— The Will of the Empire —
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Chapter Six
Author's Notes: I am absolutely astonished at the outpouring of support for Rex to be one of my main characters. Unfortunately, I have no plans of including Rex in my story at this time. It would be impossible to avoid discussing/facing the past and it's something that would likely take up a great deal of time and energy to flesh out. This story is ultimately about the future, about Luke's future, and while characters from the past might pop up from time to time, few will have any real bearing on the story. I'm already struggling to keep sub-plots and one-shots from taking over my story and adding a character like Rex would make my job even harder. Again, this is a story about Luke and I think I'm guilty of having lost focus on that fact, so you can expect more of the next few chapters to be centering around him. To underscore that intention, I will begin this chapter by immediately relocating the setting to Coruscant and focus on a non-Luke character, because that's the kind of hypocrite I am. Enjoy.
I'd heard talk of that old guy on the Endor strike team from RotJ being Rex, but to my knowledge, it remains a fan theory only and hasn't been confirmed in any form of media. Does anyone have any proof (an acknowledgment in book, comic, audio, anything) to lend credence to the theory?
Thank you everyone for your feedback on WotE! If you hadn't figured it out by now, this story will probably end up being pretty long (I mean, shit, as of last chapter we were 70K words in without Luke having even spoken with Piett).
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"Facts, exact numbers, reassurance...a Jedi seeks not these things."
— Kyp Durron
#
Nineteen days after BoE
Imperial Center
Coruscant system, Corusca sector
Mara sat on a gray, dented, upturned crate that'd been serving as her makeshift chair for the better part of four hours. She and the other escapees from the Lusankya Complex who'd rallied behind Jan had found themselves in a safe house of sorts, attempting to plan out their next moves and collect information on what was happening in the skies above.
They'd spent the better part of a day crawling out of the giant hulk of the Lusankya and finding themselves in the lower levels of one of the most destitute districts within Imperial City. They'd spent most of the next day continuing their journey toward a destination that was apparently known only to Jan. By appropriating a number of speeders and whatever other forms of transportation they could get their hands on, they'd made their way through the dangerous and dank underbelly of Imperial City until they eventually reached a more hospitable district.
Like the revolt, the escape, and the diaspora of the Lusankya's prisoners, it'd been Jan who'd been designated the leader, protesting all the while that it wasn't just him who led them and that he was "just a man." It would've been truly aggravating except that he genuinely believed that.
Mara shouldn't have been surprised, she really shouldn't have, but she hadn't been able to conceal her shock when Jan introduced the wealthy, respectable-looking human man who'd offered them sanctuary as being one of the Rebellion's local cell leaders. Men, women, human and nonhuman, all were the makeup of an organized resistance hundreds-strong, a resistance that'd evidently been quite busy wreaking havoc upon the Empire for the last few days. Just as galling to her personally was the sheer number of individuals who'd been able to recognize Jan on sight. In fact, not only had Jan been known to them, he'd been respected and trusted well enough that the cell's leader hadn't even hesitated to offer sanctuary and respite to the escapees through a network of safe houses.
She knew the old man, Mara was certain of it and if they'd not met in person then he was a man she'd been briefed about, a man who'd represented a threat to the Empire. And she couldn't recall his dossier. Frustrated and not having anything else to do, she'd elected to stick to him like a sandfly on a bantha, as much to solve the mystery of Jan's identity as to be among the first to receive information about the Empire's status. This had the unfortunate side effect of being the first to learn exactly how bad things were.
Her ruminations were halted as a man burst through the door, scrambling across the floor to reach Jan, who'd been resting on a small cot only a few meters from Mara.
"General!"
Mara sat up from her seat to help Jan to his feet but was beaten there by another eager escapee. She closed her eyes, biting down on her frustration. She needed to know what was happening and as much as she'd like to blame the Rebels for being left in the dark, it'd become quickly apparent that no one had a clue about what was happening.
General, she mentally repeated for the hundredth time. He'd been addressed as such from time to time but his last name still remained a mystery. Knowing they'd come from Isard's playpen, their taking precautions for the presence of sleeper agents wasn't mere paranoia, not if he was as important as she believed. And he was important judging by the reactions other Rebels had around him.
Mara gritted her teeth in frustration. She didn't need to be focusing on Jan, she should be focusing on...
The redheaded assassin slumped on her crate. What should she be focusing on? Her master was dead, the Empire was in chaos, and there was no clear line of authority for her to report to. All she had was what her Master had given her. Her training, her skills in the Force and...
["YOU WILL KILL LUKE SKYWALKER!"]
Rubbing her temples, Mara closed her eyes tightly as she waited for the pain to pass. That was why she was focusing on Jan, because doing otherwise only led to a headache and the feeling of her master's disapproval permeating her soul.
Sighing, Mara opened her eyes, observing the thin, gray-haired Rebel leader nodding and stroking his long beard at whatever the younger man had rushed in to report. His face was too familiar, he was obviously well connected, certainly well-educated and he wasn't called "General" out of sheer affection. Jan had to be one of the leaders of the greater Rebellion, rather than some small isolated cell; he was simply too capable, too inspiring to have simply come from the local rank and file. But why would her master, or more likely Iceheart, waste a resource like that in Isard's private prison?
