Galaxies Apart
Twenty-Eight
Site Zero's docking bay could have swallowed a Star Destroyer without chewing. Guiding the Falcon into its cavernous interior, Han Solo felt the same kind of intimidation he had tried to hide when the Death Star had trapped his pride and joy like a fly in amber. This time, however, he was guiding his ship in of his own accord.
He'd gathered from fragmented conversations with Kyp that this place was older than the Old Republic. Back on Corellia, they'd measured everything in comparison to the tenure of the Old Republic. That something could be almost unimaginably older than that…
The Falcon settled on the docking bay floor. No more than a hundred feet away, he could see the Privateer mirroring their manoeuvre.
They had arrived.
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Over one hundred light-years from the life-bearing orb of Endor, the Imperial Fleet hung in space.
Those battle-damaged ships leaking plasma and venting gases now had construction droids large and small clinging to their hulls like remoras, repairing the wear and tear and battle.
The Imperial Fleet was licking its wounds.
Even the major ships, those given free reign to roam in the madness, had not escaped without their share of damage. The Death Star and the Executor had their fair share of healing ships. Both craft now lay motionless, within a thousand kilometres of each other.
A solitary shuttle was released from the Super Star Destroyer to the battle moon. It was not the only small transport to make the journey. As well as the usual traffic of parts and personnel, ten deluxe shuttlecraft models, those reserved for the officer-class, made the trip to the Death Star.
Another conference of Grand Moff Tarkin's counter-conspiracy group had been called by its founding member.
And this time, Darth Vader had been extended an invitation.
This meeting would make our break their group. Tarkin knew it, and he was not alone in arriving at that conclusion. Assembled around his conference table were the most senior and influential military minds in the Navy. Vader's arrival was imminent.
There was not much in the way of smalltalk to be had. In fact, the nerves were beginning to tell.
"Tarkin," Grand Admiral Tiernat said impatiently, "how much longer do we have to wait? I am beginning to suspect you enjoy these secret councils."
"Patience, Grand Admiral."
"First you have us retreat, disgrace ourselves…now this façade."
Distressingly, there were few raised objections to this accusation from the rest of the assembly. Moff Lursa came to his defence.
"Your command ships, Tiernat, as I recall were not distinguishing themselves on the battlefield to any degree."
"I did as best I could," Tiernat hissed, furious, "perhaps had our much-vaunted spy network provided any sort of clue to the extent of the Ssi-ruuk involvement…I might have done better."
The new barb stung. Tarkin had no answer to it. His failure to be aware of the Ssi-ruuk ached at him.
"It was an oversight," Tarkin admitted. "Yet even you must realise, Grand Admiral, that the sheer scale of their aid to the Rebels could never have gone unnoticed by Imperial Intelligence. The information was, I have no doubt, deliberately withheld from us."
That did shut Tiernat up.
The doors to the conference room swished open, the sound of nine people drawing a nervous breath signalled that he had arrived.
Tarkin turned to face him. It had been Vader who'd alerted him to the presence of this conspiracy, after all. But you could never trust a Dark Jedi.
For all he knew Vader could find it advantageous to go running to his precious Master at the earliest opportunity. And if he did…well…Tarkin had options.
"Darth," he nodded.
"Grand Moff," returned Vader, sitting down at the opposite end of the long table. Thus it began.
"Lord Vader," Tarkin plunged in straight away, "you remember, of course, bringing to me your concerns over an unauthorised diversion of Imperial forces on the planet Ryxx?"
Vader didn't answer. Tarkin went on.
"After our meeting I took it upon myself to discover what exactly was going on. My contacts throughout the Navy reported similar incidents across Imperial space; not only that, but my own Death Star was the focus of a huge salvage operation, the purpose of which would only be alluded at, even by my most highly-placed operatives."
Tarkin waited for his words to sink in. He'd waited until now to reveal this, but the time was right.
"An artefact was removed from this ship. It was later taken to a secret location and experimented on, aboard the Star Destroyer Jurisdiction. The vessel was on tactical detail to the Outer Rim. Not long after, the Jurisdiction was removed from active duty and posted to Sluis Van to attend the unveiling of the Death Star. A move so puzzling and embarassing that her captain, the legendary Captain Binyameen, filed an official protest."
Tarkin pressed a button, and a man's voice rumbled over the table's speakers. "-I cannot believe," the unmistakable tones of Binyameen grumbled, "that the Jurisdiction can be a viable choice for this duty. This protest may fall on deaf ears, but I feel I must make my feelings known."
