— The Will of the Empire —
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Chapter Nine
Author's Notes: Egad! I can't believe it's been a month to the day since my last update. I am so sorry that it took me so long, folks! I hope everyone (Americans, not British) had a lovely fourth of July. Anyhow, work got a little crazy and I was struggling to push out that Thor's Slayers chapter, but now that it's done I can bring my focus back to Will of the Empire. You can expect several more chapters before I turn back to TS and also that they'll be released on a more frequent, regular schedule.
Notifications about this chapter: 1) The bulk of this chapter will be geared more toward character (primarily Luke) development with slightly less emphasis on chapter progression/story movement. That being said, I believe you'll be quite satisfied with the way the chapter turns out. 2) Slight warning, there's going to be a bit of a racy scene toward the middle of the chapter. It's quick and barely/not explicit but it does kind of sneak up on you.
As always, thank you for your feedback/reviews; they truly help me with my writing. Enjoy the chapter!
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"I'm not exactly little miss wallflower, Wes, but I'll make you a deal. I won't beat on any of the resident scum unless they hit me first—or they pick on my friends—or I feel like it!"
— Plourr Ilo
#
Thirty-four days after BoE
About the Chimaera
En route to Imperial Center
Luke took long, purposeful strides down the otherwise empty, grey corridor, doing his best to ignore the trio of stormtroopers following at his heels. Since arriving aboard the Chimaera, he'd mused to himself more than once how odd it felt to be around stormtroopers who didn't have the intention of arresting or blasting away at him. It was a disconcerting thing, that queer sense of reluctant obedience they offered him and it was something he knew he'd have to acclimate to sooner rather than later. Yet despite his awareness of their presence and their reasons for being there, he still had the urge to look over his shoulder every few steps as the echo of plasteel-clad boots marching in unison rang from behind.
Clearing his mind of the stormtroopers whose obedience to Pellaeon barely outweighed their animosity toward him, Luke again considered the situation he was about to confront. Arriving at another intersection, Luke's thought process was stymied as he struggled to recall the ship's layout. He waited half a beat before turning to the left. A quiet cough from behind made Luke's face heat in embarrassment and he turned on his heels to go the opposite direction.
Whoever designed the internal structure of the Star Destroyer was a real prick, he thought annoyed. It was true there were the occasional floor maps available along the walls and he could've looked at his datapad, but he was doing his best to memorize the layout, if for no other reason than to impress doubtful crewman. He'd been getting better, but he was still about 50/50 on the more unfamiliar parts of the ship, which unfortunately was most of the ship. At least the stormtroopers at his back found his impression of being the "Little Lost Bantha Cub" to be a point of amusement rather than derision. It wasn't exactly respect, but he'd take what he could get.
In truth, the first few years with the Alliance where he'd behaved in a similarly naive and clueless way had inured him from most forms of ridicule. Besides, they'd stopped laughing once he'd started dangling them in the air through the Force, so there was that. Perhaps it wasn't the most responsible application of that wondrous, mystical power that was the Force, but damn if it hadn't shut them up. He shook his head of fond memories of dangling Hobbie in the air and continued on his way.
#
Ten minutes, two turbolift rides and two navigational failures later found Luke staring at four stuncuffed and battered individuals sitting, or rather sulking, in one of the Chimaera's larger detention cells.
Hearing the door to the detention level swish open, Luke glanced behind his shoulder to see Baron Fel and Wedge walking side by side to join him. Together, the single Imperial and two Alliance officers stared through the transparent wall of the detention cell as if they were studying a fascinating animal at the zoo.
"So, what are we going to do with these degenerates?" Wedge finally asked.
"We could space the lot," Luke suggested gravely, stroking his chin contemplatively, "but I think space would actually spit Janson back onto the ship if we tried."
Wes Janson, who'd actually been gagged by some thoughtful security officer, glared at him behind a broken nose and a bruised jaw. Plourr Ilo, on the other hand, was grinning wildly, showing none of the soreness her black eye and bruised left cheek should've been causing her. They were each restrained to a metal chair but still somehow gave off the impression that they were wavering drunkenly in place. The other two sharply dressed individuals, at least one of whom was a member of the 181st, looked scarcely better but did look genuinely contrite.
One pilot, the one who wore the squadron patch of the 181st, swallowed audibly. "Colonel, I take full responsibility for—"
Janson began speaking loudly, words obscured by the gag.
Plourr, on the other hand, was happy to translate for Janson. "See, it's his fault. We're innocent, Commander, we're being completely framed by these kriffin' Imps! He admitted it!"
Wedge turned away, coughing slightly to conceal his amusement.
"You lead these…people into battle?" Colonel Fel asked aloud, appalled.
"They grow on you after a while," Luke replied wryly.
"We're like a vicious, persistent and—" Plourr began.
Wes issued out a series of loud mumbles.
Plourr frowned, "I was getting to that, Janson. You've got a pretty face, so you'd be served better if you were seen and not heard, so stuff it. Anyway, like I was saying, we're a vicious, persistent, dashing and beautiful form of fungus. Just give us a chance, Fel and we'll grow on you."
Soontir wore the expression of a man who'd smelled something rotten and wanted to toss it out the airlock.
"Well, gentlemen?" Wedge prompted again.
"Major…" Luke paused, giving the 181st pilot a questioning look.
"Phennir, Turr Phennir," the blonde-haired man replied immediately.
"Major Phennir, unless the Colonel has any objections, you and—" Luke paused, glancing at the Baron by his side.
Colonel Fel bent his head toward Luke and informed him in a quiet voice, "Major Mianda, Squadron Leader of the Scythes."
Luke nodded his thanks."—you and Major Mianda will be free to leave in a moment, provided that I have your assurance that this will not happen again."
Both men stiffened. "Of course, Commander Skywalker, Colonel Fel."
"Finally!" Plourr exclaimed. "These chairs are as uncomfortable and…and…grey just like everything else on this damn boat!"
Wedge grinned evilly. "I think I have a better plan for you two."
Plourr's smile dimmed and she turned wide, pleading eyes to Luke.
Luke held his hands up in protest. "Unlike these two upstanding majors of the Imperial Navy, I know the two of you well enough that it will happen again and will likely have an even unhappier conclusion. Go ahead, Wedge."
Wedge strode forward until he stood opposite Plourr and Wes from the other side of the cell's entrance. "Lieutenants Janson and Ilo, you are to remain in this cell for the next 12 hours to sober up, to think about your contemptible deeds. You are then to serve as the personal servants of our esteemed colleagues, Majors Phennir and Mianda, until such time as this task force reaches the capital."
Plourr's narrowed. "You wouldn't dare."
The commanding officer of Rogue Squadron raised a single, imperious eyebrow and turned slowly toward Colonel Fel. "Baron, does this arrangement suit you?"
Soontir Fel glanced back and forth between the blank-faced Imperial officers to the horrified X-Wing pilots. "While this method of punishment is rather…unique, I cannot argue that the extremity of the punishment is well-suited to their willingness to engage in conduct so unbecoming of an officer. Yes, Commander Antilles, I am more than satisfied with this arrangement."
#
"Fierfek!" Plourr cursed to her single cellmate. "This is the last time I go along with one of your ideas."
Janson issues indistinct mumbles from behind his gag.
"No, no, Janson. I clearly remember mixing various forms of alcohol and stiff-necked Imperials as being your idea. This is all your fault."
A groan erupted from the Tanaabian pilot.
"We'll agree to disagree, then." Plourr shrugged. "For the record, if I'm going to be anyone's 'servant' then I call dibs on Phennir. That uptight prig might be kung, Janson, but he's definitely beddable. Nothing works miracles between the sheets like a little anger and barely restrained violence. And that lovely major, oh yeah, he has a serious hate-on for Rebels. It's going to be fantastic!"
Another groan.
Frowning at the man, Plourr huffed. "Of course, I'm joking, bantha brains! Why the hell would I let an Imp touch me? I'd vape the bastard first—" Plourr paused, head canted to the side. "Or maybe I'd vape him during just for the thrill, you know? Eh, that's a little grotesque even for me."
Wes grimaced but still managed to roll his eyes and glare at her.