Looking away from the mysterious old man, Mara fingered the lightsaber she'd discretely recovered from Isard's office during their escape. She'd kept it out of view but it remained accessible in case her circumstances took a dramatic turn for the worst. She still wasn't at full strength but she was certainly capable of killing a number of these half-trained, idealistic terrorists. Unfortunately, as half-trained and idealistic as they were, they were also surprisingly well-armed. Surrounded by well-armed, fanatics meant any aggressive action on her part was likely to end with her going out in a blaze of glory and that would do the Empire no good at all. So, she'd remain passive, she'd heal and she'd learn more about this group of Rebels.
The floor beneath Mara's crate shuddered, drawing a scowl from the Emperor's Hand.
In truth, she was safer in the middle of the Rebel hideout than she was on her own in the heart of the Empire. If ever she forgot the gift of stability her master had offered the galaxy, all she had to do was look out the nearest window and see the pillars of smoke and flame dotting the cityscape or listen for the sound of laser blasts and crashing debris. As if her very thought had conjured the reality, the sound of a TIE fighter screaming overhead was abruptly silenced as a nearby turbolaser battery picked the starfighter off with a lucky shot.
Yes, the situation on and above Imperial Center had become...complicated.
Mara's head jerked upright when a thunderous boom echoed overhead. That initial boom turned into a roar, a roar that rose in volume until Mara and the others had to cover their ears. Seconds later, the roar changed, evolving into a cacophony of shattering glass, crumbling duracrete, twisting metal, and terrified screams. But the sounds were soon forgotten when the ground beneath their feet began to buckle and a heated wave of dusty air rolled over them like a tsunami.
The distant screams she'd heard before in the distance were now mirrored by others within the safe house. Mara let herself fall to the ground, quickly rolling to one of the more structurally hardened parts of the building, eye cinched shut to shield them from the circulating cloud of dust. Around her, the world continued to pitch and shake for almost an entire minute before things gradually settled. As it did, the sounds of the ongoing nearby destruction returned in full force; nobody dared move except to find better cover lest the whirlwind of destruction begin anew.
Well, kriff them, cowards. Mara thought, standing up and gingerly making her way around the prone forms of other escapees and the debris that had fallen from the plaster over their heads. Peering from behind the barricaded window where the cyclone of air and dust had broken through, she saw a landscape totally alien from that of the one that'd existed two minutes before. Mara felt her mouth drop open in horrified disbelief. "Kriffing hell," she whispered.
"What is it?" someone shouted from across the room. "What happened?"
The Emperor's Hand didn't respond, too preoccupied by the sight before her. She felt a presence behind her back, one taking in the same ruined landscape with the same silence as she. Jan.
"Jan, what do you see?" Akabi asked, but the question was rhetorical as she appeared at Mara's side a mere second later. "Emperor's black bones! What is happening up there?"
No one bothered to answer the woman's question because they had no answers to offer; they could only bear witness and try to piece together what had happened. In this case, however, it was fairly easy to determine what had happened because the results had cut a swath of destruction that could've been visible from orbit.
Instead of the occasional glimpses of burning sections of the corporate sector, they were confronted by a world on fire. While this district wasn't exactly the hub of commerce and high-class living in Imperial City, it wasn't the industrial sector either. Millions of beings lived in this district, many in clusters of multi-tiered housing like the building in which she stood. The majority of those millions lived in the skyscrapers and spires Imperial Center was so well known for.
It wasn't there anymore.
Before her lay a ruined, charred landscape. The greater portion of the district had been reduced to rubble and all of the soaring skyscrapers were either gone or slowly splintering apart and crumbling to the ground. The source of the distant screams, Mara realized numbly, all the people trapped inside of those collapsing buildings. She shuddered and glanced away.
Since emerging from the Lusankya, Imperial Center had proved to be a place of utter chaos. How had this come to be? TIE fighters destroying one another in dogfights above, stormtroopers engaging in firefights between buildings or on the open streets and platforms of the city. Since their escape, such scenes had become almost commonplace, but nothing like this. The district, in which hundreds of thousands of people had likely just perished, had been flattened by the battle-scarred, husk of a Star Destroyer. Several other nearby masses of metal indicated that it hadn't been alone in its plunge through the atmosphere. Some sort of large ship—
Not a ship, Mara realized, green eyes narrowing. Looking closer, she was able to piece together enough of the smoking masses to recognize the superstructure of one of the orbiting Golan III defense platforms.
"That's one of the defense satellites," Jan murmured from behind, his realization coming on the heels of her own. "The Star Destroyer must have rammed the thing." he whispered disbelievingly.
"What in the Sith Hell is happening up there?" Akabi hissed. "All those people..."
