Chapter 14

"How certain are you of this?" demanded the Imperial officer as he looked up from the paper the other man had provided.

The man demanding the information was Captain Muzzer, and he had been assigned to occupation duty for nearly two years on this planet in a strange galaxy, and he had long ago lost count of the multiple sources he had gained and lost over that time. Many of the early sources he had gained were unreliable at best, or double-agents at worst, sometimes feeding information that lured his forces into traps. Ironically, many of the double agents had been unwilling accomplices to the insurgents.

Captain Muzzer was not the intelligence officer for his regiment, or at least he had not started out as such, but the regiment's original intelligence officer had been inept and had managed to get himself killed shortly after the occupation began. So, the job fell to Muzzer. The man standing before Muzzer was new to him. He sported a red moustache and wore jeans with a polo shirt.

"Yes sir, I am certain," said the other man.

"And why should I take any of this at face value?" queried Muzzer.

"I served with the insurgents earlier."

"And?"

"I had inside information on the workings of the insurgency, and until recently I had fairly regular contact with a couple of persons still working within it," replied the man.

"What made you turn traitor to them?" asked Muzzer with distaste.

The other man's face darkened at the mention of the term, but he quickly recovered. Muzzer had never liked turncoats, even if they had once fought for the wrong side. The problem with turncoats is that they were generally unreliable, at least in Muzzer's experience.

"They betrayed me," replied the man bluntly.

"Oh, how so?"

"I was to take command of a battalion – or what passes for one these days, and my command opportunity was given to a lesser man," replied the man with bitterness.

Muzzer pondered the man's story. If he were on the level and truly believed he had been scorned, it might be enough to turn him against his former friends. Such tales abounded in his own galaxy.

"What did you say your name was?"

"Mike Zilliox"

William Dudley leaned back in the small chair, and he took a drag from his cigarette. It was a nasty habit, he knew, and he had not always had it. He never let his subordinates see him smoke, and few of his contemporaries knew of his habit. Closing his eyes, he recalled the time when he would not have considered smoking one of the things – could not.

Absently, he reached up with his left hand to rub the graying hair of his once-brown beard. That too was new to him, but it was simultaneously familiar. William allowed himself to be carried back in time. Many years he had served in the US Army, first as an enlisted man, and NCO, and then as an officer. But then, his service had not always been to the United States. William recalled a time, long before, when he had gone by a different name altogether.

Dudley had gone by his current name for so long, that it was difficult at times to remember that he had once had the other identity. He opened his eyes and allowed himself a glance at the walls. Only three years prior, his office would have been filled with memorabilia from his service in the US Army, including cased colors of the units he had commanded, photographs commemorating moments of achievement, and paintings of battles from long ago given to him as gifts. The room he now used as an office was in the corner of an old, abandoned warehouse. In fact, other than the office he was using, the warehouse had few persons in it, on the surface anyway.

Beneath a couple of well-concealed trap-doors were a number of rooms containing a command center served as a key command and control hub for resistance fighters in what was once the United States, portions of Canada, and parts of northern Mexico. His own office was dingy, and a dust shadow in the shape of laptop computer that had recently been in use and then removed was all that attested to the use of the space.

Dudley took the cigarette out of his mouth and extinguished it in a dark-brown ashtray made of glass. It joined a dozen or so cigarette butts far older than his own that had undoubtedly been smoked by men or women who sat in that space when the warehouse was serving its original function. Judging by the furniture in the old office, William guessed the office had last been used sometime in the late 70's. William never smoked around others, and only a handful of men knew that he had the habit at all. He looked at the gray light forcing its way through the lone office window that had not likely seen a cleaning towel in at least a decade, and William let his thoughts drift to a past, a time before even service in the US Army.