"Kriff off! I can talk about my sex life all I want and nothing you say…" Plourr cut off sharply, turning away. After a moment, she continued speaking, but in a quieter more introspective tone, "maybe Kirst was right. Maybe I don't have to be the big old badass all the time. Don't have to be heartless all the time. So much has changed recently, Janson, just look where we are now! So…maybe I can change too, you know? Be more empathetic. Maybe…"
The Eiattuan turned her head toward Janson's, eyes wide and shimmering. "Maybe I can change. So, Wes, just say the word, and I'll stop talking about these terrible things."
Groaning even louder, Janson mumbled furiously from behind his gag.
"Well, Wes? Do you think I can change?" she cooed.
Janson nodded vigorously.
"That I should change?" she cooed.
The nodding continued.
"Just say the word…"
A moment of leg kicking, nodding and furious mumbling passed while Plourr waited for a response. When the reply never came, the bald woman sighed contentedly and shrugged a shoulder, "Huh, guess not, so you do want to know about my exploits, eh? Can't say as I blame you."
Wes mumbled an unintelligible word.
Plourr nodded seriously before she let out a delighted laugh, "So let me tell you about these two Zeltrons who kept me locked up in their flat for a solid week on Denon. Now, mind you, this was a long time ago when I was still on the run, but what I lacked in experience they more than made up for in stamina. The last day they kept me tied down, I woke up to Yssylr—a little she-devil whose skin was the loveliest shade of purple, was between my legs doing this thing to me with her tongue. Meanwhile, Rahkul was behind her—and let me tell you, Wes, he had the biggest damn…"
Janson moaned in despair.
The next day
"Is the communications blackout still in effect on Imperial Center?" Luke asked into the silence of the gym. Meditating upon a grey sparring mat, his words echoed in a room that'd been vacant only moments before. Though he had difficulty letting go of his turbulent emotions, his reward for successfully doing so was the serenity and calm he found only in meditation. That peacefulness must seem utterly alien aboard an Imperial Star Destroyer and his atypical uniform likely contributed to that otherness that even fellow Alliance members had begun to find disconcerting. Wearing his freshly laundered, black Jedi uniform, he sat cross-legged with his eyes closed, back straight and palms face-up upon his knees.
Immersed in the Force as he was, he'd felt the admiral's presence the moment he'd entered the room as well as the man's reticence to disturb him. It was more than just reticence, however, for Luke also sensed a thread of anxiety, maybe even fear emanating from the older man. Luke winced, maybe it wasn't the uniform that others found odd…maybe, just maybe, it might be something else about his meditations that was unnerving.
On the heels of that thought, an old power coupling rose from the ground and moved smoothly through the air, performing a small rotation around his body before it began rising into the air. A heartbeat later and it finished its upward flight and joined the rest of the field of mechanical knick-knacks that hovered ten feet in the air, spiraling around him as if he were the center of the galaxy.
That thought nearly made him lose his concentration, the knowledge that his metaphor might soon become much more literal doing little to aid him in his meditations. Letting go of his thoughts of the future, he released his feelings into the Force and continued manipulating the spiral of mechanical parts.
There was a marked pause before the admiral responded, the admiral's words entirely unanticipated by Luke.
"I did not serve under your father for very long, but I was witness to his use of the Force on more than one occasion. When I was an observer to such displays, Lord Vader's application of the Force were either a matter of practicality or because he was enraged," Admiral Piett replied quietly. "Though I never saw him do anything like what you're doing, I do believe he performed his own type of meditations in the privacy of his life support chamber. There was one exception, however, which occurred shortly after your encounter at Bespin."
A number of the items swimming lazily through the air around Luke dipped alarmingly at the reference to that terrible day. Breathing out, he forced a neutral, "Oh?"
There was only one instance where I found him using it for any other reason. He was doing an exercise much like this," Admiral Piett finally replied, the non sequitur taking Luke off guard. "I had expected to die when the Millennium Falcon jumped into hyperspace, taking you with it. But Lord Vader's silence, oh Commander, his silence was so much more terrifying than the rage I'd expected. It took me several hours to work up the courage to approach him, to apologize for my failure and, if I lived, to ask for new orders. However, it was not his personal chambers or any of the briefing rooms that I found him in, rather it was the hanger where he was studying the X-Wing you'd left on Cloud City."
When Luke made no response, Piett continued.
"Your father held a hand against the nose of your ship with his head down. Several parts of the X-Wing were circulating in the air much as they're doing now from your efforts. At the time, I'd believed he was enraged at losing you just when you were within his grasp. It was only later that I realized that the parts weren't being subconsciously levitated as a result of his fury as sometimes happened, but that he was actually repairing your X-Wing, modifying it, possibly."
Luke's eyes opened and he couldn't help the little hitch in his breath. "Well, seeing as you're here, healthy and alive, what did he say?" After a short pause, he belatedly and bashfully added, "And do you know what happened to my X-Wing?"
"When Lord Vader deigned to acknowledge my presence in mid-apology, it was merely to inform me that my captaincy was being relegated back to the Accuser. I did not dare stay any longer, Commander, and that was the last I saw of your father and of your X-Wing for some time. As for your X-Wing, I'm afraid I'm not sure. To the best of my knowledge, it wasn't aboard the Executor—" Piett paused, face taking on a pained expression, "—during the battle. If I were to guess, Lord Vader had it moved to one of his private holdings to be placed among his…collections."
Luke, still facing away from the admiral as he concentrated on the still growing field of parts, narrowed his eyes. "Holdings? Collections?"
"Lord Vader had many personal holdings that you've since inherited, Commander. Surely you don't believe that his living arrangements involved moving from one subordinate's couch to another?" Piett replied blandly.
Luke's back straightened even more. "Was that a joke, Admiral Piett?"
"We Imperials strive not to have a sense of humor."
Shaking his head with a soft laugh, Luke closed his eyes again. "I've seen my father's palace on Imperial Center from afar when we were leveling Prince Xizor's own palace, but I hadn't thought about him having any others or even of inheriting them. I suppose I'll look into that when we arrive. Now, you've managed to avoid my original question: the communication blackout."
"Ah, yes, of course. Unfortunately, our attempts to reach Imperial Center remain fruitless."
Luke nodded, not thrilled with the news but not particularly surprised either. With a sigh, he studied the field of objects float about him until he frowned as something tickled his mind. Luke extended his senses, found what had called to him and brought the stormtrooper to him. Keeping the helmet levitating in front of him, Luke narrowed his focus and studied the object closely, looking for the oddity he'd detected.
"Commander?"
Smaller. Smaller. Smaller. Concentrate. Luminous beings are we, now focus beyond this crude matter to something smaller.
He heard the admiral ask him a question but Luke couldn't answer. He was far too invested in…whatever it was he saw. Or what he thought he saw, or what he might not be seeing. Or maybe what he felt? He resisted the urge to rub his head to prevent the oncoming headache and instead let go of conscious thought…
Luke focused upon his essence, his sense of self shrinking to the extent that the smallest of lines marking the manufacturing of the plasteel helmet were clearly visible.
Smaller.
The helmet rotated in front of him and his focus shifted as it did so, studying it and looking for what had called to him—
There!
There were many cracks in the helmet, all a byproduct of the process used to create the helmet, coming together to not only keep the helmet together but to strengthen it. But this crack…this crack was different though. It touched the artificial cracks in the plasteel but was a natural, unintended fault of the material. It was this crack that had tugged on his awareness, but why?
Breath. Beyond your flesh, your consciousness must be.
The cracks which had been growing larger were now deep chasms which Luke waded through, walking through them as he might a canyon on Tatooine. With every step, he examined his surroundings, whether it was the crack, the plasteel that loomed on every side, or the air above him as though he were looking back upon himself. The perception of the plasteel's uniformity had been significantly diminished, the white paint now chipped and corroded from his new vantage point. Beneath him, the crack that he traversed was jagged and uneven unlike the other smoothly cut, interlocking lines.
Why had this called out to him? What was its importance? Whether it was a design flaw or the result of damage, it wouldn't hamper its function to any noticeable extent. So why?
