Authors Note: This is the lamentably long delayed sequel of Heirs of an Empire. Reason for the delay is I wanted the story to be as good as it could be before posting. Sorry for any discontent and anger at how long it's been.
Star Wars: The Courtship of Peace
Chapter 1: The Delegation
The flight of Star Destroyers entered the space around Coruscant. One Imperial-Class Star Destroyer, followed by three Victory-Class Star Destroyers. The Star Destroyer in the lead was called "The Imperial Pride". And in the bridge of the Star Destroyer, standing with hands behind his back, was Grand Moff Tyron, leader of the Moff Council, and political head of the Galactic Empire.
Imperial Year 39. After Battle of Yavin Year 17.
It didn't matter what way one looked at the calendar. This was still a momentous year for the galaxy. This was a momentous day in the history of the galaxy. This was a day of humbling for the vaunted Galactic Empire. A dark day indeed.
Moff Tyron had worked endlessly over the past seven weeks to set up this peace conference. During this time, a truce had reined, broken only by the occasional fire fight in the disputed territories between the Empire and the hated New Republic. If nothing else, the time had allowed the Empire to lick its wounds. Take a breather. Allow its valiant men and women to rest from almost constant struggle. If anything else, they had earned this break.
But should the war resume, he knew it would last only one way. With the death of the Galactic Empire. The New Order would become lost. And Palpatine's dream of a unified empire would be lost forever. It was a dream that must not be allowed to die.
Oh yes, this was called "peace". And if this was peace, it was a bitter cup.
As he stood lost in thought, a voice broke the silence. In the control center below the main walkway of the bridge, a navigation officer called out, "Arriving at Imperial Center."
"Coruscant," Moff Tyron said loudly, that way everyone on the bridge could hear him, "Imperial Center is no more. Let us call this planet by its rightful name."
There was a momentary hesitation. "Yes sir," the nav officer replied.
Yes, some things would have to be sacrificed if peace was ever to be. Even Imperial Center.
"Request permission for Grand Moff Tyron and peace envoy to approach planetary surface," Tyron commanded and the communication officer went about requesting.
On his right side was a man, not even a full six feet in length, with brown hair, cropped short. Derk Grant, General in the Imperial Army. On the other side of Tyron was a man of normal stature, with hair and a white mustache trimmed with meticulous detail. Supreme Commander Gilead Pealleon, the senior most member of the Imperial Fleet. And leaning against a wall on the other side of the bridge was Moff Dray. His brown hair was speckled with white. His face pock-marked with his slowly devouring disease; his eyebrows all but gone. Even standing there he labored visibly to breath.
"Look at that," Grant commented; waiving towards the galaxy of stars that surrounded the planet below them, "Last time I saw this was during the Sardonis Campaign two years ago."
"Last time I saw it was when Thrawn reined nearly eight years ago," Pealleon said, shaking his head.
Tyron looked at the two men in turn before saying, "I realize we all would love to reminisce about old glories and past battles, but I want you both to remember, we aren't here as conquering heroes. We are here to beg for the life to the Empire."
"We had fight enough sir," Pealleon said defensively, "We could have won."
Tyron chuckled. Trust the Supreme Commander to be anything but repentant of the past. That most certainly would never change.
"Warriors are always the last to admit change," he quipped, "But do not look upon this as a defeat. We ended this war by our own choosing. We were never forced into it. Our losses had just become too high and unacceptable."
"Yes sir," Pealleon accented, if not convinced.
"Permission had been given," the communications officer reported, "You may precede when ready."
Tyron took one last look out the window at the planet city below. So many things could have been done differently. So many mistakes that could have been avoided. He closed his eyes and reprimanded himself. Mooning of the past would serve no one. And with a sigh, he turned on his heel.
"Prepare our shuttle," he said, and with that, he and the officers began to head down the bridge towards the corridor that would lead towards the turbolift. As they passed him by, Dray also fell in beside them, limping slightly, and doing his best to hide the obvious discomfort he was feeling.
Three entire squadrons of TIE Fighters flew in formation in front of the shuttle; their formation also known as "box formation". And in front of that formation was an entire wing of TIE Interceptors flying in a V formation. They passed in between a corridor made of Mon Calamari Cruisers, Corellian gunships, and Nebulon-B freighters. On either side of the TIE Squadrons flew a squadron, one side composed of an X-Wing Squadron and the other side an A-Wing Squadron. In front of all this flew a Y-Wing fighter, along with a B-Wing and a V-Wing. These two Honor Guards flew the shuttle down towards the planet and towards the shuttle landing pad near the Senate Building.
"All this pomp and ceremony," Grant said from his corner of the shuttle, his arms crossed and an infinite frown seeming to crease his forehead, "It's a waste of time."
"Let them do so," Tyron replied, looking out as two squadrons of X-Wings performed a massive X maneuver in the sky as they descended into the atmosphere, each squadron making up one of the two horizontal lines.
"They need this armistice as much as we do," Dray said, holding a hand to his forehead in discomfort, "They have an empire to stabilize. We need to do the same."
"Their 'empire' as you so call it," Pealleon smirked, "Will not last fifty years. The Empire though, will last forever."
"Forever is a long time Admiral," Tyron pointed out, "All we need to do is focus on the here and now."
The skyliners of the city rose like teeth of a many toothed dragon. And in between these teeth flew massive lines of sky traffic that stretched out for as long as the eye could see. But, it was something of note that there was an absence of all civilian traffic through the section of space that they were descending into.
In the distance they saw it rise. The domed Senate Hall. A magnificent sight if ever there was one. As they drew closer, Tyron saw what must have been an entire legion of troops in parade ground formation. Pilot orange. Forest infantry green. Snow infantry white. Grey mechanic. Brown furred wookie. They seemed to surround the Senate Building itself in a living shield.
"Are they trying to impress us?" Pealleon asked with a frown, "Or are they intending on killing us?"
"Indeed," Grant muttered, "They've got enough firepower down there to kill us a hundred times over."
"Do not worry my untrusting warriors," Dray soothed, knowing exactly what to say, "They just want us to see their might and splendor. Or, look at it this way. We are so powerful they need that many people to kill us."
Grant let out a long laugh. "Indeed!"
"All I see is the promise of unending war," Pealleon muttered.
"That's why I was elected to lead the Empire," Tyron said with a laugh, slapping him on the back, "And not you."