Dudley allowed himself to be taken back more than 30 local years. He saw a building … a grand building, in the middle of a giant city – one that consumed an entire planet. It was a building of training, of refuge, of something he had once known as the Force…

Almost 30 years prior to the invasion of Earth, a young man who would someday call himself William strolled through a vast room, not that it was much larger than the other larger rooms in the building, but it contained the recorded knowledge of thousands of years. The young man was called a Padawan learner by others in the building, for this was the Jedi Temple on the great planet of Coruscant, and the room in which he found himself contained the Jedi Archives. The young man was an avid fanatic of history and found much enjoyment in reading of past exploits of the Jedi. He had recently read of the battles in the Sith War, soaking in stories and accounts of massive fleets slinging death through the vacuum of space at both other fleets and hapless planets.

Men who had ironically originated from earlier Jedi had set forth to become conquerors of the known galaxy, bending all to their iron will, all in service to the Dark Side of the Force. Though he knew the outcome academically, recalling the stories and testimonies of the time allowed him to see mistakes made, lessons available, and lessons ignored by both sides of the conflict. Little did he know that such insights would aid him many years later.

"Young Padawan," said an older lady.

The young man looked up to see the librarian smiling kindly at him. On the side of her robe, he spotted an attached light saber. She was indeed a Jedi as well, though the young man doubted it had seen use in a very long time. She was Jocasta Nu, the Chief Librarian of the Jedi Archives.

"Master, I thank you for the use of the archives. I have learned much about the past, and the more I delve into it, the more I desire to learn more," said the young man.

"History is like that, young Bel Shadar," said Jocasta Nu, "It is replete with lessons and warnings, and its voices yet call out to us long after their owners have gone silent."

Bel Shadar was young, but he knew the trials for knighthood were but a few years away. He walked out of the great library and found his way to a giant room that contained what appeared to be natural fountains and many trees. He knew the fountain was not natural but had been carefully constructed a long time ago. Bel Shadar sat upon one of the stones, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. The soft gurgling of the water often served to sooth him, and so he let his thoughts drift. Not all the thoughts were pleasant. Rumors of senatorial corruption had reached his ears, even here in the Jedi Temple.

Chancellor Palpatine was in office now, and he had become a powerful and stabilizing force. Even so, a strange uneasiness seemed to blanket itself over the Force. Bel Shadar had discussed it with a couple of Jedi Masters, but they had said they sensed nothing amiss. He pointed out the departure of Count Duku from the Jedi order only a few years prior, but one Jedi Master said that while it was certainly regrettable, it was not unprecedented. Now, as Bel Shadar allowed his reach into the Force to branch out, he again sensed the uneasiness – the sense that something that was taken for one thing was actually the other. He could never place a finger on what that thing was.

Nearly 25 years before the invasion of Earth, Bel Shadar boarded a Jedi star fighter. As a young Jedi Knight, he had been dispatched on a mission to deal with pirates preying on civilian traffic in the Atrivis Sector. The Jedi intended to enter into negotiations with the pirates in order to make them see reason and end their destructive path. He would rendezvous with three other Jedi star fighters in order to conduct reconnaissance of the system and locate the pirate base of operations. His tiny fighter streaked through the atmosphere and into space, where his ship's hyperspace ring awaited. In concert with the other star fighters that were out of his visual range, Bel Shadar conducted a countdown and then his small ship jumped into hyperspace. As the swirling light of hyperspace played out before him, the young Jedi played through his mind the task and purpose for his mission. They were on a mission strictly of reconnaissance. Their force was certainly too small to survive direct combat with a well-armed enemy. He watched as the chronometer count down, and then the computer sent the command to drop his ship out of hyperspace.

The swirling vortex dissolved, and the young Jedi saw that instead of a canopy of stars, a huge distortion in space hung before him. His instruments went dead. Bel Shadar stabbed at the release controls to the hyperspace ring, but they would not engage. The small ship, still attached to the hyperspace ring, was being pulled toward the distortion before him. He used the Force to feel about him, but he detected none of his fellow Jedi. The distortion now filled his vision and looked to consume his ship. He could see the star field on the other side of the distortion, but he had no idea what was causing the distortion or what it would do to the ship. He lost consciousness.