He continued navigating the crack, his awareness following the winding fault line through the cellular structure of the helmet surrounding him. It felt like he'd been walking for weeks before he saw what had called out to him: a nexus of tiny interlocking lines that were the seams of the helmet's manufacturing process. An artificial hub where the individually fragile pieces were fused together to become something so much stronger. Every line that joined the hub had been deliberately fashioned to connect here, an ingenuity of engineering that he'd never have appreciated until now. However, it wasn't all the lines intended to connect that had caught his attention, it was the flaw, the fault that exposed a weakness far more significant than he'd originally believed.
Why would this speak to him? The answer continued to elude him.
The Force didn't exactly administer learning exercises without a deeper purpose, but maybe Master Yoda had something to do with it. Given the venerable Jedi's recent tutelage of the Art of the Small, it wasn't difficult to see the connection to this exercise. He considered that for a moment. Master Yoda had taught him of the concept, of the philosophy of the Art of the Small, but had kept his instructions vague aside from learning to attain such a state. Knowing his master's penchant for forcing him to think for himself, to open his mind to the Force and the possibilities it granted, he forced himself to remember Yoda's words.
It seemed a failing among many of the Jedi, Yoda had told him, that the formal instruction provided within the walls of the Jedi Temple would inherently limit their perception of their limits. That wasn't to say they were weak, of course, or that they were unable to overcome such a mental block, but it was another reminder that the Force was not a series of skills requiring a magic word to use. The Force flowed, and it was a Force-sensitive's internal fortitude, faith and imagination that opened a Jedi to its current.
Somewhere, far off in the distance, Luke could hear the voice of the admiral but couldn't discern the words. They seemed muted, distorted as if he were underwater. Hoping to stall the admiral, Luke withdrew and raised a sluggish hand in a staying gesture. When the admiral quieted, Luke delved deeper once again.
Smaller.
He'd discovered this weakness through the ability the diminutive Jedi spirit was helping him master, but how would that help him? His ability to narrow his focus, to shift his consciousnesses so that it perceived the universe differently; how did it, could it somehow be applied?
Bringing his awareness to his physical body, he extended a finger from his flesh hand to brush against the helmet's weakness, immediately narrowing his focus as he did so. He was minuscule now, examining the way the cells around the flaw shuddered under the pressure of his finger in a way they didn't elsewhere.
A flaw in any construction presented a weakness and enough applied force could exploit that weakness when the object would normally be safe from catastrophic damage. That was a universal concept that applied to everything, so how could he use that fault here?
Luke let a finger hover over the helmet's flaw, occasionally brushing against it, testing it, feeling it. It seemed impossible, but he'd learned better than to use that word even in his internal monologues. Luke stilled his body, keeping the awareness of both body and spirit while levitating the motionless helmet in front of him. Carefully withdrawing his finger, his took a moment to concentrate before he jabbed the weak point with his index finger.
He opened his eyes and watched the helmet expectantly, waiting.
Nothing happened.
Sighing, he slowly lowered the various objects hovering around him onto the floor and opened his eyes. Luke blew out a gusty sigh, looking down into the black, opaque lenses of the stormtrooper helmet now resting in front of him.
"Commander Skywalker?"
Luke blinked, shook his head and looked over his shoulder at an audience larger than it had been just a few minutes ago. At some point, Wedge, Lando and Meewalh had entered the small gym and were standing at Admiral Piett's side, looking at him with varying degrees of concern.
Blinking tiredly, Luke frowned at the newcomers. "When did you guys come in?"
"I'm not sure what was so attractive about that helmet," Lando shrugged, "but Wedge and I came in about an hour ago while you were fondling it."
Lando gave him a toothy grin, "It must've been some helmet because you've been doing it ever since. You were so lost in its beautiful black lenses that you didn't even hear the admiral ask if you wanted the room to yourself."
A loud 'crack' suddenly echoed in the small gym, resulting in a hold-out blaster, two blaster pistols, the distinctive scythelike weapon of the Noghri and a lightsaber all being drawn in a rush.
The four men and Noghri all pointed their weapons toward the source of the noise with quizzical frowns.
Another crack sounded, followed by another and another until visible lines appeared on the helmet that continued to spread and deepen. Flakes of white paint and plasteel began falling around the helmet, joined shortly after by larger chunks of plasteel and the softer material found in the helmet's interior. The sound was akin to that produced by stepping on eggshells, steadily growing in rapidity and volume until, with one last sharp report, the helmet shattered entirely.
What had once been an intact stormtrooper helmet now lay in a neat circle as a pile of debris.
"I don't know how good it was for you, Luke, but evidently the helmet found the experience world-shattering," Lando murmured, his voice loud in the sudden silence left by the helmet's destruction.
Wedge nodded solemnly. "It must've been all broken up because of your absence once we finally had your attention."
"Children," Piett holstered his hold-out blaster and gave the two men a disgusted look. "The Rebellion is staffed by children."
Putting his own blaster pistol in his side holster, Lando ignored the glowering admiral and mournfully added, "Without you, it just fell to pieces."
If possible, the ramrod straight admiral grew even stiffer, glaring the former smuggler.
Luke heard Piett's barely audible stream of invective and cringed at the venom in the man's tone; Lando and Wedge weren't really that bad. Thinking over that internal declaration for a moment, Luke grudgingly agreed with the older man's assessment. Yes, they were that bad.
Luke moved to stand up, felt the world sway beneath him and decided that remaining seated was a perfectly fine idea. He slowly rotated his body around to face the other four individuals and focused on the Imperial officer. "I'm afraid you were trying to ask or tell me something, Admiral, I apologize for letting my attention wander." Luke hesitated then plowed on, "Were you waiting long?"
"Just under two hours in total, Commander Skywalker. Those who interrupted Lord Vader's meditations ran the risk of incurring his wrath and though I don't believe you would respond as he would, I do understand that meditation is essential to those in tune with the Force, on either side it would seem."
Wedge and Lando gave Piett an identical look of disbelief.
Piett, seeing their stare, offered them a thin smile. "It is truly impressive what one learns when one remains silent and observes rather than by speaking excessively without ever saying anything."
"General Calrissian, I think we've been insulted," Wedge stage-whispered, tapping the other man's chest.
Luke ignored them, focusing on Firmus Piett. "My apologies, Admiral, I didn't know…" He faltered, unsure of how to explain what had just happened.
"Something new, huh?" Wedge guessed.
Luke nodded mutely and rubbed his hands over his face tiredly while Wedge spoke with Piett about his ongoing training in the Force. "So, what brings you all here?" he asked, once Wedge had finished.
"Well," Lando drawled, giving him a chiding look, "the good admiral contacted Wedge and I when he couldn't…wake you. So, we've been waiting here ever since."
"And coming up with suggestive lines, apparently," Luke stated blandly.
"You must've cared an awful lot about that helmet," Wedge smiled beatifically, "but obviously it was a little too attached to you because it just fell apart without your warm, comforting presence."
Piett muttered something unkind under his breath.
"So, you killed the helmet by poking it?" Lando asked.
Luke glanced back at the pile and shrugged. "I was meditating when you came in, Admiral, thinking about a concept my master had been teaching me and I was trying to find other ways of applying it. I found a flaw in the helmet, a tiny, minuscule point that, with a small amount of force, would cause the whole thing to shatter. I thought I was just imagining it…"
Admiral Piett cleared his throat. "If you're finished with your…exercises, we have more planning to do for our arrival. We'll be arriving in the Coruscant system in approximately 16 hours."
"Of course," Luke replied. He uncrossed his legs slowly and managed to stand before he began swaying in place. His body was suddenly stabilized when Meewalh grabbed him bodily to keep him still, hissing in obvious disapproval.
"Luke!"
Luke waved off Wedge's cry of alarm. "I'm just…whatever I did, that really took a lot out of me. I just need to take a seat for a moment."
A nearby crate that'd been hovering in midair only moments before was pushed over to him by the combined efforts of Lando and Wedge.
"Thanks, guys."
"Of course, Lord Vader," the Noghri replied.
Wedge shook his head, the Corellian looking oddly bemused. "That'll take a long time to get used to, as in never. I feel like looking over my shoulder everything one of them calls you that."
