A/N
Hello! I think I've finally gotten over my writer's block, at least to a certain extent. This one is a little shorter than promised, but I think it's good quality. I hope. :P
I have a couple things to say, if you're willing to stick around for a paragraph or two.
One is: Thank you, thank you, thank you for so much support for this story! Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine the incredible number of people that would read my little pet project. At last count, we have 77 followers, 60 favorites, and nearly 21,000(!) total views. In addition, this story was added to a community sometime in the past month, and we recently broke 80 reviews. So thank you guys so much, once again.
Second: On a less positive note, I realized, while editing this chapter, actually, I have created a continuity error for myself. So you guys know Appo, right? Vader's second in command? Well... he's meant to be dead at this point in time. There are several references the a "Kashyyyk Operation" in this story. Well, what I've been referring to is the final act in The Rise of Darth Vader. The error stems from the little fact that Appo quite literally loses his head towards the end. So... yeah. Whoops. Maybe I'll go through and change the name. Or maybe not. It is an AU after all.
The galaxy is a populous place. The core worlds are known for their industrialization, the mid rim for its beauty, even the distant outer rim has its place, providing a large portion of taxes and materiel for the core.
But these are the inhabited worlds. The ones with the magic of life. Worlds with this gift are in the minority, indeed, it's only once every twelve light-years you find a world with any form of life, and sentience is even rarer.
So when the Independence's hyperdrive failed 8 light-years from the Generis System, it really wasn't much of a surprise that they were, quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. Not the rather cliche, "If we can get it working, the nearest spaceport is just out of sight." No. Outside of the Independence itself, any matter larger than a stray molecule was nearly a light-year away. Anything larger than a few meters was a whopping one-and-a-half.
Therefore, quite understandably, really, Grievous was upset. The engineering droid who had the misfortune of reporting the incident found this out firsthand, as his rather forcefully separated head could attest.
Currently, the majority of droids on the vessel were desperately working on the drive, hoping very much to avoid the same fate. Now, another of those droids nervously stepped onto the bridge. Approaching the clearly agitated General, a quiet, "Um... Sir?" escaped its vocabulator.
Without turning away from the viewport, Grievous growled, "Do you have good news, or are you about to die?"
The droid involuntarily took a step back. "Repairs to the generator are underway. We should have hyperspace capability again within a few days."
Grievous turned away from the viewport. Another involuntary step back by the droid. "A few days?" He growled. "Within a few days, Imperial vessels have a respectable probability of locating us. If they find us, they destroy us. Simple as that. So scurry along, and tell your superiors that if the drive isn't operational by tomorrow afternoon, they will find themselves relieved from duty. Clear?"
Even if the threat hadn't been aimed at it directly, the droid was still understandably disconcerted. It barely got out a strangled, "Yes, sir," before turning and almost running for the turbolift.
Grievous let the droid go. With an almost inaudible hiss of escaping air, he turned back towards the viewport he had originally been gazing out of. All those stars out there... and so distant. If he could just reach one without the Empire knowing where he was, it would be an incredible relief. If that star happened to have a factory of some sort, even better. He could churn out droids by the thousands without anyone the wiser. Some subsidies from Baktoid Armour or the Banking Clan, and he would be set.
The Empire, however, knew he was close. Couldn't be helped at this stage. Honestly, it was near impossible to hide when you're flying around in a Lukrehulk control ship. The things are massive. And since the Clone Wars, they weren't very inconspicuous. A former CIS warship couldn't exactly drift into the Bilbringi shipyards, after all.
That made priority number one, after fixing the hyperdrive and putting as much distance between himself and the Atrivis Sector as possible, of course, acquiring a new ship. As much as it pained him to willingly give up such a vessel, it unfortunately had to be done. It simply was too recognizable.
What ship to take, however, was the question. There were plenty of abandoned CIS warships out there, but that was a big part of the problem. A former Confederate warship would mark him as a target to Imperial forces. That was something he greatly wished to avoid. He needed something inconspicuous, yet able to hold its own in a fight. The problem was, there weren't that many ships that met the criteria.
Perhaps he could hunt down some pirates, and take one of their vessels? That could work, but he would likely have to take on a lot of them to get a decent sized fleet. No, a better option would probably be a Dreadnought-class or two. It wasn't unheard of for them to be in pirate hands, and his droids would fix the high crew complement problem. A couple of those would likely be the best option. Finding some would be the problem.
No matter what the future held, the top priority at the moment was getting the hyperdrive operational. The longer the Independence remained stationary, the more likely it was that the Imperials would locate them. As he had told the engineering droid, they find him, they kill him. That, obviously, was to be avoided.
