Thank you for your patience, and your awesome reviews. Sorry for the skipping over those two missions, but as I am sure all of you have played them, and I have another story to weave into this one, I thought it would be easier to write over them. That and I am too lazy to go through each and record what is said and the battle sequences.
Now, before you get into the story, I have a few questions for you to think about.
One is characters. I do not mind OOC, but I hate it when characters seem out of it in my stories. Please tell me if you think any of them are OOC.
Second: do you think I should work the Temple Mission in? I have not played it yet, but I know it comes after Kashyyk. Obviously, I would make my own adjustments to it, and I very well might put it anyway, but your input would be appreciated.
Lastly, are there any missions you definitely want to see written? Fair warning, everything after the Empirical is altered slightly. I might have it worked in anyways, and I won't be doing too many, because, as I have said, I have another side to write in. The final level is a shoe in though, as is Bespin, to a degree.
Now that I have finished blathering, on to the Star Wars goodness. Read, Review, and Critique, please.
The Betrayal
Juno glowered at the landing plates on the Rogue Shadow. She hated anything getting onto her ship, and Felucian mud was only slightly easier to get off than Rancor vomit. How Starkiller had been vomited on, Juno did not know, and did not want to know. Needless to say, they spoke over the commlink on the way back, because the stench was overpowering.
He had appeared later — a faint odor wafting from him if he moved too fast — dressed in nothing but a stiff brown robe and leggings. They looked itchy, and when Juno asked about them, he said they were the only things he could find to change into, that they were old Jedi robes, they were itchy, and she was to mention it to no one under pain of… something that he would have to meditate on as she was too good of a pilot to kill. Once she had finished laughing, they had a quiet ride to the Estran sector.
Once they had arrived back, an R2 unit had rolled over and presented a message from Vader essentially saying 'gone to conquer planet, back in five.' It was a lot more official than that, but Juno thought her interpretation funnier.
So for two days, she and Starkiller would be on the half-finished Super Star Destroyer — alone — save for a hundred thousand constructor droids. Juno knew that they would not stay for long before Vader sent them somewhere else, but it was nice to have two days off.
Well, two days Starkiller had off. Juno would be cleaning the gunk from their ship for weeks.
She sighed and stripped off her top coat. She wished she had something other than the standard white undershirt, but nobody saw that anyway, so it would only matter to her finicky mind if there were mud and oil spots all over her white shirt. White! Whose idea was it to have white undershirts? Were they supposed to work on their ships in uniform? Nothing would show up on that matte black.
Juno fumed and muttered to herself as she got the cleaning equipment and decided to start on the landing plates. It took ten minutes to do that and then another twenty for the other two. Half a standard hour and she was amazed at how much still had to be done. The engine filters were filled with jelly-like slime, the pistons for the landing struts had slime and fungus spores coating the insides, and the hull needed a Geonosian dust storm to get it clean.
Juno sighed again and started scrubbing the landing gear. It was priority, and the engine filters could wait until she found a ladder.
Starkiller moved through the silent ship with a little loneliness creeping in. His master had always been here, his dark aura stretching through the ship, a calming influence always an undertone. It was hard to explain to anyone but himself. He knew Juno's opinion of Vader. She did not like him, but few did. Even the only Admiral to report directly to Vader for fifteen years, unscathed, disliked him on some level.
He couldn't blame them. Vader was a commanding man, with little tolerance for failure. But he knew how to reward loyalty. Juno could see that, at least. Her feelings were an open book to Starkiller. Admittedly, most of the book was in a language only females could hope to understand, but he understood that she was pleased to be here — working personally for Vader, of course. There was something else there, blocked and misty in the Force, but there nonetheless.
Starkiller hated not having anything to do. He had wandered this hallway two times in a row now, passing the same R2 unit and its fellow mouse droid again in under an hour. He had circled the command tower base as a jog for training and then decided that meditation would be a good idea.
The only problem was that he knew he would not be able to. For some odd reason, Juno kept popping into his mind. Starkiller shook his head to clear it. No, meditation was impossible. He had passed Vader's tests; he had shown he was ready. Admittedly, he should be meditating, or enlisting PROXY's help in tactics and stratagems to face the Emperor, but he could not calm down. Things kept assaulting his brain, and the strangest things, too.
