PROLOGUE
The Empire was born in war, and had been arrogantly proclaimed to be the beginning of a thousand-year-long New Order. Had any of the men who founded such a behemoth cared to read their histories, they would have known that all great empires die from within.
—From The Rise and Fall of the Galactic Empire: Volume III
by Galen Corr, Historian
Imperial Center, Core Worlds, 0 ABY
The darkness that covered the planet-wide metropolis was a living thing. Ebbing and growing with each passing day, swirling around all living creatures, and filling their minds with anger, vanity, greed, and all emotions of the Dark Side of the Force.
On a nameless hill that had once overlooked the city of Cora—the ancient city built by the warlike Taung—the living, breathing heart of both the Empire and the Dark Side stood: The Imperial Palace.
The site of the Palace had once been the site of the Jedi Temple, built to act as a nexus for Light, and as the headquarters of the ancient order of Jedi Knights. Sheev Palpatine, once a senator from Naboo, and now the emperor of the known galaxy, had ordered the Palace built right over the remains of the Temple, as a cruel mockery of everything the Jedi had fought for.
The Grand Vizier of the Empire, Sate Pestage strode into the heart of the darkened palace, flanked by a squad of faceless Imperial Guardsmen, who marched in mute silence behind him.
A turbolift brought he and his Guardsmen up to the pinnacle of the Palace—the Emperor's private quarters.
A pair of Guardsmen stood guard outside the Emperor's quarters, and they crossed their force pikes as Pestage and his Guardsmen approached. "The Emperor will not be disturbed," one of them said, though Pestage couldn't tell which with their helmets on.
"I'm afraid that I have no choice," Pestage said. "Let me pass."
The Guardsmen did not move for a moment, before uncrossing their pikes. "Be it upon your head, Grand Vizier," they warned.
The squad of Guardsmen that had accompanied him refused to go further and waited silently as he stepped through the doorway.
He could not see his emperor, but the darkness and hatred that filled the room showed that he was still here. Pestage fell to his knees, his head low as a show of subservience. "Your Grace," he said, his old thin voice making the words sound even more pathetic.
The Emperor seemed to appear out of the shadows as they receded slightly, revealing that he was sitting in one of the seats of the Jedi Council. "What is it?" He was an old man, and the words sounded benign, though his tone was not. He had given exactingly specific orders that he was not to be disturbed, and was not pleased that anyone would disregard his dictates for any reason.
"A…disaster, Your Grace."
Emperor Sheev Palpatine remained silent, forcing the Vizier to remain silent with the same action. "Explain," he demanded.
"Yes, Your Grace." Pestage stared at the floor as he contemplated how to say what needed to be said. "There is no tact way to say this, Your Grace: Thrawn is alive."
Palpatine was silent, ominously so this time. "How?" he demanded, his voice as deadly as it had ever been.
"The bombing on Nez Peron, Your Grace. The rebellious 'Alliance' has claimed credit for the vicious attack, but the ISB's questioning of the bomber's family indicates that he had no love for the Alliance—and they were extremely…thorough, in their interrogation, Your Grace.
"One of the Navy's task groups operating in the Outer Rim was ambushed and destroyed by a light cruiser and two escorts—something Thrawn has proven himself is capable of innumerable times." Pestage swallowed, before continuing, "And, only one day ago, a Navy battlegroup was ambushed in a trap so convoluted that I am astounded. And the precise timing it must have required…"
"What of the battlegroup?"
"It was lost with all hands, Your Grace."
"The alien has brought the ruin of his people by attacking us so blatantly," the Emperor said coldly.
Pestage shifted a little, not relishing delivering the final bits of information. "The most damning evidence, Your Grace, has just been received from a Navy dreadnought operating in the Outer Rim: The commanding officer has positively identified Thrawn."
Palpatine sensed his Grand Vizier was holding back one last piece of information. "And?"
Pestage flinched. "And Thrawn is operating as an Alliance admiral, Your Grace."
There was no sound, not even breathing, and no words escaped the Emperor's throat for a moment. Then, with an audible crack, Palpatine stood upright and lashed out with the Force in a rare loss of control.
