High orbit, Corulag system, twenty-four hours earlier

Sunlight streamed down onto the daylight side of the gray-green world of Corulag. It was interrupted only as the distinctive triangular shape of an Imperial Star Destroyer drifted between the sun and the planet, blocking the brilliant light from the Corulag system's primary star. The shadow was not powerful enough to stretch all the way down to the planet's surface, but it was more than enough to blot out the light to the many ships that darted beneath its massive hull like feeder fish beneath the bulk of a whaladon.

"Nova-Ten, this is Talisman hangar control. You are cleared for takeoff."

The pilot touched the green transmission button and replied, "Talisman, Nova-Ten, roger. Beginning pre-flight checkout... tell us if you find something amiss out there, would you?"

"Roger that, Nova-Ten. Everything looks green from here, but I'll send a droid down to make sure."

"Copy."

After the droid had finished its quick inspection and found nothing out of place, the pilot of the Nova-10 transport shuttle tapped a number of buttons, pulled back a red lever, and grasped the control yoke. The deck trembled beneath his boots as the engines warmed and the ship prepared to lift off.

"Talisman Hangar Control, this is Nova-Ten. We're beginning takeoff and descent to BlueSend Naval Base."

"Solid copy," the HC officer said. There was a pause over the pilot's comm. "And... good luck down there, Nova-Ten."

The copilot clicked the comm once to signify they had heard the officer's message.

"Beginning flight conversion," the copilot reported. He twisted a lever to the right, then pulled down. "In three... two... one... flight conversion commencing."

With a low-pitched drone the port and starboard stabilizing wings of the shuttle folded down into an inverted-Y flight position and the landing craft sped out of the hangar bay, towards the planet's surface. The pilot let out a long breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Takeoff had gone off without a hitch, and that meant they were already almost halfway finished. Now all they needed to do was make it to the planet surface without incident.

Just land, he thought, dump the passenger, and we'll be back to flying supply runs for BlueSend. No more VIP passenger ferrying. Just simple cargo hauling in our old ship.

He looked over at his copilot, who seemed to be thinking the exact same thing. The other man licked his dry lips and pressed his foot down on the accelerator pedal. The cockpit around them heated to a dull orange as the craft hit atmosphere, blocking sight through the front viewport as the ship tunneled its way to the planet's surface. The shuttle began to rock and shake wildly for a few moments before the artificial gravity compensators calmed most of the shaking in the interior of the ship.

After a few tense minutes the craft broke free of the planet's atmosphere, blasting clouds aside as it passed. The pilot wiped his forehead, partly to calm his racing heart and partly to keep the sweat from his eyes. He stole a glance over his shoulder, at the closed door to the small passenger bay. To think, that tiny barrier of durasteel was all that separated the two pilots from… him.

Someone like that isn't human. The pilot shuddered at the mere thought. He can't be.

The shuttle flew in low beneath the rain-swollen clouds that shrouded the forest near BlueSend prison. The roar from the engines made animals and Imperials alike look up, squinting into the rain that fell from the dark sky. Lightning forked down into the forest with loud explosions of thunder, muted by the thick plates of the ship's hull. The shuttle swerved to miss a tall conifer tree and the pilot grunted and pushed his gray cap further back on his head. Nervous sweat beaded his forehead.

"Do you think I should go back and check on our passenger?"

The copilot man looked over at him with a look of indignation on his face, as if the pilot should be ashamed for even raising the question. "If you want to. I'm not going back there."

The man chewed over his words for a moment, then shrugged anxiously and turned back to the instruments. The pilot shuddered and fought down the nausea that rose in his throat. "You're right," he said. "I think he'll be fine. And the sooner we finish this run the better."

Almost right on cue the comm crackled and the familiar voice of BlueSend Naval Base's ground control officer filled the cockpit. "Nova-Ten, this is BlueSend Ground Control. Come in Nova-Ten. We have you on our scopes. Transmit landing code for clearance to land."

The copilot radioed back, "Roger BlueSend GC. Transmitting now."

He hit a red button to engage the autopilot while he typed in the 10-number, 7-letter code he had been forced to memorize at the start of their flight. After he had finished, he hit the transmission button and sent the message.