Shaak Ti's words still hammered at his thoughts, Juno fading in and out as she pleased, and then Vader's… attitude of late. Vader controlled himself with an iron fist, a steel grip, but Starkiller had sensed things at night hours, when he woke in cold sweats, knowing his Master was awake, and somehow they had the same feeling of dread on them. But Starkiller could never remember those dreams. Others were vivid recreations of his past missions, and he remembered them perfectly.
Starkiller sighed and slumped down the wall, letting his head bang noisily against the bulkhead. His mind was so overrun with emotions and thoughts… he needed to do something to clear it. He needed to focus on something that was not meditation to gain any leverage over his rampant mind. He needed… needed… to work. Train with a lightsaber, or a vibroblade, by the Force he would try his hand at pistol practice, anything to get his thoughts away for a few minutes.
"Juno," he muttered. He remembered PROXY saying something about her scoring top marks in all her classes at the Academy. Which included pistol practice. That was something that had nothing to do with his current dilemma, and any kind of skill was useful, even if blasters were a crude weapon compared to the art that was lightsaber combat.
Starkiller got up and headed for the hanger. He could sense a strong presence of frustration — leading to anger — from there, and seeing as the only other living presence on the ship was Juno, that was where she would be.
Entering the hanger, Starkiller saw Juno perched on top of the Rogue Shadow, swearing loudly and creatively at what — as far as he could make out from the curses — seemed to be a mud stain.
Then she stood, slipped, and fell to floor.
Juno knew it would hurt. The ten to fifteen meter drop was enough to break her bones. She was braced for the pain — much like a TIE pilot braces for the impact of lasers that will end your life in less than a heartbeat — and was perfectly fine with dying. TIE pilots learned acceptance fast.
So Juno was surprised and mildly confused when she froze in midair. Her confusion turned to anger as she flipped around by her feet, hanging head down, and saw her savior/tormentor walking calmly over to her.
"I suppose you think this is funny?" she snapped at him.
Starkiller knelt so they were on eye level. "Yeah."
"Can you put me down now?"
"Maybe."
Juno sighed. The one time she slips and falls, the one time he is there to save her, and the one time he is in a playful mood, it had to be now. "Please, put me down," she said, knowing by his smirk he was enjoying this far too much.
Starkiller placed a hand on top of — or, at this point, under — her head, and twisted her head gently from side to side. "You just answered your own question."
Juno blinked, her vision getting red and heady. "Could you… ah…"
"Put you down?"
"…Hmm? Yeah, that." It was getting harder to think.
Starkiller smiled and suddenly Juno found herself in his arms, being gently placed on the ground, a steadying hand on her shoulder. "All I was looking for was a thank you," he said.
"Thank you."
"Was that so hard?"
Juno leaned against the landing ramp, slipped again and sat heavily on the ramp.
"Evidently," Starkiller smirked, "as you find standing on level ground hard enough."
"Oh, shut up," Juno snarled. "I got dizzy — because of you holding me upside down."
Starkiller sat down next to her. "What were you doing?"
"Cleaning our ship."
"Our?"
Juno didn't miss a beat. "I deem that you have put enough into her to own part of her."
"I am honored."
"Most of it creative smells from Raxus Prime and Felucia."
"Hazards of occupation."
"What are you doing here?" Juno asked, picking up a rag and wiping her hands clean of grime. "I am not sappy enough to think it was Fate that saved me."
"There is no Fate, only the Force," Starkiller said, with the air of one who knows all. "And in this case you were right. It was the Force that saved you."
"Thanks."
"Maybe you can do something to repay me?" Starkiller asked, his sentence trailing off as Juno's emotions suddenly skyrocketed into shock and… something Starkiller could not quite put his finger on. "Juno? Something wrong?"
"No, nothing," she squeaked. Squeaked? Starkiller and Juno frowned at each other.
"Juno, did you just—?"
"No," she interrupted. "Who do you — I mean, what can I help you with?"