Piett made an odd face; the Axxilan wasn't one to gossip, not even about deceased superiors, but it was apparent that he was in full agreement with Wedge's statement. "Take the time you need to recover, Commander. Skywalker, I'll leave you to your comrades and inform Captain Pellaeon that our meeting will have to be postponed."
Slumping in relief, Luke gave the admiral a tired smile. "Thank you, Admiral Piett, I'm sorry for disrupting the schedule."
"I highly doubt that, Commander, nevertheless it is important that we settle as many details as possible before we arrive at Imperial Center and its…distractions."
"That's an interesting euphemism for a war zone, Admiral," Lando observed with a raised eyebrow.
Piett didn't respond, he merely straightened, offered Luke a respectful bow of his head and made for the exit in a crisp stride.
Once he'd left, Wedge knelt in front of Luke, one arm braced against his shoulder to help keep him from keeling over, the Corellian's face a picture of concern. "Luke…that was very impressive, but you know as well as I do that there are easier ways of breaking stormtrooper helmets."
Lando chuckled, nodding toward the pile of helmet fragments. "Can't argue with the thoroughness, though. It's a pretty neat trick; you've really never done that before?"
Luke slowly shook his head and slumped even further.
"Usually you come out of meditation looking a little chipper than you did going into it; this really did take a lot out of you, didn't it?" Wedge asked.
"Yeah," he rasped. "I need to get some rest, real rest this time."
The other two men glanced at each other. "I'll get the quartermaster to bring down a cot and some blankets," Lando promised him. "You're not walking anywhere and I doubt you want to be carried out."
Luke nodded again.
Wedge withdrew his arm as he reached for his comlink, "I'm going to contact Tycho and Will and get them to bring Cody and a few of his boys, give me a sec—Whoa!"
In the absence of the support provided by Wedge's arm, Luke had started to slump forward until he began to teeter from his position. Feeling as though he were far removed from his body, he didn't even react when arms, corded with muscle, enveloped him to prevent his fall to the deck. His eyes now entirely closed, Luke's final muzzy thoughts before falling into unconsciousness was his surprise at how warm Meewalh's skin felt and how grateful he was that the Noghri warrior was able to keep her wickedly sharp claws from piercing his skin.
Five weeks after BoE
Imperial Center
Coruscant system, Corusca sector
Wrenga Jixton grumbled to himself as he brought his small freighter to a smooth landing at the Eastport docking facility in the Manarai Heights. In the past, he might've been able to land directly at Uncle D's palace or at least the Central District spaceport, but doing the former now would attract far too much attention and doing the latter would be just as risky due to the heightened security on the planet. His one saving grace had been that the code clearances he'd accumulated over time from Uncle D remained valid and, so far, hadn't attracted any untoward attention.
Nevertheless, knowing that his efforts to evade attention had increased the amount of distance he had to cover was making him decidedly grumpy. Making things worse were the loud and constant speeder horns sounding off both far and near in the ever-present congestion of planetary traffic. Every spike in the cacophony made his muscles twitch in reflex, giving him the constant fight or flight sensation that was quickly wearing thin. Apparently, traffic on Imperial Center was something of a constant in the universe, like gravity or entropy; not even the battle that had recently raged in the system or on the planet appeared to have significantly diminished it. And then there were the stormtroopers…
The overabundance of the Empire's infamous white-armored shock troops was yet another unwelcome sight, and yes, he was more than aware of the irony given his original career as a combat instructor at Carida. However, it'd been a long time since he'd been Gunnery Sergeant Wrenga Jixton, loyal soldier of the Empire, and he'd since seen the Empire from all sorts of unflattering perspectives. His role in the sterilization of a major Falleen population center and his subsequent court-martial and imprisonment on Kessel had only been the first of many. A second realization had spawned his specific derision for stormtroopers, and whatever incompetent scum were masquerading as instructors, for their inability to blast the broad side of a duracrete wall.
Seeing them always left a bitter taste in his mouth and on Imperial Center…we'll he'd just have to get used to it.
Ugh, I hate Imperial Center. Karking Uncle D and his stupid, wonderful credits. Hopefully, his kid—Jixton musings ground to a halt as he stood up from the pilot's chair and collected his gear from one of the freighter's few cabins. Would that make the kid his cousin? Cousin L? Cousin S? Uncle D 2.0?
The brawny Corellian sighed; things had been so much simpler when there had only been one adopted family member to keep track of.
Having collected his necessities, he lowered the ramp and descended from the DeepWater. During his approach to Imperial Center, he hadn't seen any of the ships that typically made up Death Squadron so he had to assume the good admiral hadn't yet arrived with Cousin L.
Ugh, that's rubbish.
There was always the possibility that Skywalker might not actually take up his father's offer, but the information he'd collected on the kid in the past hadn't suggested he was the kind of person to cut off his nose to spite his face. The Alliance leaders were far more pragmatic than most Imperials were willing to believe and at least some of them would learn the truth about the kid and seek to take advantage of it. They might appear painfully idealistic, but they weren't idiots, a fact well-proven by their survival and victories over the past years.
Uncle D had believed that Cousin Skywalker—
Jix tilted his head as he passed his credit chit to the Spaceport Authority officer. Eh, Cousin Skywalker…it'll do for now.
He nodded politely at the bored-looking officer's warnings of unrest in the area and continued on his way to the terminal.
Uncle D had believed that Skywalker would accept the legacy passed down to him and Jix would have to operate on the assumption that Vader had been correct. When Skywalker came, he would go where, the palace? His father's palace? The Jedi Temple?
The Corellian shivered involuntarily, he hoped it wasn't the Jedi Temple; the place was…unnerving. Even though the Jedi Temple would be just as, if not more guarded than any of the palaces, Skywalker would be more accessible because he wouldn't have to contend with the labyrinth of the palaces' interiors. Nevertheless, the idea was unappealing. He'd seen the inside of the temple before and it was…
Jix shivered again. Regardless of his preferences, the Jedi Temple would have to be under observation along with every other known holding that belonged to Vader.
Accessibility is key when planning a break-in, he had to remind himself, even if the target is the temple. For some reason, Imperial security didn't like it when he tried to access secure areas, even when he had code cylinders provided by Uncle D himself.
Glancing down, he took stock of his chest, bare other than the tanned leather vest and a necklace upon which a single, daggerlike tooth swung in time with his movements. Continuing his evaluation of his appearance, he glanced past his dirty, rough-hewn pants to the durasteel-toed heavy boots. Completing the ensemble was a holstered blaster and a prominently displayed vibroblade.
Jix couldn't imagine why security always tried to bar his way, he looked perfectly presentable.
Five weeks after BoE
About the Chimaera
En route to Imperial Center
"Lieutenant, oh Lieutenant? I require your services."
"Are you kriffing serious? We'll be arriving at Coruscant in just a few hours and you're still trying to milk this?"
"Imperial Center, I believe you meant to say." Giving the bald woman a condescending smile, Turr Phennir beckoned her with a crooked finger. "I've found hard labor to be something you Rebels are exceptionally good at, no need to waste the time we have, Lieutenant."
Plourr Ilo fumed, turning murderous eyes on her new 'master'. She was the rightful heir to the Eiattuan throne and here she was playing scullery maid to a pretty-boy Imperial brat. The next time I see Skywalker I'm going to give him a lesson in pain; and not the good kind of pain either.
Standing up from the comfortable chair he'd oh so graciously allowed her to use during her periodic off time, she continued to glare at the blond man, hands twitching in their eagerness to find a throat to squeeze.
Turr lounged on his freshly laundered sheets and held up his boots with a smug smile. "I don't believe the cleaning you gave them earlier was thorough enough. These are part of the standard uniform for Imperial officers and they deserve to be treated as such. Again, and do be thorough this time."
Giving the Imperial major a flat stare, Plourr Ilo stalked toward them and yanked the boots from his hand. The boots still appeared as well-maintained as they had when she'd finished the day before; the black synthleather footwear gleamed without there being so much as a speck of dust upon them. Glancing from the boots to Phennir and back again, she made a quick decision and spat on them and threw them back at his face.
"There, I treated them as they deserve!" she hissed, "and isn't it funny how the rest of your crumbling Empire is about get tossed away just like those karking boots!"