As they continued to watch, a trio of fireships descended from the cloud cover above, swiftly locating the worst of the hotspots and unleashing a deluge of fire-suppressant foam. They, and the other approaching emergency responders, might be able to save some of those trapped beneath and within the rubble, but Mara didn't hold much hope for them. She stared at the two burning wreckages that stood so prominent over their blackened surroundings and declared, "if those ships had broken up any more on reentry, we'd probably be dead."
Beside her, Akabi nodded her agreement. "Too right. Jan, what did you learn?"
Mara's body twisted as she locked her gaze onto Jan's profile. "You've had news?" she asked, heart leaping in her chest. What is happening in the Empire, I have to know!
Similar calls for information began ringing out from the others, only stopping when Akabi shouted for them to quiet down.
"Settle down, everyone, and I'll tell you what information our slicer has provided," Jan urged, downturned hands raised at chest level, gesturing for them to calm themselves.
Gritting her teeth in frustration, Mara strode back to her crate and sat with an audible sigh of impatience. She saw Akabi giving her a bemused look and Mara fought the urge to stab the other woman in the face with her lightsaber; she was not being petulant.
Jan cleared his voice and nodded his head toward the man who'd rushed in just before the Star Destroyer had slammed into the surface. "Thank you, Castin, for your assistance. We've all been starved for information."
Straightening, the young blonde-haired man gave the older man a whimsical salute. Folding his arms over his high-collared blue tunic, the man's easygoing demeanor sobered. "Sure thing, General, I'll try to keep the reports coming, but that new overlord up there has been vicious about keeping the local 'net locked down."
"Doing your best is all that we can ask, Castin," Jan smiled in that grandfatherly way of his.
Not for the first time, Mara thought Jan's smile was akin to the one her master had graced her with from time to time. If only he wasn't a Rebel, she thought mournfully.
The gray-haired man walked to a more visible portion of the room, stroking his long, gray beard as he looked over the datapad he'd obtained from the slicer. "We've been able to confirm the information about the Battle of Endor and the massacre at the Imperial Palace. The Emperor, Darth Vader, Pestage, Isard—all have been confirmed dead. The second Death Star, the Executor—destroyed."
Jan took a deep breath while he waited for the cheers to die down. He still looked tired and far too thin, but there was a brightness in his eyes that subtracted years from his appearance. Happiness, Mara decided, looked good on Jan even though the news and the Rebels' cheering made her want to vomit.
Why couldn't they understand what her master had been doing for the galaxy? How could they cheer at the death of the man trying to bring stability and peace to them? How could they cheer when so many had undoubtedly perished aboard the second Death Star? The first one had been fully completed and staffed with millions of Imperial personnel and if the second one was anything like the first, then how could they cheer for this news of mass murder? How could they cheer when looking outside showed the truth of what life would be like without the Empire?
Despite her anger at their thoughtlessness, Mara did smile knowing that Isard wouldn't soil the universe with her virulent existence any longer. One must always look on the bright side of things, she mused. Yet that one positive aspect did nothing to alleviate the sourness in her gut. How had her master not foreseen this? How had he dismissed the possibility of Vader betraying him?
Jan held up a hand until the din quieted. "A week after the battle, a small fleet of ships returned from Endor under the command of an Admiral Piett, who we know as the Flag Admiral of Death Squadron. We're unsure why he was transferred from the Executor, but he retained his authority on board the Chimaera. Five days after the fleet's arrival, the attack on the Imperial Palace took place. Most of the garrison protecting the Imperial Palace was destroyed by a localized orbital bombardment that destroyed the barracks and the majority of the Palace's external aerial defense grid. The palace itself was left intact by the bombardment, however airstrikes carried out by Imperial assault craft destroyed the remaining weapon emplacements housed on the Palace itself."
Mara continued to listen to Jan in the back of her mind, but—her eyes narrowed in thought at the reference to Darth Vader's direct subordinate. Why had he been on the Chimaera? If not the Executor, he would've been on the Accuser. She shook her head, confused at the odd move. Could Piett have assisted Vader in his treason somehow? From what she recalled of the Axxilan's profile, he didn't seem to have the temperament required for betraying someone like the Emperor, but Vader had a way of...convincing others to do his bidding. Perhaps the plot to destroy the Emperor did indeed extend beyond Skywalker and Vader; Mara made a mental note to look into that tidbit when she and the Rebels eventually parted ways.
"You think this 'Piett' was the architect of Pestage's assassination?" Akabi asked, "maybe to prop himself up?"
"To your first question, Jin-Rio, that would be my assumption, given the timing and the orbital bombardment. As for the second..."
"Not a chance in hell," Castin supplied at Jan's nod. "The moment the admiral secured Coruscant, he bugged out. Took his fleet and left. Exchanged a few of his most damaged ships with the Victorys from the defense fleet, replaced the crew on the Golans with his own men and then took off to who knows where."
Mara's eyes widened. "What? That makes...what? Why?"
Castin arched an eyebrow at her. "Not a damn clue. They've kept that sweet bit of intel locked down tighter than a Toydarian's pocketbook."
"Castin," Jan chided the man disapprovingly.
The blonde man shrugged and grinned unrepentantly.