There was a pause of about fifteen seconds during which the BlueSend Ground Control officer checked the code clearance against the registered codes in the Imperial databanks. They were probably the longest fifteen seconds of the pilot's life and he wished that the GC officer had just granted him clearance without checking. Surely the prestige of their passenger warranted some kind of special treatment? But then again, that would be against protocol, and protocol was synonymous with law these days.

After a few anxious moments, the comm crackled again and BlueSend GC's voice came back. "Nova-Ten, you have clearance to land. You will be escorted to BlueSend Base by a squadron of TIE Interceptors. Follow their present course and proceed to landing pad Delta-Twenty. Any deviation from that course and you will be shot down. "

Now that wouldn't be such a good idea, the pilot thought, considering the passenger we have aboard.

He groaned quietly as two lines of angular Imperial TIE Interceptors, four to a line, fell into escort position next to them with their recognizable screeching roar.

I never have to follow Interceptors to base on a normal day. All this extra drama was too much for him. He vastly preferred simple everyday cargo runs to this VIP passenger ferrying.

I just want to get out of here, he thought with a discontented frown. His grip tightened over the shuttle's control yoke. And the sooner that freak is off this ship the happier I'll be.

The GC officer came back. "Nova-Ten, confirm flight directives."

He sighed and hit the transmission button. "Nova-Ten here, confirming flight directives. Proceeding to follow Interceptor escort."

The ship shook a bit as it was taken off of the automatic piloting program. Ahead of them, the Interceptors began heading into a zigzagging pattern, veering off to the east before swooping northwest to BlueSend. More detours would be necessary before reaching their destination. The erratic flight plan was designed to throw off potential stalkers according to new regulations that had been enacted only within the last month.

Lightning flashed overhead, the electrical discharge making the ship's instruments fuzz over slightly. They reverted to their normal operational status as thunder rumbled through the sky moments later. The pilot scowled deeper as he followed the TIEs deeper into the mountain wilderness.

All this trouble, he thought. All this ceremony just to ferry one big-headed Imperial freak from space to the ground. If there was ever a better example of Imperial idiocy, it's this. It's inefficient, stupid, and overly paranoid.

But after ten minutes of staggered, erratic flying, Nova-10's pilot finally caught a glimpse of the sprawling military complex that was the BlueSend Naval Base and Military Prison: a collection of drab gray buildings clustered around the gentle slope of a hill, like an ancient fortress. The landing pad at the top of the hill beckoned, its glowing landing lights blinking invitingly through the driving rain.

The shuttle finally came down over the horizon, breaking through the fog line with a roar and heading towards the flat gray space of cleared land that was the Delta-20 landing pad. He let out a sigh of relief as the Interceptors peeled off and he eased the shuttle down toward the pad without interference.

"BlueSend GC, this is Nova-Ten," the copilot transmitted, "beginning touchdown sequence."

"Roger Nova-Ten."

The pilot hit two buttons and the flight wings folded back up into the landing position. Once his copilot assured him they were fully locked in place he pushed gently down on the flight yoke. There was a slight jolt as the landing struts hit the durasteel pad beneath.

Silence invaded the cockpit, save for the loud slap of heavy rain against the front viewport. The pilot sat back in his seat as his copilot lowered the exit ramp. He pulled off his cap, wiped his sweaty forehead, and checked the chronometer.

Only half an hour had passed. Only half an hour.

He let out another sigh and laughed. "That's it then. We're done."


BlueSend Naval Base and Military Prison, Javilion Forest, Corulag

Imperial General Ponsius Luun struggled to keep his cap on his head as the wind tugged it about. He kept his eyes fixed on the sky, watching nervously as the dark shuttle swung in low over the prison with a warbling roar of engine discharge. He didn't move as the ship rumbled over his head. He didn't even blink until the shuttle had safely glided down to the pad and extended its landing ramp.

Coolant steam wafted up from the ground, cloaking the ship's entrance. Luun found it disconcerting and, quite frankly, terrifying. The theatrics were made even worse by the knowledge of just who was waiting aboard the ship. But he didn't let any of his fear show and instead straightened and waited patiently as the exit ramp lowered in front of him.