Pestage cowered in terror as Palpatine sent a shockwave rebounding around the room, blowing chairs and tables to metallic splinters. He himself was picked up off of his feet a moment later by an invisible hand, suspended in mid-air while he struggled to breathe.
"An Alliance admiral?" Palpatine's tone was sickening. Nearly as sickening as the snap of Pestage's vertebrae, as he was slammed into a wall.
Palpatine relished the pain, fear, and shock in the Grand Vizier's dying moments, letting it feed his power for a moment. He released his invisible grip on Pestage, and the dead man fell to the floor.
Palpatine walked past the crumpled body, returning himself to his seat. He depressed a stud with the Force and began speaking in a tone that would let whoever had the unfortunate duty of answering his hail know that he was not in a good mood: "Get me Grand Admiral Grunger."
"Yes, Your Grace," the fear-filled voice responded quickly.
A moment later, another voice answered over the comlink built into the chair, "This is Grunger, Your Grace."
Palpatine recognized the voice of Grand Admiral Josef Grunger, even without the confirmation. Grunger commanded the Imperial Navy's First Sector Group, which was tasked with protecting the Core Worlds. Prior to the revelation of Thrawn's treason, the task had been entirely unwarranted. Now Palpatine wondered if one sector group was enough to hold the alien in the Outer Rim.
"Double the Home Fleet," Palpatine snapped into the comm pickup.
For a moment, there was complete silence from the other end of the line while Grunger scrambled to think. "As you command, Your Grace," he said after a moment.
Palpatine cut the comlink channel with a mental flick of the switch, switching it to a new channel just as quickly with the Force. "Get me Lord Vader—and then get me Mara Jade."
Nirauan, Wild Space, 0 ABY
"He's alive." The words echoed throughout the room, stilling the quiet murmur of conversation instantly. Voss Parck, formerly—and still officially—a captain of the Imperial Navy, stayed on his feet, letting the words sink into the minds of every member of the Council of the Hand. "Alive," he repeated the words more softly now.
"This is confirmed, Captain?" The questioner's blue skin and fiery eyes marked him as a Chiss, though his uniform marked him as a commodore of the Hand's Navy.
"It is, Commodore Marro'lit'zuore." Parck pronounced the name with the ease of a man long accustomed to the Chiss language. "It," he smiled thinly, "comes directly from our sources in the Imperial Navy."
There was silence for a minute, before a Chiss, a colonel of the Hand's Army, spoke in his native language, "Bin'vah Bei."
Parck was silent for a minute, respecting the Chiss colonel's words with his silence. "We must initiate contact with the Grand Admiral," he said a moment later.
"Of course, Captain," Commodore Marro'lit'zuore agreed slowly. The Commodore hesitated, not wishing to speak ill of the man they all believed so deeply in. "But why?" he asked. "Why has he remained silent for so long?"
Parck swallowed before answering carefully, "Our source has informed us that he is a serving admiral—the senior admiral, in fact—in the Alliance Navy."
Silence returned, this time prompted by shock. The thought that Thrawn had abandoned them never entered their minds; they all knew his dedication to his people, and that he was constitutionally incapable of betraying his own people, whether they be Chiss or Human.
"We must…reconsider our relationship to the Empire in light of this event," Marro'lit'zuore said.
"I believe we are all in agreement about that, Commodore," Parck said dryly. "But had Thrawn wished us to act he would have sent us word." He held up a hand to silence any opposition, and the officers in the room fell silent instantly.
Despite his junior rank, he was Thrawn's chosen chief of state of the Empire of the Hand while Thrawn was in absentia, and his powers were vast. Vast enough that the officers now listened to him in mute silence.
"We will quietly distance ourselves from Imperial Center, but such an action must be…reversible, should the need arrive," he said. "We have no idea of Thrawn's plans, and must be prepared for every eventuality."
He turned to the senior-most Navy flag officer, Admiral Sarria Thek. "Despite our caution in distancing ourselves from the Empire, there is a chance we will be forced to enter into battle against them," he said. "And we must all decide which oath we will honor."
Thek nodded stiffly—she herself had once been an Imperial captain, and was emotionally torn at the thought of doing battle with the empire she had spent so many years of her life fighting for. "We will be ready, Vun'ur-Boo," was all she said.