Starkiller shrugged. "I was wondering if you could help me with some pistol practice."
"Why?" she asked, bluntly.
"Honestly… I need something to clear my head. Something simple and crude should be just the trick. And I am always looking to acquire new skills; never know when it might be handy."
"Blaster practice is simple and crude to you?"
Starkiller looked at her. "Have you seen a duel with lightsabers?"
"No."
"Have you seen a light-fight?"
"No."
"I thought—"
"I'm a pilot, Starkiller," Juno laughed, standing. "What makes you think I am any good with blaster pistols?"
"Your technical scores were first-rank marksman."
Juno rounded on him, trying to pull off mad and insulted that he looked at her records — again — but failed. Instead, she opted for the next thought: "What about PROXY? I thought he was programmed for combat."
"He is currently in the bowels of this Destroyer, plotting my demise," Starkiller said. He obviously found it funny. "I do not want him near me with blasters."
"Well, I would love to help," Juno said, grasping at the last straw and gripping it tight. She gestured at the metaphorical straw. "But I have to clean her up."
"The Rogue Shadow?" Starkiller glanced from Juno to the ship and back. "So when you're finished, you'll show me some pistol practice?"
"Sure. But it could take hours."
"No, it won't."
"Huh?"
Starkiller turned and spread his arms. He reached down, dove into the Force. He slipped paper thin layers of it under the clogging dirt and grime clinging to the ship. Once every subtle curve and sharp angle was covered, the dirt on top and the metal under the Force bubble, Starkiller expanded it, lifting the slime and grime from the surface.
Carefully he moved the trash to the side, clumping it into a ball and placing it in the residue storage compartment of the cleaning equipment.
He opened his eyes, and smirked. "Cleaner than when you got here."
He turned and headed for what would be the aft firing range, Juno following, childishly mimicking 'cleaner than when you got here'.
Juno had to say that it was comforting — no matter how slight — to know that there were two things she was better at than Starkiller. Piloting and blasters. That did not mean he was not good, or that he did not learn fast. But he always pulled his shots left or right, low or high, and the Force did not help against energy targets.
The tracer pinged against the blaster resistant metal, and she smirked as Starkiller breathed through his nose. It was odd that after only a week, they knew each other's idiosyncrasies, like him covering frustration — or suppressing it — with steady, forceful breathing. At least, she knew his, and she was never going to ask him if he knew hers, because… well, that was just awkward.
Starkiller aimed down the blaster and closed one eye. The shot clipped the edge of the target. "This would be so much easier if they were real," he muttered, pulling another shot to the left.
"It helps if you do not jerk the trigger," Juno supplied, raising and leveling her own pistol at the target. The laser sent the head shimmering into holo-static.
"Yes, Master," PROXY said from the door, making both of them jump. "Proper sniping procedures are to line up the shot, calibrate it for perfection, and then to squeeze the trigger."
"PROXY," Starkiller said, detachedly, "I know you know about weapons, but Master programmed you for lightsaber combat, not these… these sluggish blasters."
"Ah, but Master, after you bested me without your lightsaber, but a mere 'sluggish' vibroblade, I deemed it plausible that you could learn other weapons just as well. It was to even the playing field that I updated my programming with modern firearm procedures."
"Then why haven't you attacked me with a blaster?"
"You showed such proficiency at dispensing with ranged opponents, that I saw it as pointless at this time."
"That and you don't have the space," Juno added, eyeing the skeletal droid. She didn't know where it kept the lightsabers either.
"What do you want, PROXY?" Starkiller asked, trying to suppress a chuckle.
"Lord Vader contacted the ship. I said I would find you."
Starkiller's carefree face vanished, his handsome, boyish features becoming those of a predator once more. "Connect, PROXY."
"At once."
Juno stepped to the side, not wanting to intrude on the conversation. A new mission, perhaps? She knew Vader had contacted him like this before.
PROXY's imaged faded under a black holo-visage of Darth Vader. Even without his actual presence, Juno found him terrifying.
Starkiller knelt. "Master."
"I have received word that Master Shaak Ti is dead."
