wine. He chuckled and sipped at it.
Vader was taken aback. "The good news, my master?"
"Why," the Emperor said, "the news that the Death Star destroyed the Rebel base, of course! That's what this whole party is about! Now, I want details. Were there lots of casualties?"
"Yes Highness, but -"
"And a big explosion?"
"Of course, but -"
"But what?" the Emperor was still smiling, an unattractive, toothy grin.
"But not on their side, my master. It is the Empire who suffered the casualties."
The smile fell off the Emperor's face. "Go on," he said quietly.
Vader got it out as fast as he could. "The Death Star has been destroyed by the Rebels before we could blow up their base. Everyone on board was killed, including Governor Tarkin."
The room was dead quiet. Emperor's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Then, finally, he managed to wheeze, "a space station the size of a moon, and Tarkin let it get blown up by a ragged band of petty criminals?!! That imbecile!! He's lucky he's dead!!!" With that Emperor Palpatine went berserk. Using the Dark Side of the Force, he started tossing fully laden buffet tables through the air, and smashing them against walls, ceiling, and floor. The crowd fled for the exits as the Emperor started shooting lightning bolts from his hands in every direction, all the while howling curses at the late Governor Tarkin. As Vader watched lightning bolts, tables, and Corellian sausage puff hors d'oeuvres fly in every direction, he privately wondered where Palpatine had learned to swear in such astonishingly graphic fashion. Even if Tarkin had been alive, he would have found most of Palpatine's suggestions anatomically impossible, if not morally objectionable. Then, as suddenly as it started, the tantrum was over. Vader and Palpatine stood in the ruined Hall amidst overturned tables and splattered food. The Emperor was as calm as if nothing had happened. "So Lord Vader, how did it happen?"
Vader was equally calm. "Apparently, a small Rebel fighter shot a torpedo into an exhaust port that fed into the main reactor. A catastrophic chain reaction followed."
"I see." Palpatine signalled to one of his red-cloaked Royal Guards. "Get Director Lemelisk in here." The guard bowed and left, returning a moment later with a small, pudgy, nervous-looking man. This was Bevel Lemelisk, Director of Special Weapons Projects, and the driving force behind the Death Star design team. His eyes widened at the sight of the ruined Reception Hall, but then he focussed his attention on Vader and the Emperor. "You wished to see me, Highness? Is something - er- wrong?"
"Yes there is, Lemelisk," Palpatine said dryly. "Remember that nice new Death Star you designed for me? Know anything about something called a thermal exhaust port?"
"Why yes," Lemelisk replied. "It is an integral part of the reactor ventilation--"
"Lemelisk, shut up. Turns out that this thing is just wide enough for a torpedo to fit inside and hit the reactor - which is what happened just a while ago. Isn't that right, Lord Vader?"
"Just yesterday afternoon, my master."
The Emperor continued. "So, you can figure out what happened after that, can't you?"
"Well, let me see - oh. Oh dear."
"Exactly. So, you can see that you should get started on another Death Star - maybe one that's got an exhaust port with a screen on it or something?" The Emperor's voice was very mild.
"Oh, y-yes, Highness," Lemelisk stuttered. "We'll get to work on it r-right away."
Palpatine smiled. "Splendid. But first - " He waved a hand. "Guards, have him tortured and executed, please."
"What!!!" Lemelisk shrieked.
"You didn't really think you'd get off easy for this, did you? Oh, no! You're going to suffer so much you'll wish you never even heard the words 'thermal exhaust port.' Don't worry," he added as the guards dragged the sobbing man out. "We'll have you cloned so you can keep working on the second one. Try not to screw that one up too, Lemelisk." Palpatine turned to Vader. "I want that Rebel base in ruins as fast as humanly possible. Take whatever ships you need. Also, if you can, get that… person who actually shot the torpedo and bring him back here alive. I want to do something really horrible to him, personally."
"Personally, master?"
"Yes, personally!" the Emperor snapped. He continued more quietly, almost to himself, "I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling about this - " He stopped and stared at Vader. "What are you still doing here, Lord Vader?"
"Master?"
The Emperor gave an exasperated sigh. "When I said, 'go blow up the Rebel base', I meant now! I don't pay you to sit around polishing your helmet, so get out of here, get your ships together, and get moving!"
