Chapter Thirty-Seven: Toasts of Blood

When Firmus had signed up to join the Imperial Navy, he had never once believed that one day he would be a Lieutenant-Commander, hand chosen by Lord Vader himself, with an older officer, a Storm Trooper, and one of the most influential Galactic Senator for friends. But it had happened. So now that he was sitting in Lord Vader's personal wing in a conference room drinking himself stupid with Arlo and Cory, while still grieving the loss of Senator Amidala, as well as his leader, Lord Vader, the young officer didn't think too much of it. He never would have thought that his life would take this bizarre turn, but he was willing to ride out the wave, becoming strangely used to the curves life decided to throw his way recently.

As he turned to look at his companions, there was a slight delay in his sight as his eyes tried to readjust from moving them from staring down at the brandy he cradled in his hand, to the other two men who appeared to be in a similar state. Firmus decided he felt pretty good. And warm. He felt good. It was about time too, since the last few days had been a virtual hell.

After the funeral, the Emperor had not wasted a moment in looking for a new candidate to fill in Vader's position as Supreme Commander of the Imperial Navy. The past few days Grand Moffs, generals, and admirals had all been kissing ass and strutting around, trying to impress the Emperor in hopes of gaining the position. Needless to say, the lesser officers and crew members were mistreated and abused in the battle to gain more power. Of course, that was nothing to the Grand Moffs all but killing one another in hopes of becoming the Emperor's new heir.

Because of his devotion to the security and upkeep of the Empire, it was sometimes forgotten that Vader was next in line to the throne. The Sith Lord always seemed much more interested in the militaristic than the political power he wielded. He'd been a doer, not someone that beat around the bush. Because of this, he'd earned the admiration and devotion of a lot of people, despite having also garnered their fear. But when in the military, seeing the devotion the Sith had held for his troops, it was hard not to respect that man, despite his need for brutal efficiency.

They had been robbed of the best of the best and were now stuck with mediocre…at best. Stepping in to fill the shoes of Lord Vader was one Admiral DuMont, now Supreme Commander DuMont. His military records were impressive…if for only the fact that he tended to take credit for other people's work and accomplishments. Thus far Piett had seen the new Supreme Commander to be nothing short of a pompous ass that strut about the military base with his chest puffed out too far and his noise up in the air. Many hoped he'd get a nose bleed.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Because he obviously harbored an inferiority complex, DuMont had also set about the enormous undertaking of revamping Lord Vader's system. Security checks were changed, records were gone through, and ―because Firmus suspected the Emperor and Vader had not gotten along quite as well as they'd wanted everyone to believe―a small group had been ordered to go through Lord Vader's personal wing to 'clean it out.' The young man believed it had more to do with looking for secrets and proof of betrayal that DuMont could use to further gain the Emperor's favor, and give the admiral the excuse to run Vader's name in the mud.

What an idiot, Piett snorted to himself. It was a pretty good plan…except he'd decided to keep Lord Vader's personal assistant and assigned him the task of arranging a 'cleaning committee.' And what a committee they were!

Looking over at Arlo, Firmus found himself giggling. The Lieutenant, after so long of being Vader's assistant, was quite cunning and good at keeping a straight face. It had not been hard for the older officer to convince DuMont of allowing him to undertake the job himself, needing only another officer and a trooper for the heavy lifting. Seeing as Piett had recently been promoted and was 'not yet acclimated' into the Vader system, and young enough to still have a 'burning ambition' as DuMont put it. The new Commander had allowed the younger officer to help, seeing as Firmus was also his personal assistant when out in the field and they were both currently planet-side. DuMont hadn't even bothered to look over Cory's records. If he had, he might have been suspicious of having three very pro-Vader men looking through the Sith's stuff.

As it was, there was very little for them to actually do. Other than taking inventory, they could not access the Sith's personal computers. They were locked up tighter than the jaws of a rancor on its prey. Not even Arlo, who had the most security clearance for the area and computer skills, could access anything. The codes used were ones they'd never seen before and couldn't begin to fathom. The protocol droid they'd found meandering about knew nothing, and the astromech would not cooperate. And since they couldn't access the computers to delete any evidence they might have found in regards to Black Hand―not that they thought Vader would be stupid enough to record anything―and there wasn't much in his room at all, only a creepy looking pod-like device, they'd recorded what they could and quit early.

Cory had mentioned that perhaps they ought to go through Senator Amidala's things as well, but Arlo decided against it. "DuMont said Lord Vader's things, not the senator's," he'd argued. They ultimately decided to call the family and see if they wanted to retrieve the items…once they were given clearance to contact the Naberries, that is.

And so, with their work complete, they 'liberated' a bottle or two of Corellian Brandy from Senator Amidala's room, believing she wouldn't miss it and would actually want them to have it, they sat down in a conference room and decided to run out the clock until their shifts were over. Normally, even the suggestion of doing such a thing went against Firmus's morals, especially when working, but with the week he'd had, there was nothing he'd wanted more than to drink himself silly. Cory, too, must have been in the same boat, seeing as it was almost against a trooper's programming to do anything like this while on duty. Apparently Arlo didn't mind so much, or at least not with DuMont over him. After serving Lord Vader, anyone else looked like a pussycat in comparison.