On the outskirts of a solar system, a distortion field emerged in space and vomited forth a small ship, enveloped by a hyperdrive ring. Within it, a man shook his head as though clearing it of cobwebs. He studied his instruments and noted that the strange distortion through which he had passed was now about 100 kilometers behind his ship. His computer reported that all his systems were on-line and functioning. He attempted to use the Force to feel about him. With shock, he realized that he felt nothing.

He closed his eyes in order to better concentrate, and still he sensed nothing. Not only could he not sense any living beings, but he could sense nothing at all – even the ship in which he was encapsulated. He was utterly blind to the Force, as though it existed not at all. Panic washed over the young Jedi. He had never experienced such a sensation before, and he now felt naked.

Calming himself, Bel Shadar engaged his ship's instruments, reminding himself that they were not dependent on the Force. He scanned the ship's navigation charts in an effort to determine his location. After a few moments, the ship's navigation systems came up blank. Force or not, not even his ship's navigation system could tell him where he was. It seemed clear he was no longer in the known galaxy. Bel Shadar knew that his Delta-7 Aethersprite-class light interceptor had a state-of-the-art, but limited navigation system and sensor array. The ship had as much jammed into a tiny space as possible, and while it was a capable and advanced craft, its small systems created limitations. Life support was also one such limitation.

Bel Shadar felt alarm growing in him again, but he forced it down. He instructed his R4-P droid that was integrated into the ship to work with the ship's computer to scan nearby star systems that were likely to contain habitable planets. The computer came up with a number of candidates, but there were millions of them. He was not sure how many jumps he could make, even with the large hyperdrive ring, prior to running out of fuel. He made a few calculations, and found he had approximately 130,000 light year's worth hyper-jumps left. This was going to be a stab in the dark, and he had not even the Force to guide him. After marking his current location in the computer's star chart, he stabbed in his first destination. The computer and droid worked in conjunction to calculate the jump, and then his ship vanished into the void.

More than 26 hours later, the young Jedi was losing hope. The last dozen star systems had proved devoid of any life at all. While he could not use the Force to detect the absence of life within the dead solar systems, his ship's sensors confirmed such in short order. Was he really meant to perish here in the void of deep space, in a galaxy far, far away from his own? Bel Shadar peered at the fuel level of his ship. He was down to only 30,000 light years worth of fuel, so not many chances remained. He peered out of his ship's canopy at the billions of lights before him, packed with unnamed stars and distant galaxies.

This was a fool's errand. He knew that but a few jumps remained, and then he was stranded forever, in what appeared to be a dead galaxy. His own death would but add to it. Of the multitude of candidates that remained on his charts, he picked one of the furthest points. It would consume 10,000 light years of what was left of his fuel. He smiled bitterly and shook his head. Sighing, he pressed the command that would send his ship once again into the vortex of hyperspace. When his ship fell out of hyperspace again, his ship's scanners went to work. Shortly, the computer emitted a chime that bespoke something new – life!

The planet closest to the tiny ship was a large gas planet, and his ship's sensors informed him that it was the largest planet in system. The third planet from the star was the one that had indicated life, though his ship was too far from the planet to determine what kind of life was upon the planet's surface. Bel Shadar knew his ship could reach the third planet without hyperdrive, but it would take a prohibitive amount of time, even with its high rate of acceleration. His system detected no communication beams from the planet, nor could they detect planetary sensors. Moreover, he was not sure if the planet would possess fuel for his ship, so he decided to keep the hyperdrive ring attached and perform a short jump close to the small natural satellite orbiting the planet. He directed his ship's embedded droid to make the calculations, and the ship then made the jump.

Off to his right, Bel Shadar saw a dead planetoid hovering in space, half lit by the system's star. He craned his neck to the left, and he caught the glimpse of a planet with blue and white colors intermixed. Bel Shadar studied his scanners and noted the planet had a nearly perfect atmosphere. It was also absolutely teaming with life. Further scans revealed artificial satellites orbiting the planet, but they appeared to be very small. The largest ones were not much larger than his hyperdrive ring, and they appeared to be oriented toward the planet, instead of outward. That confirmed intelligent life on the planet.

