Chapter One
Ploughing through the abyss of space, the Imperial Star Destroyer Prince turned its arrowhead prow towards the distinctive orb of a grey planet like a shark tasting the irresistible scent of blood. Just like any predator whose whole existence revolved around the hunt, it prepared to gorge itself on the flesh of its prey.
"The informer confirms that both Lor San Tekka and his Republic contact are still in the village." The officer's voice echoed through the bridge, high and tight from nerves. He could not have been long past twenty, the telltale marks of puberty still disfiguring the skin of his face.
The Empire would not have allowed such an untested youth to sit a bridge station, not when it could call upon the experience of a million other officers. However, the Prince had not flown beneath the banner of the Empire for almost thirty years, and its crew had never attended an Imperial naval academy. For good or ill, he was of a new breed dedicated to a purer form of discipline.
"Very good," Armitage Hux declared with a smile. Turning to his side, the general fixed his eyes on a soldier in chrome armour. "Captain Phasma, prepare your men. Supreme Leader Snoke wants this affair dealt with as quickly as possible."
Phasma would have been an oddity in the ranks of the Empire: a woman who chose to take the path of the stormtrooper over that of a naval officer. However, all on the Prince knew to fear and respect her in equal measure. It had been her leadership which saw them provided with a corp of stormtroopers surpassing even their own predecessors in ferocity. She had been the one to oversee the training facilities on the desolate wastelands of Amaic and Coruga, planets that could not be colonised by any sane citizen.
The soldier, looking more bear than woman in her personal suit of battle armour, inclined her head. "It will be done," an amplified voice responded, measured and feminine.
Armitage did not watch the stormtrooper leave, satisfying himself with listening to the distinctive click of her boots striking the bridge's floor. Instead he looked out of the view panels at the fore of his command centre, his eyes narrowing towards the planet before them.
Jakku. It was more graveyard than planet. Jakku was the resting place of his father's hopes of a galaxy untouched by the cancer of woe. It was here that the Empire had died, almost thirty years ago. Here, on and above a world more junk than rock, and more rock than anything of worth. Here was where the realisations of a trillion dreams for peace and safety had been shattered. Jakku was the graveyard of the Empire.
The rebels had carved out themselves a realm of anarchy on the back of the Battle of Endor, feasting like carrion on planets longing for the comfort of Imperial authority. Infecting once good systems with their deceits the rebellion and its allies spread like an untended flame for three years. By the time the admirals and moffs had found themselves truly comprehending the threat posed by the rebellion, the Core Worlds were already beginning to face down the danger of X-Wing squadrons flying victory parades over their skies.
And so, it was on the shoulders of Grand Admiral Rae Sloane that the hopes of ten thousand worlds under rebel occupation rested. With the remnants of almost twenty Sector Groups and commanding from the Imperial Star Dreadnought Ravager, Sloane presented the rebels with the largest single formation of Imperial might ever seen. The battle should have been theirs for the taking, the rebels even at this stage unable to match such a complete massing of military industry. And yet victory slipped through Rae's fingers.
She had waited too long above the desolate planet, teasing out the trail of her whereabouts so that more Imperial forces could reach her for the confrontation. Eventually the other admirals became impatient, paranoid as the rebels were led to one Imperial stronghold after another without coming close to discovering their awaiting doom above the skies of Jakku. Fearing that the Grand Admiral was only interested in ridding herself of rivals for the Imperial throne, soon conspiracies of desertion and even outright defection became the talk of ship captains throughout the once proud Imperial fleet.
The talk was so prolific, so tightly gripping the officers under her command, that when the rebels finally appeared, with a fleet so large that it could cast Jakku in eternal night by itself, it was not a single Imperial force that confronted it but rather a hundred factions waiting their chance to escape. And escape they did.
"Are any ships attempting to approach us?" Hux asked his command crew, his voice carrying over the soft purr of activity.
It took a moment for an officer to inform him that they indeed had not drawn the interest of any other vessel, whether it be a local patrol craft asking for clearance or braindead traders hoping to make a quick exchange of their grey market goods. That, at the least, was an unexpected blessing of the carnage inflicted upon the galaxy by the rebellion. When Rae's forces finally conceded defeat to the rebels following her death and fled to the Unknown Region, it opened up three years of Imperial infighting. Admirals became claimants to the Imperial Throne overnight, and moffs ruled as monarchs over their worlds. The feuding between the new-born warlords and the rebellion saw nine of every ten warships once flying under the Imperial banner obliterated or damaged beyond repair as they fought to the death in the name of a hundred splinter realms. Even now, the New Republic and her vassal worlds could scarce muster up enough ships to give a third of their systems the same level of protection afforded them by the Empire.
