CHAPTER 8
I.
Lando Calrissian awoke and opened his eyes, but saw nothing. He blinked a few times to be sure, and then arrived at the unpleasant conclusion that he was either someplace very dark, or had been blinded.
As he struggled to get his bearings, he realized that he was upright, but was strapped to a gurney of some kind. His arms were restrained against his sides, and his palms rested against the cool skin of his thighs. He could feel a slight draft where there should be no draft—he was naked.
Fantastic, he thought bitterly.
There was a loud, hydraulic hiss and the blackness in front of him moved upwards as the wall slid open. A blinding light took its place. The gurney lurched forward and he was in the open air, squinting tightly against the harsh brightness. As he tried to open his eyes, he could just make out the silhouetted figure of an armored humanoid standing in front of him.
A thin rod swooped through the air and cracked Lando across the face. He grunted in pain.
"Fett?" he asked.
There was another whoosh of air and he was struck on the other cheek. This time, a sharpened end dragged across his face, cutting him. The rod was not cold—it felt like a wood shoot of some sort. For pain inducement only, he realized. Cute.
The light cut out suddenly, and Lando was back in the dark. His pupils fought to adjust.
"So we're playing games?" Lando demanded. "I'm a gamer by profession, and I—
A wide, heavy slab of industrial rubber slammed against his abdomen. The air shot out of him, and though his body yearned to cough, he had nothing in his lungs to cough with. He choked and sputtered. A small, hard fist punched him under the nose, knocking his head back into the gurney.
I really pissed this guy off. It must be Fett.
As Lando fought to catch his breath, he looked around again and still couldn't see anything. Had he blacked out? Was he back in the compartment?
The flood lights came on again. The sharpened rod jabbed him in the ribs. He winced. The lights went out again.
He could feel the air shift as his captor moved about the room. For several long seconds, there was nothing.
The lights flashed again and the point jabbed into the soft bottom of his bare foot, puncturing the skin. He cried out and struggled against his restraints. It went dark again.
"You fracking coward!" he roared. "I'll—
The rubber slab socked him in the gut again, the thud echoing through the room. Lando retched violently and sagged back against the gurney. He was exhausted.
"Tomorrow," said a gravelly, metallic voice, "we'll try this again."
Lando felt a rush of air larger than any of the others and the slab nailed the top of his head, exploding stars amid the darkness. With another lurch, the gurney rolled back into its compartment, and the hatch slammed shut.
Unconsciousness tugged at him.
He welcomed it.
II.
Mara Jade walked along the cavernous hallway leading up to the Emperor's throne room on Imperial Center. It was lined with massive marble pillars and ornately sculpted potted trees. At the far end, flanking the entrance, were four of the elite Royal Guards, clad in the famous crimson cloaks of their order.
There was someone else as well. She was sitting on a plush bench set against the left wall, several meters from the guards. She too was dressed in crimson, but she wore no helmet. Her black hair fell just past her shoulders, and her eyes—one blue, one red—were fixed upon a data pad she was studying.
Mara sighed inwardly.
Let the games begin.
She walked up to within a meter of her. The other woman did not look up from her pad.
"Madame Director," Mara greeted her.
"Emperor's Hand," Ysanne Isard replied evenly. She continued with the pad.
"No rest for those gathering intelligence, I take it."
"No rest for those directing intelligence," Isard corrected her.
"Of course," Mara answered. She was willing to demure a bit because Isard was in the Emperor's good graces. For the moment.
While she couldn't fathom that her master trusted this woman over her, Mara could certainly appreciate that Isard was more his type of creature—ruthless, cunning, and brilliant at manipulating friend and foe from a distance. They were two of a kind, she and the Emperor.
"I was just reading up on the Clak'Dor incident," Isard said. "A faulty ejection system on the carrier ship." She shook her head. "It's hard to believe."
"It certainly was," Mara ground out. She was in no mood to be toyed with on this matter.
"I see the chief engineer was dealt with."
"I heard he was going to receive a less than glorious transfer."
"Where did you hear that?"
"From a source close to the Devastator's captain."
Isard looked at the pad's screen for a moment. "That's interesting."
"How so?"
"Because a source close to the Executor's commander reports a quiet transfer of one Lt. Commander Juran Haramin to the post of chief engineer aboard the flagship."
Mara fought to keep her composure. She felt the back of her neck tingle and her stomach sour. "Really?" she managed.
Isard looked directly at her now. As distracting as the red and blue eyes were, it was not enough to hide the amusement behind them.
"Hard to believe," Isard repeated.
The heavy steel doors of the throne room slid apart and the Emperor's herald stepped out. He was a cold, older man wearing long, purple robes.
"His Excellency will see you both," he proclaimed.
III.
Luke Skywalker and Wedge Antilles stepped into the briefing room onboard the dreadnaught Yavin Victory. It was a high-ceilinged room with stadium-style benches running along one wall, and a podium and holo-emitter at the far wall. The two pilots walked up to the forth row bench and took a seat. There were various other senior officers milling about. Princess Leia and General Rieekan were standing close to the podium, along with a sandy-bearded officer Luke had never seen before. Leia caught his eye and smiled, then turned back to the conversation she was involved in.