The elderly man shook his head. "Continuing where Castin left off, Admiral Piett's force departed less than two days after the attack on the palace took place. Things have become more...murky at this point. Castin?"
"Day after Piett left, another fleet dropped out of hyperspace in the system. Apparently, they were expected because the fleet took up orbit without being challenged. The fleet was led by a Grand Admiral, one that I've neither seen nor heard of; in fact, so far as I can tell, nobody knows of this guy," Castin replied, frowning unhappily.
No slicer likes being left in the dark, they consider a personal affront. Mara thought to herself, amused at the sullen indignation in the hacker's voice. "Do we know his name?"
"We haven't a clue what is his name is; we've only ever been able to get eyes on him once when he came down to the Imperial Palace. Aside from the few hours he spent there, he's spent the rest of his time off-world and out of sight. The weird thing is, he seems to have all the credentials of a Grand Admiral: White uniform, autocratic bearing, looking like he'd happily throw babies off a cliff, the usual. But he must've been kept as some sort of dirty secret by the Emperor or somethin' to make it where he did."
"Castin?" Jan asked, brows furrowed in confusion.
"He ain't human, ya dig?" Castin replied, sounding as serious and somber as Mara had ever heard him. "I've never seen any race like his before, couldn't find one in any codex either. Whoever and whatever he is, the blue-skinned bastard is smart. Not just smart, ya know? But wicked smart. The moment he arrived in-system he started consolidating his forces on the planet and within the system. He had this place locked down tight quick."
Mara blew out a heavy breath, shaking her head. Now, she understood why Castin was impressed, and threatened, by this blue-skinned Grand Admiral of his. Any Grand Admiral was someone to be wary of, but for a nonhuman to reach that rank? He would have to be something extraordinary to gain such favor from the Emperor. No nonhuman could ever pretend to be a Grand Admiral, it simply wasn't possible, therefore Castin had been entirely correct about the new Grand Admiral being kept a secret.
She knew her master kept secrets from her but she'd never heard so much as a whisper about this. Whoever he was, Mara needed to know how and why he'd coordinated with Piett and possibly Vader.
"Then whose Star Destroyer just did a face plant on our doorstep?" Akabi snarled, waving a hand toward the destruction only a few klicks away.
Castin made another face. "Not entirely sure. A few hours before you escaped from the Lusankya, a third fleet jumped into the system. This one wasn't quite so friendly and unlike the blue-skinned bastard's fleet, this fleet was led by a Super Star Destroyer. It spearheaded a fleet of 20 Star Destroyers, all Victorys. The problem with identifying the commanding officer is that the name bounced by the SSD's transponder names it as the Iron Fist, but we have no record—"
"The Brawl," Mara blurted, "under High Admiral Zsinj's command."
The room went quiet and Mara was suddenly on the receiving end of more than a few suspicious glares. Be careful, Mara, mustn't spook the Rebels.
"How do you know, Mara?" Jan asked with a kind, yet unyielding voice.
Displaying the right amount of discomfort, vulnerability and confidence was key in situations like these, where she not only had to explain her knowledge of the Empire but impress upon them their need to trust her, to keep her around. Nothing she'd said was secret, it simply hadn't been common knowledge and playing this off right might give her access to information Jan had on Skywalker and the Alliance. Forcing herself to look appropriately aggrieved, she gave a huff of annoyance. "Zsinj was given command of the Brawl sometime before Endor, and his first command was also named Iron Fist." She waited a beat before glaring at those around her. "Look, I wasn't always a Rebel, alright? And I doubt the lot of you were, either. So yeah, I know some things. Castin, were those Victorys red?"
Castin blinked. "Yes, all of them."
Mara snapped her fingers. "Crimson Command, also under Zsinj."
Jan met her gaze for a long moment, stroking his long beard before he nodded firmly. "Very well, Mara, however when we're finished here, I wonder if you might join Castin, myself, and a few others to compile our intelligence on the new players in the system, hmm?" Jan asked, eyes locked with hers.
Perfect. "Sure, Jan, I don't mind sharing intel." And just maybe I'll figure out who you are.
"In any case," Castin jumped in loudly, evidently annoyed at having been interrupted, "Zsinj, if you're correct, jumped in-system and started duking it out with the Grand Admiral. The battle has been going ever since."
"Shavit! How the kriff has the Grand Admiral managed to keep Zsinj at bay for this long?" Akabi wondered aloud. "The SSD could vape the entire Coruscant Defense Fleet by itself!"
Castin shrugged. "Couldn't tell you, lady, between the communications blackout and the new encryption both fleets are running, any attempt to slice in will probably be detected within 30 seconds tops. Like I said, Imps are being annoyingly tight-lipped—hard to fight a battle against a fleet that has the same basic encryption algorithms. Both fleets are having to adapt which is making my job kriffing hard. My guess, however, is that for our blue friend, "Grand" isn't just a way of making Admiral sound fancier."
"No matter how grand he is, that still doesn't explain how an understrength defense fleet, a handful of Golans, and whatever this Grand Admiral brought with him is still fighting it out with an SSD and a kriff-load of Victorys," an older brown-haired man called out.