Moff Tarkin found that he was rather enjoying himself. Simply standing, staring out the Executrix's bridge viewport at the battle beyond, there was, in his opinion, very little left to do.
The pincer movement he had employed worked beautifully, and the Munificent frigate some upstart confederate owned was now in flames, with the rest of the enemy fleet destroyed or fleeing.
His outward appearance, however, betrayed none of the excitement he felt inside. Standing stoically on the bridge, gaze forward, hands behind his back, he was every image the high ranking Imperial officer he was meant to be.
"Ensign Dhar," he said briefly to the junior gunnery officer currently on duty, "Your targeting cone is drifting wide, recalculate and resume firing."
The Ensign in question nodded, gave a short, 'Yes, sir,' and proceeded to recalculate his firing vector. A few quick seconds later, the green turbolaser blasts suddenly shifted a few degrees to the right, quickly vaporizing several armored sections of hull.
Tarkin nodded to Dhar. "Well done, Ensign. Continue firing." No-nonsense, down to business, and just the right touch of respect included. That was why the crew on this bridge followed him without question.
He didn't instill unnecessary amounts of paralyzing fear in his crew the way Darth Vader did. Honestly he had never truly understood that. Why terrify the people who served under you, when the enemy forces out there were the ones deserving of that fear? A little healthy respect and deference, certainly. But constant fear of death as a result of the smallest mistake? That didn't make sense to him.
Darth Vader had always been an odd one. His past was as much a mystery as his identity. While he was an able field and war-room commander, Tarkin and the rest of the Imperial military had no idea (other than rumors, which Tarkin had never paid much attention to) where the Dark Lord had come from.
All he knew was that Vader had showed up as the Emperor's right hand a week after the war ended, with little to no explanation. The Stormtroopers treated him with almost worshipful respect, and the same was demanded of the officers. Any failure was... not tolerated, to say the least.
Though he would never willfully admit it, Tarkin secretly had a little game where he tried to pinpoint the Dark Lord's identity. In his one firsthand experience with the masked man (or machine, it was hard to tell), he had gathered a surprising amount of evidence.
A couple of weeks ago, about 15 days after the declaration of the New Order, before most of the Imperial fleet was busy chasing down Separatists, he had assisted Vader in the subjugation of Kashyyyk. The whole operation had been very fruitful, with several rouge Jedi killed, and thousands of Wookies shipped offworld to help with the DS-1's construction.
It was here that he had learned a great deal about the Dark Lord, and gained the most clues regarding his identity. Vader was clearly force sensitive, with his preferred method of execution making that obvious. He served the Emperor with what appeared to be a twisted form of loyalty, going where ordered and killing whomever questioned his apparent master.
Commander Appo of the 501st legion of Stormtroopers had admitted that something about Vader was familiar to him, shortly before the Kashyyyk operation. This hinted at Vader having previously served in the Republic military. The question was, what position had the Dark Lord occupied before the Empire? He couldn't have just appeared, unless he happened to be one of the pet projects the Emperor was so fond of. For all Tarkin knew, there were a dozen more Vaders hidden underneath a mountain somewhere.
So clearly a force user, a suspected past in the GAR, and a worship of the Emperor. That lead to a few possible conclusions that Tarkin always came to whenever he completed this exercise.
One, he was a clone or droid of some sort, created by the Emperor, likely as an experiment or prototype. Possible.
Two, he was the first of the Emperor's recently revealed inquisitors. Likely, considering the Emperor recently expressing concern that the standard grunt troops weren't capable of defeating the Jedi who had escaped the initial purge.
The third option was one that Tarkin had always suspected, but never had any real concrete evidence for. There was a possibility that Darth Vader, was, in fact, former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker.
The force use, the Stormtroopers, it was all circumstantial. Nothing truly solid. But there was something about that man Tarkin thought was behind the mask that seemed familiar, somehow. He really couldn't explain it. It was just a nagging suspicion, but Tarkin considered it a possibility. Maybe, sometime later, he would gather enough data to make a definite conclusion. But not now. He didn't have nearly enough information.
The calling of the communications Lieutenant broke him out of his thoughts. "Sir! Moff Tarkin, sir! Transmission for you. It... the codes check out, sir. It's from the Emperor."
Tarkin betrayed no surprise, instead just raising an eyebrow. He didn't know what the Emperor might want. Nothing important had happened recently in his sector, and no transmissions had been sent to Coruscant.
Glancing out the window, it was relatively clear the battle, if it could be called that anymore, didn't require his attention. The Munificent-class was just a burning hulk, at this point. He had no real reason to avoid the call.
"Very well, Lieutenant. Patch it through to my quarters, I'll take it there."