The recording stopped.
"Two days later," Tarkin said softly, "the Jurisdiction was destroyed in the Rebel attack. She was the sole Imperial casualty larger than an AT-AT."
He paused to let the implications sink in.
"I have already discovered that the Rebels hiding on Sluis Van had solicited help from inside Imperial ranks. Far from the co-operation ending at Crix Madine's traitorous commando unit, the corruption went much deeper. Plans, credits, even small craft had been making their way from the Empire to the Alliance for months previous to Sluis Van."
Still Vader was silent.
"Since all of Imperial Intelligence's most senior commanders report directly to Emperor Palpatine himself. It is obvious who is behind this. We have to ask: why was the flaw in this Death Star never acted upon? Why was the Fleet not warned of the scale of the Ssi-ruuk assistance to the Alliance? The answer…our own Emperor wanted us to lose, so that war might begin again. To safeguard his own position. To protect him from a military coup."
Still nothing.
"We need to act," Tarkin pressed on, getting the uncomfortable impression that everyone around him was slowly edging away. "Are you with us, Darth? Think of it! With you at our side the Empire will unite under us. And with the Rebellion destroyed-"
"Your plan has failed," Vader spoke. "The Alliance's Death Star was not destroyed."
"That's impossible-"
"There is no mistake. The Alderaan is out there. Damaged, but functioning."
Tarkin was about to reply when one of his aides burst into the room. "Yes, what is it?" he snapped.
His aide swallowed. "Priority One transmission, sir."
"Put it through, then!"
The aide shook his head frantically. "No, sir. It's not for you. It's for Lord Vader."
Vader rose from his seat, facing the aide, who licked his suddenly dry lips, fascinated by his own warped reflection in the blackness of that fearsome visage.
"The Emperor is calling," Vader announced.
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Han Solo didn't seem to have changed at all.
That surprised Luke a little; he himself had changed over the years. He'd expected Han, a fugitive from just about the entire galaxy, to have that fugitive look about him…the haunted expression, the furtive glances, the worried eyes. The demeanour of a man who had been dealt the bad hand throughout his entire life.
The Force knew that Luke felt that way himself. Ironically for a native to Tatooine, he'd been born into a family which provided little in the way of warmth. But even that semblance of family, of belonging, had been incinerated by Imperial stormtroopers.
From there on, revenge in his heart, he'd been thrust headfirst into a Rebellion he hadn't fully understood, and been forced to watch the Death Star meticulously kill everyone and everything he cared about.
All the while living with the awful knowledge that somehow, Luke Skywalker should have made a difference.
So it was with some degree of annoyance and envy that he noted the spring in Solo's step as the man fairly bounded down the Falcon's gangplank to the docking bay proper, the characteristic half-smile intact on his scruffy features. What had given him such hope?
And just who was the young man, about Luke's own age, alongside him? Luke was sure he'd never met him…and yet…there was something familiar about the young stranger. Like he'd seen him before, or maybe seen his likeness before. Or maybe he just reminded Luke of someone he knew, or had known. It was hard to tell, somehow.
What wasn't difficult to detect was the Force presence the stranger possessed. It was strong. Luke had never sensed anything like it…
He stopped, barely three feet from Han. Just out of handshaking range. As he'd known he would, Han spoke first.
"Hey," he said, "who's she?"
Luke, puzzled for a moment, glanced along Han's line of sight.
"Han Solo…meet Mara Jade."
The ex-smuggler smiled roguishly. "Good to meet you."
"Likewise," Mara replied.
Solo regarded her for another moment before switching his attention back to Luke. "Been a while," he said neutrally. "Keeping busy, kid?"
"Trying."
"Who's the little guy?" Han asked. Luke glanced behind him to see Yoda hobbling down the exit ramp of the Privateer.
It was Chewbacca who reacted first, though. Seeing the little Jedi Master, the huge Wookiee yowfed gently and loped over to his side, kneeling down and engaging his tiny companion in an earnest exchange of which they could overhear little. Everyone stood and watched as Yoda leant forward and embraced Chewbacca, who returned the gesture in kind.
When Chewie straightened up, Yoda had scrambled up onto the huge Wookiee's right shoulder where he now perched, his tiny legs swinging over the immensity of Wookiee fur beneath him. Both beings seemed immensely content with this arrangement.
"Heard much of you I have, Han Solo," Yoda said, finally breaking the amazed silence that had followed he and Chewie's fond reunion.
"What are you two, pen pals?" Han asked his co-pilot. Chewie hnufed back at him.