"Of course, my master," Vader bowed. "It shall be done at once."
"Wonderful." The Emperor started to leave, but then turned back to Vader. "Oh, and Lord Vader - "
"Yes, my master?"
"On your way out, call my PR people. I need them to help smooth out this…" he gestured at the ruined banquet Hall, "…'unfortunate incident'. You know, the usual damage control - blame it on the Rebels. That always worked for us before."
He turned and left the room.
Vader watched him go, and then amidst a swirl of his black cloak, started his way back to his shuttle.
He had a Rebel base to kill.
I've probably played havoc with the actual, "official" Star Wars universe, but don't nitpick, OK?
Also, there are no Rebels in this part. Thay show up in Part 2. I reserve this section for everyone's favourite bad guys.
Part 1: The Empire
The Imperial Star Destroyer Villainy cut smoothly through the mass of civilian traffic surrounding the Imperial throne world of Coruscant. As the Villainy settled into orbit, a small shuttle dropped from its docking bay, unfolded its wings, and sped towards the planet.
Inside the shuttle, the pilot leaned over the comm. "Coruscant Control, this is Imperial shuttle Praetorium requesting immediate docking clearance for the Palace."
"Copy that, Praetorium," a bored voice came back. "Uh, I'm afraid you're in for a bit of a wait. We've got a great number of ships docking at the Palace today. Something to do with a big Imperial reception. Very prestigious."
"Look, Control," the pilot snapped. "I don't care if the Emperor is holding a reception attended by God Himself. My passenger needs to meet with His Majesty - right now! So may I - please - have docking clearance?"
"You just keep a civil tongue in your head, my friend or I'll put you in a holding pattern until you fall out of the sky. The important people get to dock first; then we can deal with your little ship. Who do you think you're carrying, anyway - Darth Vader?"
The pilot's voice became cheerful. "Yes, Control, that's exactly who I'm carrying." He typed in some numbers. "These would be his personal clearance codes."
There was a long, long pause. Then, the controller's voice came back. It was very quiet. "Clearance granted, Praetorium, for Docking Bay 2, Level 443, Tower 78. I think I'll spend my lunch break writing out my will."
"Enjoy yourself, Control. Praetorium out."
As the shuttle prepared to land in front of the monumental Imperial Palace, Lord Darth Vader sat in the passenger compartment and wondered to himself, How do I explain this? How can you explain that you've let a battle station the size of a moon get blown up out from under you? And, most importantly, How do I get out of this alive? Vader knew perfectly well what the Emperor's reaction would be, and it wouldn't be pretty. He sighed and resolved to place the blame on Governor Tarkin. He wasn't alive anymore to defend himself, anyway…
A sudden thump roused him out of his musings. The shuttle had landed.
Vader stalked through the lavish hallways of the Palace. An aide had informed him that Emperor Palpatine was in the Grand Reception Hall. Vader arrived at the Hall, entered, and stopped dead. The Emperor was there, as the aide had said. What he had failed to mention was that he was in the middle of an enormous party. The Hall was crammed with people, ranging from lowly servants bearing food and drinks on trays, to the top brass of the Imperial Fleet. Palpatine's cronies from big business were there, too, as well as aristocratic snobs from the grand old families of the galaxy. There was a festive mood in the air, although Vader couldn't imagine why. He made his way through the crowd to the Emperor, who smiled and greeted him as he approached.
"Ah, Lord Vader! How delightful to see you! And how good of you to attend this little soirée of mine. It's so thoughtful of you to bring us the good news in person." One of the half-dozen concubines standing by him handed him a glass of wine. He chuckled and sipped at it.
Vader was taken aback. "The good news, my master?"
"Why," the Emperor said, "the news that the Death Star destroyed the Rebel base, of course! That's what this whole party is about! Now, I want details. Were there lots of casualties?"
"Yes Highness, but -"
"And a big explosion?"
"Of course, but -"
"But what?" the Emperor was still smiling, an unattractive, toothy grin.
"But not on their side, my master. It is the Empire who suffered the casualties."
The smile fell off the Emperor's face. "Go on," he said quietly.
Vader got it out as fast as he could. "The Death Star has been destroyed by the Rebels before we could blow up their base. Everyone on board was killed, including Governor Tarkin."