As such Jakku truly was undefended, simply one stop out of a thousand for a weary and long absent Republican squadron. There would be no opposition to the arrival of their forces. And that was a telling story in and of itself. Jakku sat firmly within the Inner Rim, the thick band of systems whose sole distinction to Imperial records were its breeding grounds of dissent that would rival that of the Outer Rim in terms of appeal. It was a home world of the rebellion, the closest the so-called New Republic could call one of its founding members. The Empire had once filled the skies of such worlds with their presence, eager for the industry that they possessed. To have such a weak naval might that even one such world could go without a demonstration of control made Hux eager for the coming invasion of the First Order to reclaim what had been lost.
"General Hux."
Even without turning, the young commander knew who it was that addressed him. The synthetic voice seemed to buzz, as if sand had gotten lodged into the amplifier he wore. No one else aboard the Prince sounded like that. Not even Phasma's personal command of stormtroopers, whose perpetually-worn helmets had turned their voices into wet gravel.
"Lord Ren," Armitage answered with informal satisfaction. "Jakku lays defenceless before us."
"And Lor San?"
Lord Ren did not move to join Hux against the bridge screen, instead remaining at a distance down the command deck. The general almost smiled, knowing the posture he was sure the black-clad man used as he did he was attempting to be authoritative. The Supreme Leader had an interesting choice in who he accepted into his close counsel.
"The elder is still in a meeting with a Republic pilot. They will not know we are onto them before it is too late to flee." Of that he was certain. The chrome clad captain preparing their trained assault party would see to it that such a statement became truth.
The answer seemed to satisfy the Supreme Leader's pet, who responded by allowing a silence to linger between them. He was not a man of many words Armitage had discovered, when he was first forced to ferry Lord Ren from one former Imperial world to the next as they sought out the threads that would point them towards Skywalker. Not when things were as they were supposed to be, at least. And the general ensured that things were as they were supposed to be.
It was a state that both men were only too happy to agree upon, for there was little else where they could come to the same level of understanding.
"I will lead the assault," Ren finally announced. It sounded dangerously close to a command for Hux's liking.
Even so, it did not come as any great surprise. He was a pet for a reason and chasing after the bones of old men and corrupt organisations was the one thing that Lord Ren seemed adequately suited for. To be caged, even in such a majestic construction as an Imperial Star Destroyer, was something that no hunting beast would accept pacifly for any great deal of time. Armitage found that to be the evidence he needed to support the notion that Ren had no true understanding of the wonderment that went into the building of an Imperial Star Destroyer. Or anything else that had served as the undying symbols of Imperial power.
"Your personal shuttle is already being prepared," Hux replied, a smile of self-praise worming its way across the reflection he saw in the window. "I shall expect a successful mission, just as the Supreme Leader demands."
"You are in no position to make demands," the buzzing voice reminded.
Hux felt himself turning to face the masked figure, his smile gone. Before he could reply, Ren had already mirrored his movement. Instead of standing to defend his words against those of Hux, the man was already running away. It was something he did more often than the First Order general cared to admit. For a moment Armitage thought to speak anyway, to call out after the retreating figure. But the moment was gone, and he was left staring at the vacant bridge entrance.
No subordinate of Hux's command would dare speak to him like that. They had been trained, disciplined to a level that even some Imperial officers had lacked. Not Ren. And not the shadowy band of killers that he commanded. No, their training came from the Supreme Leader himself to hear Ran speak true. And because of that, they were not of the First Order's military, of its chain of command perfected over three decades of enforced exile from the civilised worlds that once knelt before a Star Destroyer and her captain.
Casting the mongrel to the back of his mind, General Hux allowed himself to properly savour the moment. For too long they had been exiles from the galaxy they by all rights of the universe should control. Too long, that he had been raised in the darkest fringes of civilisation without once looking upon the worlds built by the pride of the Empire. It might be too late for him. Too late for the memory of the Empire to mean anything to him beyond a cause worth dying for. In this moment, however, he could feel how his father did all those decades past. Now, as a company of warriors prepared to visit death upon their foes, he felt the power of being the one to give the command.
"General," the unshaved officer said with a noticeable apprehension in his voice. "Captain Phasma is ready."
Armitage allowed himself to forget about the Supreme Leader and his pet beast, drawing in a heavy lungful of air that had the scent of promised victory. This is my moment. "Commence the assault."
Soon, sooner than the rebels would think, he would give that command and the New Republic would die.