Major Phennir slapped one of the boots aside and got a toe to the jaw from the other. Face blotchy with anger, he rose from the bed and jabbed a finger at her, "You filthy Rebel piffer, how dare—"
Plourr's hand grasped the major's accusing finger and snapped it with a twist of her hand. Ignoring his pained yell, she stepped toward him and swung her fist into the Imperial officer's gut. Following up on her attack, she drew back her fist and launched a second punch that clipped Phennir's chin in a vicious uppercut.
The force of the blows punches forced the major to stagger backwards with a cry of pain, but his momentum changed when he backed into the bed, sending him stumbling forward. Plourr grinned and prepared to clothesline him but had evidently misjudged Turr's ability to recover.
Turr managed to hold himself back and slapped her arm down before slamming his own fist into her eye. Then it was his turn to land a punch in her stomach, forcing a harsh gasp from her mouth. Then he grabbed her by the throat, squeezing tightly as he lifted her just enough to give him the leverage to throw her down onto the deck with a powerful chokeslam.
Letting a flurry of hacking coughs and harsh gasps of air as she attempted to recover, Plourr retained enough presence of mind to hook her legs into Turr's and yank him onto the floor. With a startled yelp, the man landed roughly on the deck immediately next to Plourr, who grinned and used the opportunity to slam her elbow into Phennir's nose, eliciting a grunt of pain and the crack of bone breaking.
"You karking bitch!"
Plourr cackled but her laugh was abruptly cut short when the TIE pilot slammed one of the discarded shoes into her head.
Turr Phennir snarled and rolled over on top of her, wrapping both hands around her throat and squeezed. The unexpected retaliation stayed his hand, freezing him in position and forcing a gasp to escape his mouth as a slim, feminine hand reached past his waist and clamped down upon the most sensitive part of the body. Almost too frightened to breathe, he stared into the blazing eyes of Plourr Ilo and became startling aware of their proximity and position.
Oh.
"Huh, well, Skywalker's the only one I know who has a lightsaber so you must get your rocks off by hitting women, huh, Major," the bald woman grinned and leaned off the ground to press her head next to Phennir's. Giving his hardened flesh another firm squeeze, she pressed her lips close to his ear and whispered, "I feel the same way about you Imps."
Another squeeze.
"If you ever tell anyone about this," Plourr whispered softly, "I will rip your dick off and feed it to Riv."
The growl in Phennir's voice was different this time, a little deeper, huskier in its delivery. "Likewise."
Plourr Ilo let her head fall back to give him a quizzical look, then looked down the length of her body with a thorough once over before giving him a raised eyebrow.
Phennir followed her gaze and rolled his eyes, "Stang! You know what I mean."
Carefully pressing more of his weight against her, still excruciatingly aware of the death grip with which she now held him in, he withdrew his uninjured hand from her throat and began kneading one of her breasts, quickly hardening the nipple hidden beneath her loose clothing. Then, still maintaining eye contact, reached further down and lightly stroked the juncture between her legs, mirroring the position she held him in. Giving her a heated stare, he leaned even closer and ordered softly, "Now, Lieutenant, be a good girl and either use that hand to finish the job or release me so that we might make a proper go of it on the bed."
Turr gasped when the hand that was clamped around him tightened painfully, but he retaliated by increasing the pressure of his own strokes, drawing a gasp from her. The hand holding his flesh relaxed and began stroking him in a slow, lazy rhythm.
"I'd be careful if I were you; I still intend on breaking a few more of your bones when we're finished here. And on that note, I think I'm happy staying just where we are," she murmured, nipping his ear hard enough to draw a hiss of pain from the major.
Baring her teeth, Plourr idly spat out some blood before reaching out and ripping at the shirt she'd so recently cleaned for him. Withdrawing her hand from his flesh, she grabbed a tuft of blond hair from the back of his head to yank him toward her, pressing her lips to his in a kiss that had nothing to do with affection or respect and everything to do with lust and passion.
Thirty-six days after BoE
Revisse orbit
Coruscant system, Corusca sector
"Captain, the fleet has dropped out of hyperspace at the designated waypoint near the first planet in the system. The task force should be assembled and in an orbital position around the planet of Revisse in approximately 20 minutes," one of the bridge's navigation officers reported with a crisp, professional tone.
"Very good, Ensign," Pellaeon acknowledged gruffly. Turning to the admiral, Gilad gave the Axxilan an expectant look.
"Direct the Nemesis, Stormhawk and the Relentless to launch their fighter compliments. Have the Nemesis's fighters fly as escorts and direct the Stormhawk and the Relentless to establish a screen between our position and Imperial Center. Inform Major Mianda that Scythe Squadron is to conduct preliminary reconnaissance of the system and to ascertain the status of the capitol if possible," Piett ordered immediately. Folding his hands behind his back, Piett strode to the main viewport on the Chimaera's bridge, looking out at the molten surface of Revisse. Hearing approaching footsteps from behind, Piett glanced over his shoulder, giving Pellaeon a nod.
"Skywalker is still insisting on flying with Rogue Squadron?" Pellaeon asked.
Firmus smiled faintly. "Indeed. Flying appears to be hereditary in the Skywalker family. I would cast aside your disapproval on this particular matter, Captain; it wasn't uncommon for Lord Vader to join Black Squadron in battle from time to time."
Frowning, the older man shrugged a shoulder. "There's a lot at stake, Admiral."
Grimacing, Piett turned to face Gilad but was interrupted by a loud exclamation.
"Admiral, Captain, receiving transmission from the Admonitor!"
Piett's head snapped up and he turned on his heel, setting a brisk pace as he walked toward the source of the shout in the crew-pit. Looking up at him was a young brown-haired man with an impressive mustache, standing from his seat with one hand pressed against his ear.
"Lieutenant?" he prompted.
"It's Captain Niriz, sir, he reports the system as being secure, however Imperial Center is currently under martial law," the man paused furrowing his brows. "Heavy fighting on the surface is largely contained but has yet to be quelled completely." There was another pause before the lieutenant glanced up to meet Admiral Piett's eyes. "Grand Admiral Thrawn extends his regards and looks forward to an introduction with you, and your guests, at your earliest convenience."
Piett leaned back and gave the captain a satisfied smile. "Well, I'd hate to disappoint. Captain?"
Pellaeon saluted, clicked his heels together and began issuing orders to the bridge crew. Revisse held no interest for them now, it was Imperial Center that was in their sights now.
Four hours later
Imperial Center
Coruscant system, Corusca sector
Luke deftly adjusted the flight stick of his X-Wing, maneuvering his fighter so that it rolled under the bulky Sentinel landing craft Admiral Piett, Lando and their entourage were using to shuttle themselves to the surface.
"You know…it's just not the same without Xizor being on our tail," Janson remarked.
"I have to admit, watching the Executor blast that skyhook to atoms was a high-point in that particular field trip," Tycho Celchu remarked. "Never thought I'd say thanks to Vader, but he earned it then."
"We could've taken him!" Plourr sounded off, the pout clearly present even if she wasn't actually visible. "Little green bastard thought he'd take the Princess and kill our boss? Scum should know better than that."
Wedge snorted. "I'm pretty sure you just summed up the Empire's feelings regarding the Rebellion."
"Yeah, well, he was a green, creepy bastard and I'm glad he's space dust," Janson muttered.
Standro coughed, loudly. "I'm feeling uncomfortable at the hate being directed toward green sentient beings."
"You don't count," Janson assured him.
Luke rolled his eyes. "Well boys—"
"—and girls!" Kirst interrupted.
"—and girls," Luke added dutifully, "apparently the Imperial Palace got pounded pretty hard—"
"Just like Hobbie's mom!"
Luke, ignoring Janson's expected remark, pressed on. "—so we'll be landing in some modified prefabricated shelters on the lower levels. Sending coordinates and flight plan now."
"Copy, Lead," Wedge reported.
"So, Plourr, don't think it hasn't escaped my notice that you're extremely happy today. Giddy, almost. Did you have a good night or something?" Janson asked innocently.
A snarl that impressed even Riv filled the channel. "Shut it, Janson."
"How would it have been a good night?" Will asked. "They each beat the kriff out of each other."
"I'd say it's the other way around," Janson said smugly. "Some of the scratch marks on his back… Yikes!"