"Any idea what's brewing, boss?" Wedge asked. Though technically not a command officer, squadron executive officers were included in mission briefings in case they should need to assume command before or during the mission.
Luke shook his head, still looking around the room. "Nope. I just know it's supposed to be big." He nodded towards Rieekan. "That was the General's word for it."
Conversation died down as Mon Mothma walked in, seemingly gliding across the room in her flowing white robes. The Mon Calamari Admiral Ackbar was in tow.
General Rieekan stepped over to the podium and tapped a switch, causing a soft chime to ring twice. "This briefing will begin now. Please note that all subject matter covered here is classified and not to be discussed with subordinates." He stepped back, and Mom Mothma took her place at the podium.
"It is a pleasure to see you all. This will be our first full staff briefing since the Hoth evacuation. While I mourn those lost in the battle, I am grateful to see so many of our finest men and women here—alive, and ready to fight another day."
A polite round of applause rose up and quickly faded.
"After so many tragic endings at our planetary bases, it has been determined that we will operate on the move, going forward. The fleet will be our central base. We will remain mobile, jumping to and from coordinates based on an algorithm which we will provide each of you with. This will obviously present new logistical challenges, but I will leave the details for General Rieekan to discuss with you later on. For right now, I would like to reveal our new primary offensive."
The lights dimmed and the holo-emitter came to life, displaying a galactic map with three locations highlighted. A mission title was written across the top.
"Operation Triple Blade," she said, "is a three-prong mission, in which each of the components will ultimately culminate in a crippling blow against the Imperial military."
"In which sector?" an officer asked from the front row.
Mon Mothma gave a small smile, but her eyes remained hard. "The Imperial military in its entirety."
This caused a stir throughout the group.
"Difficult to believe, I grant you, but allow me to explain," she said. "A group of specialists will be deployed to each of the locations indicated on the map." She tapped a key on the control pad and a planet shot forward, enlarged against the backdrop of the galaxy.
"As many of you know, the dissident movement on Sullust has been gaining speed for several years, ever since the elitist group controlling the SoroSuub corporation allied itself with the Empire. I don't have to tell you the benefits to having an Alliance-friendly movement taking control of their manufacturing operations." She turned to Leia. "To that end, Princess Leia Organa will be leading a team to provide aid to the dissidents."
Leia nodded and stepped forward. "We will mostly be serving in an advisory capacity, allowing their people to benefit from our experience in waging war against a materially superior force. I will be helping them structure their group into a cell network, while Major Derlin and his men will train them in conducting guerilla offensives." She stepped back.
Mon Mothma nodded and struck another key. Sullust faded back into the map, and a blue world surged forward to take its place.
"Admiral Ackbar and I will be returning to Mon Calamari for final talks with their naval commanders. For decades, the Mon Calamari have managed to maintain a standoff with the Imperial fleet, never allowing their world to be conquered. This is due largely to their own impressive fleet of capital ships, each one nearly the equal of an Imperial-class star destroyer." She paused and looked away from the map to the assembly. "The Mon Calamari have agreed to provide the Alliance with several of these cruisers."
This caused another stir. Wedge turned to Luke. "Nice," he said. Luke smiled tightly and nodded in agreement. They would finally have a fleet to reckoned with—one that could engage Imperial sector fleets in real combat, not just hit-and-fade ops.
There was an electricity in the room that was palpable. Officers were grinning widely and gesturing enthusiastically. Mon Calamari shrunk back into the map and things began to simmer down a bit.
"Forgive me if this last portion seems like a dramatic unveiling," she said. The last murmurs of conversation died out. "But I was afraid discussing it before now would create a lasting distraction. I think you'll understand my concerns in a moment."
She tapped a key and a third planet leapt forward, a green one.
Wedge turned to Luke again. "Where the hell is Endor?"
Luke shook his head. He was focusing on a large metal power core orbiting the planet. It gave him a cold feeling in his stomach.
"This holo-image came from a source on Bothawui that I swore not to reveal, even in the context of this meeting." Mon Mothma swallowed and cleared her throat. "The power core you see orbiting Endor is believed to be the first component in a new Death Star."
This statement was met with dead silence—painful silence, where the buzz of overhead lighting and the low hum of electronics constitute deafening noise. A whispered curse word floated down from one of the upper benches.
Luke and Wedge exchanged a silent, morbid look. They had been the only men in their squadron to survive the assault on the first Death Star.
General Rieekan stepped over the podium and Mon Mothma made room for him. He leaned into the microphone. "Luckily for us," he said, "we happen to have a pilot on staff who specializes in killing Death Stars."
It was as though Rieekan had popped a balloon. Cheers roared up and people clapped and whistled. Cries of 'Luke' and 'Skywalker' could be heard from all sides. Luke felt his face warm and looked down with an embarrassed smile. Wedge clapped him on the back, jostling a small laugh out of him. Luke looked up and saw Leia beaming at him with adoration.