"I know little more than you at this point. Like I said, after the Grand Admiral arrived communication has been getting more and more restrictive. As far as I'm concerned, the only thing we can do now is get information the old-fashioned way and hope that the less evil wastoid wins," Castin replied grumpily.
"Thank you, Castin. For now, I want all of you to focus on getting stronger and recovering; Lusankya weakened us all and we'll be of no use to anyone if we fail to see to our needs. We'll be having dinner in two hours in the main hall," Jan declared. Catching Mara's eye, the older man nodded to a makeshift office he'd been using since their arrival.
Standing up from her crate, Mara allowed herself a moment to stretch before making her way forward. When she arrived at the doorway, Jan offered a kind smile before gesturing for her to go inside. Taking a quick breath, she quickly played her story again in her mind and walked inside. Here goes nothing.
Twenty-four days after BoE
Bakur Memorial Building
Salis D'aar, Bakura
Admiral Firmus Piett sat in a plus, synthleather chair, staring across the length of the rich, dark-wooden conference table at the young man and woman gazing back at him unblinkingly. He took a moment to appraise his...opponents?...future leaders? The very uncertainty of their status was a keen reminder of the quandary the Empire had found itself in, a quandary that the Emperor's death had created and that his own actions had exacerbated. The mold that had been purposefully shaped by assassinations, plots, and subterfuge was now the lock that barred access to the throne, a lock that had only one key, a key that was distinctly Luke Skywalker-shaped. In Firmus Piett's mind, there was now only thing more frightening than the idea of Luke Skywalker becoming the Emperor: the possibility of Luke Skywalker not becoming the Emperor.
All the plotting, all the assassins, all the bounty hunters, all of it done in order to construct a delicate framework that would lead Luke Skywalker, and only Luke Skywalker, to the throne. Anyone else wouldn't fit the mold and would shatter that framework, driving the Empire into bitter, internal conflict that they'd never be able to rise above. They needed Skywalker; the boy was the Empire's only hope.
Firmus glanced slightly to the left, to the woman who'd presumably be the driving force behind the diplomatic talks involving the Alliance. He'd seen Princess Organa in person before during his rare visits to the now defunct Imperial Senate, and she remained the striking, vivacious beauty she'd been then. Meeting her fiercely intelligent brown eyes, the admiral had little doubt that she still possessed the redoubtable resolve that'd made her one of the most persistent, outspoken critics of the Empire and the bane of its most ardent supports in the senate. Her formidable reputation and graceful appearance, all white clothing and elegant braids, served as a remarkable contrast for the young man sitting beside her whom he'd come so far to speak with.
Luke Skywalker, in his all black clothing complete with clipped lightsaber, should've been far more intimidating simply for being the offspring of Darth Vader.
But he wasn't, not in the same way, at least.
He remembered the first time he'd seen Skywalker's holopicture and his disbelief that the smiling boy was the pilot who'd destroyed the Death Star and attracted Vader's intense scrutiny. Yet had that image sported the eyes of the man in front of him now, he wouldn't have hesitated to accept the claim. The man in front of him looked as if he'd aged a decade in the last four years and held an air of maturity rare for one so young. Yet for all the solemnity with which the man now carried himself, his expression was startlingly open and his curiosity plain to see. Though the Princess hid it well, Firmus felt certain that she was as unnerved as he in the aftermath of the attempt on Skywalker's life, but Skywalker seemed remarkably unphased. It was that which Piett found most intimidating, not some terrifying visage like that of his father's but the sense of calm that he emanated.
It would be easy to ascribe that calm as a disregard for his own safety or simple bravado, but having spent time with another Force user with a penchant for lightsabers, black clothing and inserting himself into dangerous situations, Piett knew better. Whatever the "Force" truly was, however beings like Lord Vader and Skywalker harnessed it, the effect it had upon them was made clear in their otherness. Whether it was the Force that contributed to Skywalker's demeanor or something else entirely, Piett desperately hoped it would endure through the coming trials and that the plan forged by Lord Vader would be one that Skywalker would accept.
Placing his hands on the table, Skywalker took an audible breath before meeting his gaze. "Well, Admiral, you requested this meeting, where would you like to start?" the young Jedi inquired.
Firmus opened his mouth and immediately closed it, grimacing. He shouldn't ask it, it wasn't important in the scheme of things but...
#
"Commander Skywalker...if you don't mind my asking, how is it that you came to be in possession of my old ship, the Accuser? Prior to our retreat from the system, we'd received a report that it'd received catastrophic hull damage and was in the process of evacuating."
Skywalker started at the question and felt the corners of his mouth quirk and glanced aside at Leia, who'd managed to contain her own reaction but for the glint in her eyes. "I'm afraid General Solo and Lieutenant Page are largely responsible for that, Admiral," he replied neutrally.
With a bland face, his sister elaborated, "they were able to board your ship in stolen uniforms, capture the bridge and activate the alarms."
"I...see." Piett's face was expressionless, but Luke didn't need the Force to know the man was both embarrassed and pissed. "And my crew?"