The room was dead quiet. Emperor's mouth opened and closed a few times, but no sound came out. Then, finally, he managed to wheeze, "a space station the size of a moon, and Tarkin let it get blown up by a ragged band of petty criminals?!! That imbecile!! He's lucky he's dead!!!" With that Emperor Palpatine went berserk. Using the Dark Side of the Force, he started tossing fully laden buffet tables through the air, and smashing them against walls, ceiling, and floor. The crowd fled for the exits as the Emperor started shooting lightning bolts from his hands in every direction, all the while howling curses at the late Governor Tarkin. As Vader watched lightning bolts, tables, and Corellian sausage puff hors d'oeuvres fly in every direction, he privately wondered where Palpatine had learned to swear in such astonishingly graphic fashion. Even if Tarkin had been alive, he would have found most of Palpatine's suggestions anatomically impossible, if not morally objectionable. Then, as suddenly as it started, the tantrum was over. Vader and Palpatine stood in the ruined Hall amidst overturned tables and splattered food. The Emperor was as calm as if nothing had happened. "So Lord Vader, how did it happen?"
Vader was equally calm. "Apparently, a small Rebel fighter shot a torpedo into an exhaust port that fed into the main reactor. A catastrophic chain reaction followed."
"I see." Palpatine signalled to one of his red-cloaked Royal Guards. "Get Director Lemelisk in here." The guard bowed and left, returning a moment later with a small, pudgy, nervous-looking man. This was Bevel Lemelisk, Director of Special Weapons Projects, and the driving force behind the Death Star design team. His eyes widened at the sight of the ruined Reception Hall, but then he focussed his attention on Vader and the Emperor. "You wished to see me, Highness? Is something - er- wrong?"
"Yes there is, Lemelisk," Palpatine said dryly. "Remember that nice new Death Star you designed for me? Know anything about something called a thermal exhaust port?"
"Why yes," Lemelisk replied. "It is an integral part of the reactor ventilation--"
"Lemelisk, shut up. Turns out that this thing is just wide enough for a torpedo to fit inside and hit the reactor - which is what happened just a while ago. Isn't that right, Lord Vader?"
"Just yesterday afternoon, my master."
The Emperor continued. "So, you can figure out what happened after that, can't you?"
"Well, let me see - oh. Oh dear."
"Exactly. So, you can see that you should get started on another Death Star - maybe one that's got an exhaust port with a screen on it or something?" The Emperor's voice was very mild.
"Oh, y-yes, Highness," Lemelisk stuttered. "We'll get to work on it r-right away."
Palpatine smiled. "Splendid. But first - " He waved a hand. "Guards, have him tortured and executed, please."
"What!!!" Lemelisk shrieked.
"You didn't really think you'd get off easy for this, did you? Oh, no! You're going to suffer so much you'll wish you never even heard the words 'thermal exhaust port.' Don't worry," he added as the guards dragged the sobbing man out. "We'll have you cloned so you can keep working on the second one. Try not to screw that one up too, Lemelisk." Palpatine turned to Vader. "I want that Rebel base in ruins as fast as humanly possible. Take whatever ships you need. Also, if you can, get that… person who actually shot the torpedo and bring him back here alive. I want to do something really horrible to him, personally."
"Personally, master?"
"Yes, personally!" the Emperor snapped. He continued more quietly, almost to himself, "I don't know why, but I have a bad feeling about this - " He stopped and stared at Vader. "What are you still doing here, Lord Vader?"
"Master?"
The Emperor gave an exasperated sigh. "When I said, 'go blow up the Rebel base', I meant now! I don't pay you to sit around polishing your helmet, so get out of here, get your ships together, and get moving!"
"Of course, my master," Vader bowed. "It shall be done at once."
"Wonderful." The Emperor started to leave, but then turned back to Vader. "Oh, and Lord Vader - "
"Yes, my master?"
"On your way out, call my PR people. I need them to help smooth out this…" he gestured at the ruined banquet Hall, "…'unfortunate incident'. You know, the usual damage control - blame it on the Rebels. That always worked for us before."
He turned and left the room.
Vader watched him go, and then amidst a swirl of his black cloak, started his way back to his shuttle.
He had a Rebel base to kill.