"Janson, you're a dead man."
Luke cleared his throat. "Children? Enough."
A silence interrupted only by some initial grumbling descended upon the comm channel.
From behind his canopy, Artoo whistled to inform him that the plans had been transmitted.
"Thanks, Artoo." Luke concentrated on the flight plan, deftly pulling into an escort position around Piett's shuttle. "You must've spent some time on Imperial Center with Leia or Bail Organa, right? Were you ever given information about the Jedi Temple? I'd like to see it if you do."
There was a moment of silence before Artoo gave him an affirmative, neutral whistle.
Luke frowned at the hesitation and was about to remark when a voice cut through the squadron frequency.
"Commander Skywalker, the Grand Admiral has requested your assistance in dealing with a rather irksome matter. During the recent battle with Admiral Zsinj, a company of enemy stormtroopers were able to establish a strongpoint within the remains of a Star Destroyer. Though they aren't large in number, they've been conducting missions of sabotage and disruption in the surrounding residential and commercial districts," Piett informed him. "The situation is made more complicated by the presence of a nearby, organized and well-armed group of dissidents who'll target any visible Imperial troops."
Luke mulled that over. "You think it's a rebel cell? He wants us to enlist their aid?"
"We have no way of knowing whether they are affiliated with your Alliance or not, however if they are, it would simplify the situation immensely if you were able to gain their cooperation, Commander," Piett replied. "Having them and any other remaining civilians in the area withdraw will free up options the Grand Admiral is hesitant to commit to."
There was a snort over the comm channel as Lando took Piett's place. "Hey Luke, it's like this. Nothing short of an orbital bombardment or torpedo strikes will destroy the remains of the destroyer they're using as an HQ. Grand Admiral Thrawn, a GA who might not be entirely morally bankrupt, is hoping to avoid bombarding an area surrounded by a bunch of civilians. Sending in troops has turned the whole thing into a meat grinder, what with having to charge into a destroyer while getting shot in the back by rebels. Apparently, the Grand Admiral has the bizarre idea that rebels might listen to what you have to say, either as a Jedi or as the man who killed the first Death Star. "
Piett's voice resumed speaking. "The detachment of stormtroopers that were stranded by the battle were recently responsible for destroying an important power relay that affected the entire planetary power grid; they must be removed, one way or another. The Grand Admiral thought it best that we attempt a more diplomatic solution given your imminent transfer of political affiliation."
"Thrawn thought it best to do so before you were witnessed landing at the Imperial Palace, after which issues regarding your loyalty might be raised against you if you tried to make contact," Lando explained. "You'll have reinforcements on standby, but I think the Grand Admiral is right about needing your involvement."
Artoo whistled behind him, asking if the flight plan needed adjusting.
Biting his lip, Luke tried to consider the ramifications of making one choice or another. But with lives on the line…
"Do you know where the rebel cell is currently located?"
"We've narrowed down the rebel cell's headquarters to this area. The nearest secure location for your fighters to land is only two klicks away…here," the admiral informed him.
Luke glanced at the screen, eyes narrowed as he considered the displayed area. "Alright, tell the Grand Admiral that Rogue Squadron is on it."
Switching the frequency back, Luke cleared his mind of all distractions, focus now limited to the upcoming battle. "Rogues, we got ourselves a mission; Artoo will send you the relevant data. Follow my lead and set your S-foils into attack position."
Mara Jade ducked down as a blaster bolt drilled into the plasticrete, a blackened crater appearing where her head had just been. Fierfek! Why do the Rebels think Imperial stormtroopers can't shoot? Quite obviously, they can, and they're shooting at the wrong kriffing person.
She cautiously looked over the ruined wall she'd been using for cover and narrowly avoided being blasted yet again.
This is madness, she groused, maybe I should've stayed on the Lusankya.
There were stormtroopers in the husk of the crashed Star Destroyer who'd been making a general nuisance of themselves ever since they'd fortified themselves there. Jan and the others had been content to largely ignore then until they'd demonstrated their willingness to blow up civilian buildings and infrastructure for no other reason than to be irritating to whoever might be in charge of Imperial Center. Now, the Rebels had taken it upon themselves to blast away every stormtrooper in sight and for them, business was booming.
Huffing out an irritated sigh, Mara crawled the short distance to Jin-Rio, who was just as pinned down as she was. Jan had sent Rio out with a dozen other Rebels with the intention of capturing Imperial personnel to gain intel. Unfortunately, the understrength squad of troopers that a Rebel outpost had been tracking turned out to be the better part of a platoon.
Mara, who'd hoped to reconnect with Imperial forces arrayed against the blue-skinned Grand Admiral, and therefore Piett, was now in the position of killing stormtroopers in order to survive. It was far from the first time she'd been put into this position, but it was still irritating as hell.
Looking through a small opening in the crumbling wall, she saw several flashes of white armor but the stormtroopers had done an excellent job of maintaining their cover throughout the standoff. That was likely a result of being on the receiving end of several airstrikes launched by the Grand Admiral which had been extremely effective initially, but less so now that the damn stormies knew how to duck. And so, here she was with her tiny, merry band of Rebels fighting a hardened, better armed, better trained group of Imperial shock troops. To make things worse, the stormtroopers had trapped her group in an abandoned, dilapidated and roofless complex and were presumably preparing to mount an assault because they hadn't withdrawn when they had the chance.
This was not her day.
Another flash of white caught her eye, a stormtrooper who stood out in the open long enough that she could see…
Kriff!
She'd barely had a chance to analyze what she'd seen, but it was more than long enough to recognize an E-Web they'd managed to assemble without their knowledge. Then she saw the barrel of the heavy repeating blaster swing toward…
"Akabi!" Mara shouted. She ran in an awkward half-crouch to the other woman, fisted her hand in the woman's thick coat and pulled her forward onto her, sending them both crashing to the ground. Not even two seconds later and the wall the other woman had hidden behind exploded with blaster fire. Bolts of red, high-energy particle-beams poured into the building, splintering even the reinforced walls with frightening ease.
They're going to bring down the kriffing building if they keep this up, she thought, panic threatening to overwhelm her formidable self-discipline.
"Thanks, Mara," the other woman gasped, keeping her head down as the blaster bolts continued to penetrate nearby wall sections.
Mara nodded, giving the woman a weak smile. I only saved her because I need her help to fight off these stormtroopers and because she helped rescue me from the Lusyanka. That's it, she told herself, ignoring the twinge of guilt the thought induced.
"Akabi! They just put up a couple heavier infantry pieces; pretty sure they're about to advance under their cover," a male voice called out, barely audible over the continuing blaster fire.
Head still pressed to the ground, Jin-Rio slammed a fist against the ground. "Sithspit! Did Luyan ever make it back?"
"Negative, Geff's pretty sure he saw Luyan and the other two get hit about 100 meters out the way we came," the man replied.
"No more boom booms?" Akabi asked, the question more a statement.
"Fresh out of grenades and we left anything shoulder-mounted or crew-operated back at the base."
"That was a terrible decision!" Jin-Rio swore.
"That was your decision," Mara retorted, raising an eyebrow.
The brown-haired woman gave her a sour look. "As commanding officer of this operation, it is my right to gripe about our problems and pin the blame on someone else. You're a former Imp, don't they teach you guys that crap at Carida?"
Mara grimaced and didn't bother to reply. One of her more contentious opinions regarding the Imperial Military was just that, and that lack of accountability was what usually led her former master to send his Hand out to dispatch justice upon problematic officers in the first place.
Letting go of Akabi, she crawled back to her original position and slowly knelt looking through the small hole again. This time, there were a lot more partially exposed stormtroopers in view, and the E-Web's constant fire was finally tapering off to give the barrel a chance to cooldown. The other Rebel had been right; they were about to assault the damn building. "I've got at least a squad on our side about to charge us," she called out.
"Another on our rear."
"I'm guessing they had at least three squads when we ran into each other. Pretty sure we've knocked one of those out," Jin-Rio said quietly.
So, call it almost 20 stormtroopers with an E-Web or two against our seven lightly-armed, armorless Rebel band. What a barrel of fun this is going to be. She let a hand dip to her waist, fingering the hilt of the lightsaber that remained concealed. Not yet, she thought, and not unless I have to.