Sensors also picked up a small, artificial satellite orbiting the dead planetoid. His scanners indicated landing craft and crude vehicles on the surface of the natural satellite, though they were apparently not currently in use. That confirmed that the inhabitants of the planet had achieved at least a minimal form of space travel. His communication suite was still dead, and he received no transmissions from the planet, and nothing indicated that anyone on the planet was aware he was there. Well, if the inhabitants of the planet were not yet aware of him, perhaps they could not detect him. Once again, Bel Shadar reached out with the Force, but all he felt was nothing. He detached his ship from the hyperdrive ring and headed toward the planet.

Upon entering the stratosphere, the ship's sensors detected communication in the form of radio waves. His droid worked in conjunction with the ship's computer in an effort to decipher the communication. His ship was now over the largest of the land masses in the northern hemisphere, and his sensors picked up small atmospheric craft moving to intercept his ship.

Someone, or something had detected him. His computer also warned of chemical missiles that were launched on a direct intercept course for his ship. His computer detected that they were being guided by pulses of radio waves, which apparently constituted a form of active sensor for the beings below. His small ship was able to easily out-accelerate the craft that were pursuing him, though the chemical missiles were much faster. Even so, he left it up to his droid to elude the missiles as well. It appeared that the population was not friendly.

His droid indicated that it was beginning to make some form of sense of the communications below. Other radio communications were in use too, using different languages. Some were encrypted. The artificial satellites in orbit were being used to bounce the radio communications throughout the surface of the planet. Bel Shadar decided to head for the opposite side of the planet, in order to seek a location less populated by the beings that were targeting his ship.

The atmosphere created excessive drag on his ship, so Bel Shadar maneuvered his ship above the stratosphere. Neither the atmospheric craft or chemical missiles that had been chasing him appeared capable of space flight, though his computer indicated that the local sensors below could still detect his ship. Once he was above the stratosphere, his computer indicated he was no longer being tracked.

Bel Shadar decided that he would come in as fast as possible on the opposite side of the planet and then maintain as low an altitude as possible. The trip took mere minutes, absent of the prison of the planet's atmosphere. Artificial debris and satellites orbiting above the stratosphere proved a minor hazard, but his ship's sensors and navigation system were more than adequate to keep him out of harm's way.

His ship's sensors found an area on the landmass opposite of where he had first encountered the hostile atmospheric craft, and so he took his ship into as sharp a dive. The atmosphere created sufficient drag to superheat the air in front of and below his ship, though his ship was designed to tolerate much more. To anyone looking up, his ship would likely appear to be a meteorite. That was his desire. Within a few minutes, Bel Shadar leveled off his ship over a dense forest. His sensors indicated minimal radio traffic, and his computer suggested he had not been detected as a ship by any of the local sensor devices that used radio waves.

He was only a few dozen meters above the trees. He landed his ship in a clearing. Upon conducting various scans with his sensors, he was certain he had not been detected. Bel Shadar then realized just how exhausted he was. This side of the planet was shrouded in the darkness of night. Knowing that his droid would alert him to any activity outside, he drifted off into sleep.

William Dudley opened his eyes. The office in which he sat had lost none of its dinginess, and light still struggled to work its way through the filthy glass of the window. He recalled that he had spent quite some time living off of what food was available in that forest, using a blaster to kill his food. He had used his droid and computer to intercept local radio waves that turned out to be sources of news and entertainment. He had been initially surprised to discover that the dominant beings on the planet appeared human.

Over several months, he used those transmissions to learn the local language and gain a working knowledge of it, discovering that he was in a nation called the United States, and he was in a state called Kentucky. He had been initially very surprised to discover that the dominant species on the planet was like him, human. He had camouflaged his ship as well as he could with local flora. Thankfully, he had arrived in the area during summer months, so immediate survivability was not an issue.