Leia's face softened at the concern in the admiral's question. Folding her hands upon the table in a way that mirrored Luke's, she met the Axxilan's gaze and said simply, "we let them go."
"What?" Piett couldn't help the startled squawk of surprise.
Seeing his sister offer the admiral a genuine smile, Luke nodded. "None of them, as far as we know, committed anything resembling a war crime during their tenure as part of your command. The Alliance doesn't really have the resources to keep prisoners of war, Admiral, and we aren't ones to engage in wanton slaughter."
Unlike the Empire.
It was left unsaid but heard all the same.
"We placed them, and most of the other captured Imperial personnel, on hobbled bulk freighters and sent them on a preset course to the Imperial base on Jerne in the Kanz sector," Luke continued. "They were scheduled to arrive on Jerne two days ago."
Piett let out a breath before letting out an undignified snort. "You really took my ship that easily?"
"Without firing a single shot," Leia confirmed, unable to hold back her smug smile any longer. "I understand you made an impression on the Imperial Navy by your handling of pirates and smugglers within the Ciutric Hegemony; you must know better than most the ingenuity that smugglers can employ when they set their minds to it."
"Yes, I am rather familiar with their ability to adapt," Piett admitted. He bowed his head for a moment before he gave them both a bow of his head. "Thank you for telling me of the Accuser's fate, Commander, Princess, I sincerely appreciate it. That being said, before we begin there are several more questions I feel compelled to ask in light of our current circumstances."
"Go ahead," Luke nodded, a gloved hand waving to prompt the Imperial officer.
"Did you possess any foreknowledge of what Lord Vader intended upon his death?" Piett asked soberly.
Luke felt the man's eyes bore into his, a silent demand made not for curiosity but reassurance. Shaking his head, Luke spread his hands wide and offered the admiral a helpless shrug. "Admiral, I had no idea my father had designated me as his heir; the idea had never occurred to me."
"We've received numerous reports from the Core, all indicating that there is currently a massive...restructuring of the Imperial military command structure and bureaucracy underway. I include Emperor Pestage in that restructuring," Leia said carefully. "Would we be correct in our assumption that you, or Lord Vader, had something to do with that?"
Luke winced at the blunt question but kept his eyes on the admiral.
Piett leaned over the terrible, holding his sister's gaze without flinching away from the accusation. "Your Highness, the night before the battle, Lord Vader sent out a series of orders to be carried out in the event of his or the Emperor's death. His message to me, and Captain Pellaeon, included his acknowledgement of Luke as his son." Piett, still holding Leia's eyes, nodded firmly. "So yes, Your Highness, I'm the one primarily responsible for executing Lord Vader's will after his death though I am far from the only cog in this particular wheel. His plans were quite thorough despite seemingly hurried development."
"Our final task for Lord Vader was to secure the throne for his son," hissed the Noghri, who until that moment had remained absolutely silent and still in the corner by the door.
All three humans flinched.
"You were my father's..." Luke trailed off.
"We killed by his command," Meewalh finished, confirming Luke's assumption. "Many of those who died on Imperial Center did so at the hands of my kin."
"The Imperial Palace?" Leia guessed.
Meewalh nodded before falling silent, retreating back into the corner to resume her impersonation of a statue.
Exchanging a look with Leia, Luke felt sure they were both remembering the reports of the assassinations of high profile Imperials throughout the Core. Admiral Piett's claim and Meewalh's testimony explained it rather well: it had all been for him at his father's behest. The possibility had occurred to them, of course, but having it confirmed by one of those responsible was jarring to say the least.
"Commander, I must know..." Piett faltered for a short moment before setting his shoulders. "How did Emperor Palpatine and Lord Vader die and why were you on the Death Star?"
Luke was about to answer when Leia tapped on his leg, giving him a shake of her head when he glanced at her. He raised his eyebrows in surprise but leaned back to allow her to respond.
Leia placed steepled her fingers, face composed and eyes narrowed as she tilted her head to the side. Finally, she asked, "Why?"
Piett blinked. "Pardon?"
"You said that 'you must know', Admiral. Why is that? Will knowing the events that occurred on the Death Star change any of your plans?"
For a long moment, the admiral said nothing while wearing a pensive expression. Eventually, he let out a gusty sigh and took off his cap, letting it rest on the table surface. He rubbed a hand over his weary face and met her eyes. "The Empire is in a precarious position, Your Highness, and though I have little doubt you're aware of that fact, I don't believe you understand exactly how precarious it truly is. Whatever the answer to my question may be, it will not alter my decision to follow Lord Vader's last commands. What it will alter, Your Highness, is my ability to defend that decision to others." Piett spread his hands wide in a silent appeal, "I am operating on faith alone, Princess Organa, and convincing others to follow Lord Vader's plan requires something more substantial."
Leia frowned at the man and had opened her mouth to respond when Luke rapped his knuckles on the table, catching their attention. "If you need to know, Admiral, I'll tell you, but I have to warn you that if you're looking for a reason other than faith to defend my father, you'll be disappointed. You see, it was my own faith in him that resulted in the Emperor's death."