The rain slapped loudly against the bleached white armor of the six lines of stormtroopers arrayed behind him, every single one standing at attention despite the dreadful weather. Luun himself was not graced with plastoid armor plating and simply had to endure the rain.

With a hiss of escaping coolant and a few final bursts of steam, the ramp from the triangular landing craft hit the pad's surface with a dull thud and the entry doors slid open. A single wheezing, mechanical breath split the air, audible even over the driving the rain. Lightning flashed across the sky, soon followed by a clap of thunder that seemed to greet the shadow that strode down the ramp. As it moved through the fog, black armor glinted in the glare of the red landing lights of the craft. Luun felt his heart skip a beat at the sight and cringed at the sound of sound of heavy footfalls on the metal ramp.

The general gulped and saluted as Darth Vader strode out from the haze of steam, walking with an assured gait that only the Emperor's right-hand man could pull off. His cape billowed out around his broad shoulders as he walked, his leather-bound hands clenched into tight fists as he surveyed the troops arrayed before him. With a single rasping breath, he continued his march forward.

Luun had never met Vader personally before, but everyone knew the reputation the Dark Lord had earned for himself. Word around the base was that he could snap a man's neck with merely his thoughts. The same rumors claimed that he could hunt down and expose one's deepest, most secret thoughts like a massif hunting for a piece of meat. Relentless was only one of the words that the soldiers had used to describe Lord Vader.

Luun had dismissed this as simple rumor. But now that Lord Vader was actually here, he was beginning to wish he'd paid better attention.

The Dark Lord nodded silently in greeting and beckoned Luun to follow him. The rain made quiet pattering sounds as it hit his menacing black faceplate and his midnight-black cape flapped wildly as the wind tugged at it. Luun jumped and fell into step next to the Sith Lord.

"Ah, I'd have rolled out the the full red carpet for you, Lord Vader," he said, shouting to be heard over the sound of the rain and thunder, "b-but as you can see-"

Vader dismissively waved a gloved hand in the air and finally spoke in his mechanized baritone boom. "You may skip your pitiable attempts at humor, General. You know as well as I that my presence here is not a publicity stunt."

"O-of course, Lord Vader, but-"

Vader interrupted him again, coming to a halt and studying his surroundings with fists planted on his hips. "You have within this prison more than two hundred suspected insurgents. I am here to see only one. Where is she?"

"Prison wing A-3," Luun replied as lightning cracked overhead. He waited for the ensuing thunder to fade before continuing. "Her execution is in three days."

Vader nodded and set off in that direction at a brisk pace. Luun stumbled after him, putting a hand against his cap again to keep it from blowing away. "I-I see no need to interrogate her, my lord. She is obviously guilty of treason. The evidence gathered against her will attest to that. Why try and get a confession out of her now?"

"Her treachery is not what concerns me. She is not the cause of this growing militia that opposes us, nor does she hold a position of prominence useful to our plans. What I wish to know is exactly who planted the first seeds of rebellious thought within her mind."

"You... suspect Jedi?"

The exact wrong words. Vader rounded on Luun and pointed a finger at his chest. Luun cowered back, shrinking beneath the menacing figure towering over him.

"The Jedi are all but extinct, General Luun," Vader boomed. "Those rare few who managed to survive the Great Purge are now little more than hermits. Exiles. And I will not allow rumors that they are the cause of this revolt to spread among the ranks. Do I make myself clear?"

"A-absolutely my lord."

Vader nodded, temporarily satisfied, and stared at the prison compound once more. He took a slow, wheezing breath. "And... once I have finished with the prisoner, bring me the pilot and copilot of my shuttle."

"Why?" Luun asked before he could stop himself. He cringed and bowed his head when Vader turned that angular death's-head helmet back to face him.

"My reasons are not your concern, General. See to it that they are awaiting my return. That is all."

With that, the Dark Lord strode towards the compound. Lightning flashed again, much closer this time, sending blinding highlights across his polished armor. The wind began to pick up and Luun had to put a hand on his head to keep his cap from blowing away.

"My lord!" he called after Vader. "How long will you be speaking with the prisoner?"

"As long as necessary."

The Dark Lord gestured with a single finger and the door slid open. With a swirl of his cape, he turned and disappeared down the brightly lit hall.