In fact, most of the employees at the Imperial Military Base must have thought along the same lines as Pilor. While the new Supreme Commander was trying to instill respect into the people he now took control over, it wasn't working so well. Most of the officers assigned here held nothing but resentment for their new leader. While it was a stretch to even hint that they'd liked Vader, they had respected the Sith, and had come to believe that the way he had done things was the best way. They had morphed into some of the most elite and efficient officers in the army and navy. Now having to change everything…well, they didn't like that too much. They resented DuMont's belief that they weren't capable of meeting his standards and doubting their efficiency after being under the strictest taskmaster in the galaxy.

Needless to say, respect for the new S.C. was severely lacking. Already, even after just several days, Piett had witnessed a few disrespectful comments from other generals and admirals, and more than a few rolled eyes from lesser officers. No one would have dared to think of doing such a thing if it had been Lord Vader giving the orders. Supreme Commander DuMond just didn't have the same ring―or dread―behind it as Supreme Commander Darth Vader. The fact that DuMont also lacked a lightsaber and terrifying Force powers might have also had something to do with it.

And so, having been completely desensitized to anyone or anything but Lord Vader, Piett and his friends felt rather safe as they went through a bottle―or two, he couldn't really remember too clearly which they were on― of Corellian Brandy. Their work had been completed, after all, and none of them really had anything else to do. Arlo would just have to do more filing and sorting, Cory standing watch over some door or other, and Piett would have to just look over reports to either pass off to DuMont or another bigwig. Drinking was much more fun.

"You know," Arlo spoke up, leaning back very casually in his chair. "I still can't believe they're gone."

"Galaxy's gone t' shit," Piett agreed, taking a swallow of his brandy. It had long ago stopped burning.

In between the two officers, Cory started chuckling. It was a dark, foreboding sound. "Think this's hell?" he questioned, eyeing them with an eerie smile. "Neither of you fought in the Clone Wars, did ya?"

Piett instantly shook his head in the negative, while Arlo frowned. "At tha' time I was still on my home planet, or jus' gettin' int' the navy."

The trooper nodded, staring down blankly at his glass, swirling around the contents. "I didn't get a whole lotta fighting time, but I seen a thing or two," he began quietly. "Things look bad now, but it ain't nothin' compared to full out war an' rebellion."

Struggling to make his brain work, Firmus leaned forward, towards the clone. "You were at Corellia, right?"

The trooper's lip twitched slightly into a sad sort of smile, before it fell off his face just as quickly. Firmus wondered at it. "Yeah."

"That's where somma the worst rebellion was," Arlo pointed out.

Again, the clone nodded. "Yeah. They're real fighters 'em Corellians. It was…well, I liked the action, but it was a hellova lot worse than this. The Empire's still intact, and as long as it is, there'll be control and order."

"An' how long ya think it'll last?"

Piett was surprised by the scorn in Pilor's tone. "Whadda mean?" he found himself asking.

The older officer's expression was stern. "Think of it. With Vader gone, what'll keep people in line? Ya think DuMont can keep everyone in line? Ya think planets are jus' gunna let the murder of Vader and Amidala go? The entire Empire's still in a' uproar. 'S only a matter a' time before something explodes."

"An' when it does, it ain't gunna be pretty," Cory swallowed the rest of his drink before pouring himself more. "It'll be jus' like Corellia all over again."

They all fell silent, each in their own thoughts. Firmus, for his part, wondered what war was really like. His home planet had been supportive of the Empire since the beginning, and while it was a rather rough planet, he'd never seen true rebellion. Corruption and gang violence, yes, but that wasn't to the same scale as what Arlo and Cory seemed to be worried about. In his inebriated state, he'd forgotten about the possibilities of uprisings.

"It ain't the fighting I'mma not lookin' forward to." The two officers were startled out of their meditation by the trooper's strange confession. "I don't mind seein' soldiers get shot or nothin'. I'm used to that. It's th'…it's the civilians I don't wanna see."

Arlo was nodding a little exaggeratedly, but his face was completely serious. "They often get in th' way," he agreed.

"It ain't jus' that," the trooper was now staring very hard at the table top. Firmus was surprised he didn't burn a hole through it with his intensity. "It's…when I was patrolling once, back on Corellia, I came across a little kid in a' ally. He didn't look very old. He was only 'bout this tall," he showed them with his hands. "He didn't even seem like he was all that coordinated yet, like he should still be drinkin' from a' bottle…" he fell silent, his hard features melting into something soft and sad. "He was jus' standin' in a puddle a' filth. He wasn't wearin' any shoes.

"I asked him what he was doin', but he didn't answer, just stood lookin' up at me with them big eyes, shivering. I asked him where his parents were, but he said he didn't know. I took 'im to headquarters and dropped him off with some other fellas who'd take him to a' orphanage or something." Again, the trooper paused, seeming to be completely lost in memory, something Piett had never seen or imaged a trooper would allow himself to do.