Over the next year, he had taken on odd jobs in various smaller cities. He invented a local background for himself and worked diligently to match his dialect with the locals. Forging documents proved not to be difficult, as it was apparently a robust business for those illegally entering the nation from the south. His advantage was that no other nation could possibly have any record of his existence.

Approximately a year after landing, he provided instructions to his droid that it was to take the ship back to the hyperdrive ring in orbit around the planet's moon, were the ship discovered. He then enlisted in the US Army. The local year was 1974.

All of that was so long ago.

Colonel William Dudley recalled the day of the invasion by the Empire. He had been a brigade commander when they invaded. Unlike most, he quickly ascertained what had taken place, and he recognized what was attacking them, even if the models of craft were unfamiliar. They were beings from his native galaxy and using weapons and equipment with which he was familiar, but they were not forces of the Republic.

So, Chancellor Palpatine had become an emperor. Where were the Jedi in all this, not that they could be in any way effective in this dead galaxy? Either way, Colonel Dudley had quickly eschewed his US Army uniform and gone to ground, eventually commanding in the insurgency. Initially, he had considered revealing himself to what he believed to be his cohorts, but his customary caution overrode that temptation, and he kept his true identity a secret.

Within a few months, he learned of a tale about the Jedi violently turning on a massive clone army and subsequently declared enemies of the Republic. Indeed, his choice not to reveal his nature had been a wise one. His plans then branched beyond simple insurgency. He alone on this planet knew the true scope and nature of the enemy they faced. Even he was shocked to learn of the construction of the planetoid-sized battle station. What could they possibly use such a massive battle station for?

Plans were now in place, and what had started as a small insurgency was now extra-galactic. Spies from this planet were scattered throughout the Imperial fleet and ground forces. From those spies, the resistance learned that the Empire had found an anomaly that led to this galaxy some ten years prior. It was allegedly the same distortion that had sucked him into this galaxy, but engineers within the Empire had discovered a means to stabilize it. Initially, they launched multiple probes, and finding no life or planets that were inhabitable, the Empire left only a couple of ships to conduct survey missions of the newly-discovered galaxy. Almost by accident, a deep-space probe had located Earth. That had been few years prior to the invasion.

Colonel Dudley had belatedly discovered that natives of Earth not only did not possess the Force, but even in his own native galaxy they appeared to have a bubble about them that exuded an absence of the Force, as though they repelled it. He could use that too, and it was now part of their plans. He chuckled to himself, though none but he heard the laugh. Not only did nobody on this planet know of his true identity. Very few now knew of his current one.

Colonel Dudley now had ears everywhere, including in his native galaxy. He would have to soon return, although with his new identity. He wanted to meet members of the rebel alliance. They had provided significant assistance to the resistance on Earth, despite a suffocating Imperial presence now in orbit. Absently, he checked his chronometer … no, it was called a watch. He would depart the galaxy in only a few days, and though it was native to him, nobody there would know him from Adam.

Harry Bertha walked toward the sunset, though he was in no particular hurry. The central Florida breeze was just a little chilly. It was early December, and a few Christmas decorations had sprung up in various shop windows. For a long time now, he had varied his routes in order to evade detection by Imperial (and local) authorities. His gait bespoke an older man with little on him and very little care, but grizzled and perhaps slightly dangerous. He wore an old, stained boater's hat, worn and torn in various locations, slouched down low over his eyes. Three days of growth sprouted throughout his face, and a cheap cigar jutted from the corner of his mouth, though unlit, and his dark hair was just above shoulder-length, tipped in places with gray. His slacks were a bit too large for him, and they were frayed and dirty in places. He wore an old button-down shirt that was once white but now splotched in various places. His dark-brown overcoat had only a few buttons left, none of which were in use. To the average passerby, he was nobody, not worth the time or effort to engage.