Chaste adoration. And once again, to his own surprise, he found he was completely fine with that.
"Thank you, General," Mon Mothma said as Rieekan walked back to stand among the other commanders. "I'm certain we all needed that," she said with a smile. The noise level died back down.
"Now," she continued, "there is obviously a good deal of work to be done before we can unleash Commander Skywalker upon this budding monstrosity. To that end, it is my great pleasure to introduce to you the newest addition to our senior staff. Like many of our ranks, he was an Imperial officer who could no longer serve in good conscience and chose to defect. He had taken several actions against the Empire prior to leaving, and the intelligence he provided the Alliance upon joining has proved invaluable. He comes with the highest recommendations from General Rieekan and Captain Katarn. I present to you, General Crix Madine."
There was more applause as the man Luke noted with the sand-colored beard stepped forward. Mon Mothma gestured and he stepped over the podium.
"Thank you," he said. "I appreciate the warm welcome. I will be brief, particularly since the less details I divulge, the better. In short, I will be coordinating infiltration efforts to steal design schematics for the new Death Star. Once the plans are secured, we will take that along with our bolstered star fleet," he nodded to Ackbar, "and our partnership with SoroSuub," he nodded to Leia, "and mount an assault on the Empire's greatest military resource—and destroy it." He looked out at the faces of the assembly. "It is an honor to serve with each of you."
Madine stepped away from the podium, rejoining Rieekan and Leia. Mon Mothma resumed her place.
"These are exciting times," she said. "One by one, opportunities have presented themselves, and we must rise to every occasion. If each of us can hold fast to our commitment, our stamina, and our faith in the principles and way of life we fight for, then we shall be victorious. May the force be with us all."
There was more applause and officers rose from their seats, shaking hands with their comrades. Rieekan stepped over the podium one last time. "All unit commanders not currently assigned to Triple Blade will receive fleet assignments from me in the next twenty-four hours. I remind you this meeting is classified. Dismissed."
"I'm reeling from all of this," Wedge said. "What should we be doing?"
Luke turned to him and smiled. "We keep training. But harder."
Wedge's eyes widened a bit. "Harder?"
"I have a few ideas."
IV.
Darth Vader was once more a being driven by purpose.
That purpose was to destroy each of those people his son held dear.
As Luke's power grew, those around him would either seek to manipulate him for their own gain, or try to kill him when his abilities became too threatening to them.
He would spare Luke the downward spiral that had claimed his own life in the last days of the Clone Wars. He would be able to remember his friends as just that—friends—untainted by lies and agendas. And when he had mourned enough, and was ready to start down a new path in his life, his father would be there with an outstretched hand.
Han Solo, for all intents and purposes, was gone. Time permitting, Vader would arrange for that end to become permanent. There were no doubt many other comrades that Luke considered friends, but by Vader's estimation, the key lay in dispatching two people.
Master Yoda and Princess Leia Organa.
Vader had just logged off of the holonet after setting a plan in motion for Organa.
And now, with his hands resting on the helm controls, Vader reached out with the force, and conjured all of the memories, feelings, and sensations he associated with Master Yoda from his other life.
With all that had happened in the past weeks—having discovered the truth about his wife's death, and his son's birth—with all of the introspection as he delved into his own mind, searching for his true purpose—he was more open to the living force than he had been in decades.
He concentrated on Yoda. He could see his small, clawed hands wrapped around a gnarled cane. He could see the soft, fine layer of white fur that covered his ears.
He could see him standing in a swamp brimming with wildlife of every kind imaginable, looking through the mist, and through the clouds. Looking at the ebb and flow of the universe.
Unconsciously, Vader set the navicomputer to manual mode, and launched his TIE Advanced into hyperspace towards a destination he could not name.
Towards an uncharted planet called Dagobah.
V.
Jedi Master Yoda stood in a swamp brimming with wildlife of every kind imaginable, looking through the mist, and through the clouds. Looking at the ebb and flow of the universe.
His small, clawed hands were wrapped around a gnarled cane. The soft, fine layer of white fur that covered his ears caught the gentle breeze coming off of the murky water.
As he communed with the galaxy, all manner of creatures emerged from the fog, forming a loose perimeter around him. Predator and prey sat quietly and peacefully together, perhaps aware at some primal level that they were close to something remarkable—something that transcended nature and instinct.
Yoda's essence traveled through the sky, through space and time, through life and death. He had been reaching out towards his new padawan, when he sensed something else reaching towards him. Something dark and twisted, but strangely familiar.
Vader.
He shivered. He blinked. His eyes refocused. The assembled creatures did the same, and then began to turn and head back into the Dagobah foliage, to resume their normal existences.
Yoda let out a ragged, tired breath.
Too weak, am I.
After decades of nothing but peaceful meditation, the training of Luke Skywalker had taken a lot out of him. He clearly was not shielding his presence as well as he once had.
And now a sick and dangerous man was on his way.
Master Yoda, now nine-hundred years old, no longer possessed the strength to fight such a man. His longtime sanctuary was about to be discovered by a Sith Lord.
There was only one thing left that he could do.
To be continued…