#
Firmus sat back, listening to the tale Luke spun about Darth Vader, a man many believed to have had no heart, no empathy, who had sacrificed himself to save his son. If Piett hadn't been witness to the fervor with which Vader had pursued Skywalker and finally learning the reason why, he'd likely have thought it nothing more than lies. He wasn't quite sure what to make of Skywalker's claim of Lord Vader "turning back from the dark side," but it wasn't the mysteries of the Force that he found more compelling. No, it was the knowledge that self-sacrifice, an attribute that had never been ascribed to the Sith Lord, had been what spelled the end of the Emperor.
As it happens, Skywalker was dead wrong about his ability to use the story, thank the Gods. A prisoner of war, one who'd voluntarily cast his weapon aside, had been tortured in front of his own father, Lord Vader: the second most powerful man in the Empire. In such a stark scenario, it seemed a foregone conclusion that Vader would eventually turn upon the Emperor. If one delved more deeply, it became clear that the whole affair was so convoluted, so rooted in Force mysticism, that providing any sort of evidence of a conspiracy would be practically impossible. The Emperor had tortured Lord Vader's son, who'd surrendered himself into his custody, in front of him. Oh yes, that was something he could use.
However, Skywalker's retelling had revealed other facts that upheld his position. It was Princess Organa who'd pointed out the usefulness of emphasizing certain aspects of Skywalker's tale in order to further cement his claim to the throne. Though unsubstantiated, the timeline of events and the remains of Lord Vader could marginally support Skywalker's claim that the Emperor had encouraged the boy to kill his father and take his place. Wasn't that an inherent acknowledgement of Luke's position within the Empire, however contingent and tenuous it might be?
Skywalker had been very wrong about faith being the only thing he could offer.
Yet for some reason, what struck Firmus most about the story from a less practical viewpoint wasn't the Emperor's dark powers, his father's sacrifice, or Skywalker's surrender to the Empire, it was Skywalker giving his father the traditional Jedi funeral. It was a small thing, a sentimental thing, but a powerful one that made Piett feel just a little bit better about Skywalker's character.
After discussing the political points of Skywalker's account, they'd descended into an uncomfortable silence that'd lingered for several minutes. Skywalker and Organa both had an odd blend of sadness and anger in their eyes and seemed content to mull over the past while waiting for Piett to break the stillness of the room. Piett used that time to gather all the courage he possessed so that he might speak his next words, entirely aware of the import they held for the galaxy. "Commander Skywalker, there is no Empire without an Emperor. You are the sole heir to the Empire, the only one with any legitimate claim to the throne, and you are the only person that has a reasonable chance of preventing the Empire from falling into an even greater chaos."
Skywalker and the Princess looked at each other, looking as though they were having an entire conversation with nothing but their eyes.
The admiral frowned inwardly. Was it too soon to bring up the topic of heirs? The Princess's relationship with General Solo and Skywalker had long been a source of amusement and debate within the Empire's intelligence community and, to his knowledge, there had never been a declared couple. If the Empire were truly becoming a dynasty, as it seemed to be, then Skywalker would need an heir to grant the reassurance and promise of stability to the Empire in the event of his passing. Piett slapped himself mentally. That's right, Firmus, put the weight of the Empire on his shoulders and then inform him that he needs to go forth and multiply so that the Empire survives when an assassin finally blasts him into atoms.
Skywalker chose that moment to turn around and face him, and Piett held his breath, waiting for the words that would decide the future of the galaxy, one way or another.
"Admiral," Skywalker began solemnly, "the Princess is not my lover."
The Princess choked on air, placing a hand over her mouth as she began coughing violently while Piett sat stock-still, unsure of how to process the statement beyond the initial surge of embarrassment. On one hand, Piett had witnessed Lord Vader's ability to read and influence minds on more than one occasion; he supposed it shouldn't be all that surprising to learn that his son shared that talent. The second, and far more pleasant realization was learning that he was in a position to win a truly outrageous sum of money in the Solo-Organa-Skywalker betting pool Imperial Intelligence had so quietly established.
Letting out a soft, sad-sounding sigh, Skywalker continued, "I think there's much for us to discuss if I am to go with you, Admiral, this can't be a simple process."
"A starting point would be determining how the Alliance fit into Lord Vader's plan," the Princess informed him, raising her chin defiantly. "And if we weren't a consideration, then you must know the Alliance won't simply go away. We will resist, no matter who the Emperor is, so long as the rights and freedoms of sentient beings across the galaxy are violated in the most egregious of ways."
Piett restrained himself from rubbing his temples as a tension headache flared into existence. It was going to be a long afternoon.
Twenty-four days after BoE
Bakur Memorial Building
Salis D'aar, Bakura
"Wedge?"
"Wedge? Everything all right?"
Wedge started in surprise as a hand clamped onto his shoulder and gave him a rough shake. Looking over the back of his repulsor chair, he found himself meeting the concerned gaze of Tycho Celchu. He took a shaky breath, running a trembling hand through his hair before he finally nodded. "Just...found out some things from the Baron."