Harry spotted his destination up ahead. An old storefront promised the town's most tasty hamburgers and an ice-cold drink. The store offered hamburgers still, but Harry suspected they had not earned their title of "most tasty" in many years. The inside of the old burger stand sported 1960s vintage furniture and a tile floor that had seen many feet over the years, grime and filth worked into the seams between the tiles. Few went there to eat hamburgers these days, though the old man behind the counter could still make them. Most would sit and drink a little coffee and read newspapers. The store also had an older color television set, mounted in the corner, and it was usually tuned to sports. None of those are what drew Harry.

Harry crossed the street at the corner and shuffled toward the front door of the establishment. His contact was scheduled to meet him at the food counter. As he stepped through the door, Harry spotted another man wearing a blue jacket with "FLORIDA" written in orange lettering across the back. Tipped back on his head was an old tan ball cap with stitched embroidery of an alligator on it, and his face sported a dark goatee and small, circular glasses. As the door opened, the man glanced toward Harry with apparent indifference and then returned to whatever magazine he was reading. Harry took a stool to the man's right and motioned to the old man behind the counter.

"Can I get a Coke?"

"Yes sir," answered the old man, who turned to find a clean glass.

Harry glanced toward the man to his left. He fit the description he had been told to expect.

"Who do you think will take it this year?" asked Harry.

The man looked up from his magazine, looked briefly at Harry, and then returned to his reading.

"Go Gators," said the man without enthusiasm.

Harry blinked. That was the signal he had been told to expect. He dug into his pocket and pulled out a non-descript box and set it on the table. Inside the small box was a 3.5 inch floppy disk. Though the advent of Imperial technology rendered such computer storage medium obsolete, many locals still had computers that used disk drives, and Imperials could not be bothered with them. The other man reached out and slid the box in his direction.

The old man set the glass of Coke before Harry, and so Harry raised it to his lips to take a drink. He put down the glass and thought to make small talk with the old man, but then something seemed amiss. Harry's vision began to swim. He quickly stood in order to make an exit that was not too obviously rushed, but now dizziness set in, and he sat down again. Blackness rushed to meet him, and Harry slumped down onto the table, and then he slid to the floor, unconscious.

"That was quicker than I thought it would be," said the man who had taken the small box from Harry.

He glanced at the glass of Coke in small wonder. The old man behind the counter looked at the stool where Harry had been seated, and if possible now looked even older. He did not like his part in this, but he had little choice. The welfare of his children and grandchildren were of more importance to him than his own life – and certainly that of the man now on his floor, and the Imperials had proved they could be ruthless. From the kitchen behind the old men appeared two other men. The first was wearing Imperial gray and sported the rank of major. He walked around the counter and studied the still form of Harry on the floor.

"He isn't dead," said the officer, "but when he regains consciousness, he may well wish he was."

Following the Imperial officer was a man of about the same age, wearing faded blue jeans, a dark-red polo shirt, and a dark-blue windbreaker. He stroked his red mustache and stared down at the limp form of the man on the floor next to the old bar stool. Contempt, mixed with another feeling battled for supremacy of his face, but the former emotion proved stronger. He looked up as four stormtroopers clad in camouflage armor entered the front of the diner. Two of the stormtroopers pulled Harry up by his arms and wrapped his arms around their necks, dragging him through the front door. The two other stormtroopers followed and stood outside a small shuttle that had landed in the street.

"So, that is the man of which we spoke?" inquired the Imperial officer.

"Harry Bertha," replied the other man.

"And you're certain he can get us closer?"

"He knows Lancer Six," replied the man, placing a hand in the pocket of his dark-blue windbreaker.

Absently, he again stroked his moustache and watched as the shuttle lifted off, trash scattering beneath the repulsorlifts. The man in that shuttle once had his confidence, and he would have died for Harry Bertha. Guilt threatened to surface, but contempt hammered it back down. No. Bertha deserved this, and it wasn't as if the resistance wasn't doomed anyway. Perhaps this would bring the whole business to a faster close. Hadn't enough good men died already?

A tight smile formed itself upon the face of Michael Zilliox.