Mara kept her eye fixed on the opposing position, watching them, listening for any audible clue as to when they'd be attacking. It was perhaps 20 seconds later that the forms of stormtroopers emerged from cover, running from one covered position to the next, covering the 40-meter distance that separated the two opposing forces with frightening speed.
"Here we go, fire and move, don't let that E-Web get a bead on you!" Akabi shouted.
As one, both woman stood up from their crouch, took aim at the telltale whiteness of exposed stormtrooper plasteel, fired and moved to a new position. At least one of the stormtroopers she'd fired at had been knocked off his feet, the blaster bolt taking him high in the chest, but Mara didn't stay still long enough to see the results of her other shots. No, she was more worried about the E-Web that had already blasted her section of the wall. She found a thin piece of wall, blasted out a chunk, brought her rifle up and fired before starting the process over again. A flare in the Force caught her attention and she had just enough time to dash to the side, avoiding a chunk of duracrete that hurtled toward her. The flying debris would've caved in her chest if she hadn't felt the Force's warning and moved but the heavy chunk of rock still managed to clip her thigh, sending her spinning to the ground.
"Mara!" Akabi shouted, voice tight with the stress of combat.
Mara gave the other woman a weak smile. "I'm okay, just vape the little shits."
Akabi bared her teeth, took a step from cover and sent a bolt through the eyepiece of a stormtrooper from ten meters out before running to new cover.
Mara kept one hand on her blaster and glanced at her thigh to judge the extent of her injury. There was a lot of blood, but nothing that indicated a major vein or artery had been hit. She shifted on the ground, testing her body. No broken bones from what she could tell and inwardly shrugged. Good enough, just a flesh wound.
She braced herself against a wall and stood up, doing her best to avoid howling in pain as her muscles and movement stressed the injury. Flesh wound or not, it still hurt like kriff.
Use the pain, let it empower you, she thought, allowing her master's words to flow through her, pushing her physical weakness away. Taking careful steps to another position, she found a stormtrooper less than five meters away, dashing toward a newly blasted-out opening of the building. She snapped off a blaster bolt, already hobbling to a different position before her bolt pierced the trooper's chest.
A new sound suddenly entered her consciousness, stopping her from blasting another hole in the wall. It was an odd sound that was familiar but couldn't place. A flurry of filtered voices made her stagger to another opening, eyes widening when she saw the stormtroopers scrambling for cover. The sound got louder and though she still couldn't identify the model, she knew the sound of an incoming aerial attack.
"Airstrike, take cover!" she shouted.
Jin-Rio took her macrobinoculars out and began examining the horizon. She made an odd surprised sound, dropped them and picked them back up to look again. "Those are X-Wings!" she shouted, voice pitched high in disbelief, "and they have Alliance markings!"
"Lead, I've got eyes on the firefight approximately two klicks from the grounded Star Destroyer. I'm showing bucketheads attacking not-bucketheads inside a small apartment complex. Call it two or three squads of stormies in total. Can't see much of the not-bucketheads and I'm not seeing much return fire from them either. Looks like the stormies have a heavier infantry piece taking out their cover," Will Scotian announced.
"Copy, Two." Luke looked at the readings Will's astromech had transmitted. "Rogues Two, Four, Six and Eleven, you're with me on their south side. Wedge, you take the others on their north. Make two passes, land and let your astromech take the X-Wing to the designated landing point."
"Copy, Lead."
"You got it, Boss."
"It'll be just like Beggar's Canyon!" Janson pantomimed.
Luke cracked a smile. "I call dibs on the E-Web. Gonna show him a thing or two about 'heavy ordinance'."
"That doesn't sound much like the 'Jedi Way'," Tycho observed
"It's probably not," Luke admitted, "but it is our way. Rogues, light 'em up!"
Dipping his X-Wing downwards so that it was coming in at a steep angle, he led his flight into a sharp descent angled toward the enemy position. Seeing crimson laser blasts begin to flash past his fighter toward the scrambling stormtroopers, Luke found his own target and pressed the trigger.
Just as the blaster bolts from the E-Web had eclipsed those of the blaster rifle she used, so too did the X-Wing's laser cannon blasts eclipse those of the E-Web. Every crimson bolt that splashed against the ground resulted in an eruption of dirt, rock and flesh. Duracrete close to the center of each impact zone was reduced to molten slag if it wasn't shattered outright, turning the charred, rubble landscape into a more hellish one.
Even as Mara watched, the first volley of laser cannon blasts vaporized five or six stormtroopers that were less than ten meters from her position, and the next volley took out several more. Hearing similar explosions from behind, Mara glanced over her shoulder just as a flight of X-Wings sped past overhead, angling upwards to prepare for another pass. Several more laser blasts shook the ground close by, and she turned back to observe the scene in front of her.
The troopers operating the E-Web had long since begun ignoring the grounded Rebels and was now angled upward, firing ineffectively at another flight of approaching X-Wings. There was a brief flash of light from the lead X-Wing and she watched as a purplish projectile raced downwards accompanied by a loud, warbling sound.
"Oh, Sithspit! Get down!" she screamed. Ignoring the pain in her thigh, Mara flung herself to the ground, covering her head with both arms as the world outside exploded.
Luke leveled his X-Wing off, slicing through the plume of black smoke that billowed upwards after the torpedo's detonation. He began a tight turn, gaining altitude as he prepared for his second strafing run.
"I think you got him, Boss," Kirst observed blandly. "Along with the rest of the block."
"Cut the chatter, Three, we still have a mess to clean up," Luke ordered curtly.
"Why would you even waste a proton torpedo on an E-Web?" Kirst continued, ignoring him.
Rolling his eyes, Luke let out an exasperated sigh, "We're fighting with the Empire. We don't need to steal more torpedoes to rearm our ships because I'll be footing the bill."
"That's…a solid point," Tycho observed over the squadron frequency. "Making my second run now."
"And it makes a big boom," another voice called out.
"Yes, Wes, it makes a big boom." Luke shook his head in amusement and began sharp descent in his X-Wing. Sending out a serious of crimson bolts from the X-Wing's laser cannons, he didn't bother to watch their impact as he located a charred piece of earth that he could dismount the X-Wing from. "Bringing my fighter down now; I'll have my feet on the ground in about 20 seconds, approximately 200 meters due east from the Rebels' position."
After hearing his squadmates' verbal acknowledgements, Luke brought his X-Wing to a hover over the spot he'd found, quickly taking off his harness and opening the pilot canopy.
"Artoo, take the ship to the coordinates of the secure landing site with the others."
A warbling set of beeps from the astromech made Luke smirk. "Don't worry, Artoo. Believe it or not, I can take care of myself."
A disbelieving raspberry from the droid transformed Luke's smirk turn into a full-blown grin. Standing on the pilot seat, he leaped from the hovering X-Wing onto the ground, immediately dashing for the nearest source of cover. Crouching behind a small duracrete pillar perhaps 20 meters from his X-Wing, he waited for Artoo to take the fighter before he advanced any further. When he did advance, he did so with his lightsaber in one hand and his blaster pistol in the other. He jogged another 20 meters, zigging and zagging from one shelter to another until the report of nearby blasters registered in his hearing.
Taking a knee in the rubble that was once a small house, he closed his eyes and extended his senses.
The squad frequency briefly lit up with a chorus of "Yub yub!" as the Rogues began their ground attack against the stormtroopers.
Luke smirked; Wedge was never going to live that picture down, especially not when Rogue Squadron had taken the battle cry to heart so eagerly.
Despite the distraction of one Lieutenant Kettch, he found what he was looking for and opened his eyes, cautiously emerging from his cover. He quickly covered another 10 meters, passing an intact hedge and snapping his blaster to the right and sending a crimson bolt into the lurking stormtrooper whose presence he'd felt. In his peripheral vision, Luke saw another stormtrooper get blasted by either Hobbie or Plourr as he continued onward. The destruction wrought by the torpedo appeared to have killed most of the stormtroopers and had stunned the platoon's remnants and the Rebels both.
As he moved forward, a flash of white caught his eye and spied a stormtrooper struggling to get to his feet and bring his blaster rifle to bear.