Tycho narrowed his eyes. "What'd he say? I can get Judder to make it look like an accident, just say the word."
Wedge gave a weak laugh and waved a hand in a calming gesture. "I just received some news, amazing news. Mostly, at least."
Tycho stepped around the chair until he stood facing Wedge, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at him expectantly.
Wedge rolled his eyes at the woebegone expression on the Alderaanian's face as Tycho attempted to guilt the information out of him. He needn't have bothered, for this news, he would happily tell his friends. "My sister, Syal—she's alive, Tycho!" he breathed, unable to stop the grin that spread across his face. "I never knew what happened to her, thought she'd died, honestly. Turns out she managed to do what she'd always dreamed of doing: acting. In fact, you've probably even heard of her stage name," Wedge grinned.
Tycho shook his head, "I don't watch a lot of holo—"
"Wynssa Starflare."
"Sithspit!" Tycho gaped at him. "You're saying...your sister is the Wynssa Starflare?"
"Baron Fel was kind enough to provide pictures of her, including ones of my nephews," Wedge murmured, voice softening as he remembered the image of the toddlers being embraced by his sister on Soontir Fel's projector.
"Colonel Fel? Wait, isn't he..." Tycho's words died and his face screwed up into an expression that usually indicated either bewilderment or a severe case of constipation; with the rations Han had provided on the Falcon, it was 50/50.
"And there's where the mostly amazing news comes in. Turns out your old boss is my new brother-in-law," Wedge huffed, understanding Tycho's expression all too well.
Tycho winced in sympathy, but one side of his mouth quirked up in a half-smile just a moment later. "To be fair, Wedge, I'm not sure you have much room to complain; I think Luke has pretty much cornered the market share on unwelcome surprise additions to one's family."
"Zing!" Wedge nodded approvingly and glanced at the door where Luke, the Princess, and the admiral were still doing whatever they were doing. Glancing around the quiet senate chamber, he nudged Tycho's leg with his own. "What's with the clone?"
Tycho looked over his shoulder at the crowd that had gathered around one of the stormies, the commander of the squad Piett had brought with him. Tycho watched as the assembled group burst into laughter as the clone waved his hands about in frantic motions, telling a story of some kind. "Let's go find out, Lando and Han look positively enthralled."
Author's Notes: New chapter will be coming out soon, within the week most likely. As a helpful note to any aspiring writers out there hoping to write length stories, I've learned from writing Thor's Slayers that the greatest obstacles in such an endeavor are (1) not getting burned out: if you can't be interested in your own writing, you can't expect anyone else to be ether and (2) not losing focus. As a story increases in length and complexity, it becomes easier to get side-tracked by subplots, repeating conversations and forgetting who knows what and who said what to whom, and simply losing your own sense of where the story's heading.
Discussion point(s) for the day: Balance within the Force/The Chosen One:
The Chosen One: I talk about this as a literary device rather than how it applies to Star Wars specifically. I absolutely despise the idea of there being a "Chosen One." For its value in storytelling, I understand the draw and some authors/directors can pull it off but I do not think that it translates onto the big screen. In literature, the whole idea can be better fleshed out, but in visual media (particularly films rather than TV) it seems to get in the way of the plot or muddy the ending of the story. Whether it's Neo, Anakin Skywalker, or Harry Potter, I just don't like it. I'm sure I just enraged a bunch of people but I'd ask that if you want to specifically respond to this, send a PM instead of posting a review because it has nothing to do with the story. Caveat: As I said, it does work sometimes, for example Buffy, Wheel of Time, Dune...
Also, the final episode of the Clone Wars, one of the things that weird spirit on Moraband/Korriban said to Yoda was "...balance...there is another Skywalker..." This adds additional credence to the argument of Luke being the Chosen One, rather than Anakin. *shrug*
Balance in the Force: So, what does this mean? From what I can determine, nobody has a clue. The way Obi-Wan seemed to think, the Chosen One would destroy the Sith thereby bringing balance to the Force. This seems to be the common perception of the role and yet there seems to be an inherent flaw in that idea; the Sith are not the dark side and they are certainly not the only group that practices the dark side (Sorcerers of Tuund (sort of), Prophets of the Dark Side, Sorcerers of Rhand, Nightsisters of Dathomir, etc).
From what I understand, in the entire history of the galaxy there has only been one time when the Force could arguably be said to be in balance. That was during the time of the Je'daii Order almost 26,000 BBY. However, unlike the Jedi, the balance of the Je'daii was not to stay firmly entrenched in the light, but to, you guessed it, stay balanced between the light and the dark. Any Je'daii who fell too far in either direction would be exiled to meditate until they came back into balance. Eventually, a group of these Je'daii broke off and formed the Sith...and well, you know where that led. But that seems to be the closest the Force ever came to being in true balance. I don't think there's a chance in hell that the Jedi Order of the Old Republic could ever adopt such a philosophy. So how could Anakin, or anyone for that matter, truly bring balance to the Force? I don't think it's possible, not for any extended amount of time at least.
/Rant for the day