"Of course, Master."
"Then it is time. Report to me in the bridge."
"At once, Master," Starkiller said, his tone suddenly jubilant.
PROXY shut down the connection, staggering from the power drain. Starkiller caught him.
"It… it looks like you are about to fulfill your primary programming, Master," the droid said, holding its head in a strangely human manner.
"Yes… finally," Starkiller murmured. He turned to Juno. "Juno, take PROXY to the Rogue Shadow. Wait for me there. If — when everything goes according to plan, I want you here, as the New Empire rises."
"What New Empire? Starkiller, what are you talking about?" Juno exclaimed, staggering under the weight of PROXY, as the Sith dashed from the room.
"His primary program," PROXY muttered, his logistics flickering. "Deleting… Emperor…" A faint hum of supplementary power cells accompanied the silence.
Starkiller strode up behind Vader, anticipation barely suppressed. He stood by his master, knowing the Dark Lord would speak first.
"He has come," Vader said, his voice more hollow than usual.
"You have lured him to us?" Starkiller asked, incredulous. "When do we strike?"
"I did not summon him."
Everything is a dream, slow and yet too fast. The door hisses open, revealing the shrouded, hunched form of the Emperor. The Apprentice spins around, Vader following suit. Vader's crimson blade stabs through Starkiller's gut. The pain is incredible.
"His spies followed you here," says Vader.
The Apprentice sags to the floor, barely keeping consciousness.
Poor boy, the Sith always betray one another.
"What is your bidding, my Master?" Vader asks the Emperor, as if there is no young man on the floor, writhing in pain.
"You have forgotten your place, Lord Vader," the Emperor snarls. "By taking this… boy as your apprentice, you have betrayed me." He says it in a disappointed voice, not harsh or evil, but dismayed. It is a false voice. It turns to truth as it grows coarse and snarling. "Strike him down and prove your loyalty to me. Do it!"
"Master," the Apprentice gasps. "We can defeat him together. "
Vader looks from one to the other, and back.
"Do it, Lord Vader! Strike him down!"
"Master, please…"
Vader reaches through the Force — a flash of unwanted memory drawing his anger and fear forth, powering his rage — and grips his apprentice, throwing him into a wall. The boy screams as his body is thrown around like a toy. He slams into another wall and he slides down, consciousness leaving him.
"Yes, yes! Kill him, Lord Vader! Kill him!"
But he feels the last pain; that of his snapping spine. Then the shattering glass and cold embrace of space and death.
Vader watched his master. The Emperor turned slowly and hobbled away, leaving Vader with suppressed emotions that neither of them could sense.
Juno walked down the ramp to meet the clatter of combat boots. She was about to come to attention for the stormtrooper commander, but froze as a blaster carbine jabbed into her face.
"Hands behind your head, traitor."
"Wha—?"
"I said 'hands behind your head'!" His hand came down hard across her face. Juno fell to the cold deck, stunned. What? Traitor? But she was loyal to the Empire. She was loyal to her family.
"Lord Vader." The soldiers snapped to attention.
Juno felt her body choke with fear. It was unreasonable, but he inspired it. Fear bred in the folds of his cloak and permeated the air wherever he swept. Then she actually started to choke. Juno was lifted into the air and pinned against the Rogue Shadow's hull, Vader standing not two feet away, holding her in the Force. She had often wondered what it looked like, to influence the Force. Now she was getting first-hand lessons.
"You will be detained for your traitorous actions, Pilot," he rasped. She fell to the ground, coughing. Vader turned away.
If Juno had one failing, it was her defiance. "What… what actions? I've done everything you asked."
"Silence, traitor," the stormtrooper commander snarled from behind the bone white helmet, as he gripped her arms and hauled her to her feet. Another trooper snapped restraints on her wrists.
Vader stopped and for a second Juno thought he was going to snap her in half right there. But he seemed to deflate — so infinitely slight that she had to have imagined it — and turned slightly, to look at her over his shoulder. Then he turned forward again. "He's dead. You will be made useful, to redeem yourself of what little you can." He strode out of the hanger, leaving Juno limp in the troopers' arms.