Luke discharged his blaster three times, the first crimson bolt missing the stormtrooper entirely and the next two catching him in the chest. Hearing a sharp whistle from behind, he took a knee and glanced over his shoulder.
"On your six, Lead," Will called out quietly. "Riv said he can hear what sounds like a full fireteam up ahead. Do your green glowstick thing, we got your back."
Luke flashed him a thumbs up before he tapped his comlink. "Wedge, do what you can to either force the Imps to retreat or put them into a killzone between you and the Rebel cell. When they're no longer a threat, loop around to meet us on the south end."
"Copy, Lead."
Taking a moment to verify the cluster of presences he'd felt earlier, he holstered his pistol and began running toward the trio of entrenched stormtroopers who were laying down a withering hail of fire against the Rebel position. Gesturing toward a nearby chunk of duracrete, he used the Force to take hold of it and fling it toward the troopers. Though the rock slammed into the makeshift rampart of the small ditch they were using as cover, none of them received so much as a scratch, but it did catch their attention. Indeed, not even a heartbeat passed before blaster bolts began to flash toward him in a flurry of crimson. Luckily, he had a green glowstick thing to help out with that.
Thumbing on the lightsaber with its distinctive snap-hiss, Luke batted the first bolt away harmlessly into the air and twisted to avoid the second and third bolts. A twirl of the saber sent a bolt back toward its owner, send the man crashing to the dirt with a blackened hole in his chest. Still running as fast as he could toward the troopers, he deflected another two bolts, avoided three more and leaped into the small trench. And then he was upon them.
A quick thrust into the chest killed the first stormtrooper and a rapid twirl of his hand disarmed the second. The stormtrooper, sans blaster and right arm, howled in pain but dove for his blaster in sheer stubbornness. Pushing out with a hand, Luke batted the man's arm and blaster through the air with a pulse of the Force.
"Go, boss, I got this," Will panted, taking out a pair of stuncuffs before looking awkwardly at the one-armed trooper. "Luke…what's with you Jedi and amputation? I swear it's a fetish."
Luke, giving his gloved hand a brief once-over, didn't answer. Instead, he jumped out of the trench and darted toward another stormtrooper who immediately turned toward the threat offered by the humming lightsaber. The trooper squeezed off a flurry of shots before attempting to escape underneath a buckling passageway. Luke caught the first of the bolts with his lightsaber and sent it back to its source. Evading two bolts and deflecting the other one into a nearby boulder, he observed the first blaster bolt he'd deflected zip through the air a half-second too late behind the man.
Refusing to allow any sense of aggravation hamper his connection to the Force, he extended his hand, found the bridge and pulled. The man might've escaped his own blaster bolt, but a dozen tons of ferrocrete augmented by the law of gravity was an entirely different matter. Luke felt the trooper's presence disappear and took a moment to crouch behind a small pile of rubble to take stock of the situation.
Not far from him, Hobbie had straddled a helmetless, struggling stormtrooper and was slamming his fist repeatedly into the trooper's face. He kept this up until the stormtrooper went limp long enough for Hobbie to put stuncuffs around the trooper's arms. Then Hobbie punched him again, just for good measure.
Wincing, Luke looked for the rest of his group.
A few meters to his left, both Riv and Plourr were crouching together, waiting for orders. Will had stunned the one-armed stormtrooper and had dragged him over and was now scanning the area for movement. Good, all members on his flight accounted for.
"Any movement on our end?" he asked quietly.
"Negative, boss," Will reported.
Riv gave a small growl and shook his head roughly.
Extinguishing the lightsaber and clipping it to his belt, he brought the comlink to his mouth. "One, this is Lead. All clear on the south."
"Copy, Lead, looping around as ordered. Be at your position in two minutes."
Plourr sighed. "You know…that torpedo really took the fun out of this. I've been surrounded by Imps for a week and I haven't been able to kill any of them."
"What was that Janson was saying about a good night?" Will asked innocently.
Plourr's blaster visibly twitched in the Brentaalan's direction.
Shaking his head, Luke waited half a beat before cupping his hands around his mouth. "Hello in there! If you have any injured in there, we'd be happy to provide what help we can."
Luke was waiting for a response when Wedge jogged up to him. "Hey, Luke, what's our status?"
Before Luke had a chance to respond, a feminine voice shouted a loud, "Who are you?"
"We're from the Alliance!" Luke replied with a shout then paused, giving Wedge a questioning look. Seeing the other man's shrug, Luke yelled out, "I'm Commander Skywalker with Rogue Squadron."
There was another lingering silence before a woman with cropped, brown hair emerged from the wreckage of the complex. Luke likewise made himself visible, slowly approaching the woman.
"Commander Skywalker, huh? I got somebody who'd like to see you again," the woman said. "My name is Jin-Rio. Call me Akabi, if you want."
Luke held out his hand. "Luke Skywalker. But, you can call me Luke, if you want."
The woman gave him a bemused look, a smile playing across your lips. "Come on, Luke, the general will be thrilled to see you again." Jin-Rio put two fingers to her mouth and whistled a note so shrill it made Luke wince. "Alright you degenerates," the woman shouted, "time to go home. We have important guests here so at least pretend to be competent and respectful."
"No need," Wedge replied tiredly. "Janson will offend everyone before your people even have a chance."
"I resemble that remark," Wes sniffed. "Yub yub."
Author's Notes: Big block of Author's Notes coming, have fun if you want to read the inner monologue that governs my writing. So, I know I promised that story would be focusing more on Luke, but I couldn't help adding the Plourr and Janson bit because…well, it's Rogue Squadron!
I'm not 100% certain of the fate of Luke's X-Wing and was unable to find any references to it. One Wookieepedia article stated that he'd used the same X-Wing from Yavin all the way past Thrawn, but seeing as it didn't even mention it being left on Bespin… *shrug*. In my mind, because he left it behind when he escaped Cloud City, I can only presume that it was taken into Imperial custody, seeing as the Empire did place a garrison there. I could easily imagine Vader being interested in keeping it and thought the reference in the first half of the chapter gave that a nice little "mystery solved!" moment. For those curious about what Rogue Squadron was doing on the ground, they actually did that a lot. Rogue Squadron, in those earlier years of the Alliance, was almost as much of a ground strike team as it was a fighter squadron.
Luke's training sequence: And why yes, that was the shatterpoint ability Luke just (re)discovered with the stormtrooper helmet. I know it was really long but I really wanted to demonstrate that even though Luke's destiny has fundamentally changed, his study and growing mastery of the Force hasn't. While he managed to use the ability in this chapter, it was performed at the expense of a great deal of time and effort. Basically, his grasp of the shatterpoint skill is barely even theoretical and nowhere near Mace Windu's level (his mastery of the skill was powerful enough that he could apply the ability to people/situations rather than purely physical applications). Basically: character development.
One of the reasons I included this scene is because even though this story is about him becoming the Emperor, but I really don't want it to be at the expense of his growing understanding of the Force. Yoda's teaching will be infrequent but definitely there, to teach certain concepts and ideas which Luke can then explore on his own. The Art of the Small, the knowledge Vergere imparted to Jacen, had so many applications: healing, hiding one's presence, transmutation. I thought exploring that ability and stumbling across the idea of a shatterpoint was nifty.
No, there will be no Plourr Ilo/Turr Phennir ship. Just…no.
Coruscant/Mara/Luke sequence might be a bit of a departure from the main plot, but even if its not entirely apparent now, the consequences of their encounter are going to help shape later portions, key portions of the plot.
Things that annoy me in Star Wars Fanfics: I cannot stand when authors throw in OCs with names like Elizabeth, Samantha, Allison, Alex, or god help me, Ghost or Nova. If I see a Star Wars story, even one with a great premise, with a character named Alexander, I just immediately stop reading. Honestly, how many human names are even remotely like ours? Luke, obviously, Owen, Ben, and… If you throw in OCs you should at least try to fit their names into the universe. And if I see a character named "Skye" again, I might throw up.
Started reading a fic the other day where an A-Wing was described as having good shields but was slower than an X-Wing. I wouldn't have been so bothered had the TIE-Bomber not also been described as "fast." Felt like the author was just name-dropping at that point and stopped reading. /rant