One person could stay silent no longer. "I'm Kyp. Kyp Durron. It's amazing to see you. I…" he trailed off, seemingly bursting to add more, but unable to find the words.
"Well," Han said, "not that this cargo bay isn't great, but I think it's time to move on."
Durron pointed to a nondescript set of steel-grey doors about half a kilometre distant. "Over there."
"How do you know that?" Luke demanded.
"I've been here before," Kyp replied.
"Oh, really," Luke said, suspicion in his voice. "When?"
"Guess that is the question, isn't it..."
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The holo-emitter flickered to life.
Darth Vader was tossed backward.
He crashed into the bulkhead, taken unawares to such a degree that his impact was full-force. Anyone watching may have assumed that Vader had been hit with a stray electrical discharge from the holographic unit. Vader knew otherwise, and his suspicions were confirmed when he raised his head and beheld the holographic image before him.
The Emperor was seething with rage.
His cowl, normally so good at keeping his emotions hidden, had been thrown back. Palpatine's pure white scalp was exposed, blotched and diseased with years of channelling Dark Side energies. His eyes, yellow with age and full of malice and evil, were glowing with anger. His rotting and decaying teeth were bared in aggression. Streaks of blue lightning coursed and sparked like an unholy corona around his head.
"Get…up," the Emperor hissed.
Malevolent eyes followed Vader's every nuance of movement until the Dark Lord had pulled himself to his feet. Now composed, the Empire's second-in-command stood facing the holo, gloved hands folded across metal chest.
He would not be so surprised again.
"Explain yourself, Master."
This day has finally come, he thought.
"You would ask me to explain myself?" Palpatine raged at him. "You would dare?"
"I am not asking."
The temperature dropped yet further. "I should have made sure of his death when I had the chance," Palpatine mused.
Darth Vader felt his world shrink to the couple of metres between him and the holo of the Emperor.
"What did you say?" he said softly.
Palpatine curled his lip. "I'm talking about your precious son and heir, Darth. Or perhaps you're beginning to prefer Anakin?"
Vader took a step forward. "What have you done?"
"Nothing," the Emperor admitted ruefully, "but I should have, those years ago."
"You told me she was dead. You told me I killed her."
"Yes I know," Palpatine admitted it casually, as if it were nothing. "But I should have done more. I should have made sure of their deaths."
"What have I done?" Vader asked.
"You chose him. You chose him over me."
"Your visions have returned?"
Palpatine ignored the question. "I have no further use for you. I'm ordering the Fleet to return to Coruscant, where I will have you publicly executed. And then I will scour the galaxy for him, and when I find him...I will kill him myself."
The figure of Darth Vader, slumped at the shoulders and hunched at the knees, exploded into motion. Vader leaped forward, the Force assisting his jump as he sailed across the few metres between him and the holographic representation of Palpatine.
And grabbed the Emperor by the holographic neck.
His physical actions were only a metaphor for what was transpiring in the Force; having his hands around Palpatine's throat, albeit virtually, was assisting his mind in projecting the Dark Side over the light-years separating the two men, projecting it enough to apply Vader's infamous Force-throttle to the most powerful man, the most powerful Sith, in the galaxy.
Equipment sparked in the room. Circuits began to short, fixtures and fittings to dim and brighten. The bulkheads themselves started to shake.
"If you believe that you will harm my son," Vader said, slowly and surely, as the two men struggled for dominance through the Force, "if you are the one behind the rise of the Rebellion...then know this..."
Lights failed across sixteen decks of the Death Star. One hundred crewmembers committed sudden and violent suicide, placing their blaster carbines under their chins and blowing their own heads off.
In the conference room adjoining, Grand Moff Tarkin watched in horror as the remains of Grand Admiral Tiernat's body slumped forward to the table.
Those who escaped that fate, including Tarkin and the remainder of his cabal, simply fell to their knees, gasping.
Twelve hundred people began to choke to death simultaneously.
"I am coming to Coruscant," Vader continued, as every loose piece of wiring and equipment broke free and whirled around him. "I am coming, my Emperor, my Master," he continued, he and the holo now the eye of a raging storm.
"I am coming for you."
The holo died. For an instant Vader's hands throttled empty air. He closed his fists. Twelve hundred people began to breathe again.
Vader strode back into the conference room. The high-ranking officials of the Imperial Fleet were just beginning to pick themselves up from the floor. What was left of Tiernat's skull smoked.
Vader didn't spare it a glance.
"Set a course for Coruscant. Now."