"When I handed 'im over he…cried. I don't know why it affected me," Cory scowled. "I'd seen squealin' brats before…But this was different. He cried an' tried to latch on t' me. He begged for me not t' go, even though I told him there were other troopers for him to look at. But that didn't seem to help. He jus' cried and cried, until I walked away.

"I only managed to turn the corner and was getting ready to leave, when he rushed after me." A bitter sort of smile formed on the clone's face. "I don't know how he recognized me, seein' as there were 'bout ten other troopers there, but he ran right up to me and begged t' go with me and not leave him alone…Another trooper came and took 'im back away while he screamed for me…Tha' was the worst thing I ever did, leavin' that kid there, not lookin' back," the clone whispered. "He needed someone, needed me, and I just left him."

Once more, the three men fell silent. Perhaps it was because of the alcohol, but Firmus found he had tears in his eyes. While he'd always sort of liked Cory, the trooper had always just been another clone. It was true that clones attitudes varied from individual to individual, but they were very slight and each trooper was relatively exactly the same as another. Not once in his limited experience had Piett seen a trooper act so completely out of character. He'd been shocked at Cory's humor when they'd first met, intrigued by his like and apparent friendship with Senator Amidala, and had been floored when he'd agreed to drink with them.

But not even the disobedience of drinking while on the job could compare to the sad confession that they'd all just heard. Suddenly Cory became much more real, more…human to Piett. This wasn't just a clone, this was a human being, with feelings and emotions. He wasn't some sort of droid, he was really real. He had memories and feelings that made him sad just like the rest of them. CT-585 was unique, different from other clones, even CT-584 or CT-586. He was Cory, a man fiercely loyal to the Empire, to those he considered friend, and was saddened by the fact that he'd had to leave behind a little boy. It sickened Firmus to admit, even to just himself, that he'd once harbored the belief that he was superior to this man because he was a clone, even if the belief had been largely unconscious.

"That's what rebellion really is, kid."

Startled from his thoughts, Firmus looked up into the hard, dark eyes of the clone trooper, who was staring at him with a surprising amount of sobriety. It unnerved the young officer slightly. It almost made him believe the trooper had known what he'd been thinking.

"It's 'bout people sufferin'," Cory went on. "I don't much feel sorry for soldiers," he repeated. "They know what they're gettin' into. They can understand war and the like. But not kids. Rebellion creates more harm than good. That's somethin' those Rebel bastards don't understand. They think they're fightin' is for the good of the galaxy? They're dead wrong. Lord Vader had it right. He knew how to take care of everythin' that's wrong with the Empire quietly, without stirrin' up trouble for those who don't understand fightin'."

Arlo gave Piett a look that told the younger man to stay quiet. What they could understood and a trooper could not, was that Vader was far from the angelic savior of humanity, as many clones seemed to believe without a shred of doubt. Yet, they both also knew that Lord Vader, despite his cruelty, had these strange moments of…empathy. Not that he acted any different or said anything different, but he also seemed to have an understanding about humanity that the Emperor lacked. While still cruel and demanding, Vader had a sense of fairness that could not be denied. The Sith Lord had been harsh and malicious, but there was a code. To stay alive under Lord Vader's command, all that anyone was required to do was their job to the best of their abilities and be truthful. There was no bribery and flattery with Vader as there was with the Emperor. Actions spoke much louder than words for the Supreme Commander. Only high ranking officers suffered from his temper because they were supposed to be in control as well as those who proved to be woefully inadequate after they boasted of their talents.

If truthful with Lord Vader, he was prone to treat you well. Firmus witnessed a corporal once as he confess that he couldn't do a job the Sith had asked of him. Vader had snapped, yelled, but in the end, had not even touched the young man because, Piett had come to realize, the corporal had been honest and had stopped before he could disappoint. Because of that, Vader had rewarded the other soldier with only a berating and allowed him to keep his life. Piett, too, had been bold enough when interviewed by Vader, to confess his doubt in handling the promotion and task he'd been asked to fulfill, and the Sith Lord had been surprisingly reasonable.

It had been tricky to balance Lord Vader's moods, but if you could, you were guaranteed success, as well as your life. And while there was much left to be desired of the Sith, Piett couldn't help but feel that Vader would be better for the Empire than even the Emperor. The Emperor was rarely seen, staying in his comfortable palace and surround himself with politicians and flatterers. Did Emperor Palpatine really understand the people he ruled? Did he really understand what was happening in the galaxy the way Vader did? Vader was so practical and realistic, the Emperor was just very good with his words. That's why Piett had agreed to all of Vader's plans. The Sith hadn't even had to bribe him. He'd just state the truth, and Firmus knew it.

Once more, the young officer felt a swell of hatred fill his chest as he thought about the Rebels. They had killed the only hope for true and lasting peace, Firmus just knew it. Somehow he knew Vader and Senator Amidala had been working together on something. With Vader's leadership and power and Senator Amidala's popularity and compassion, the galaxy had been posed to truly begin an era of peace. But of course the Rebels had to stir up more trouble and ruined everything. They couldn't just fall into the new system peacefully, like everyone else, and created far more harm than good in their quest to bring 'order.' They were just power-hungry fools that fell onto the wrong side of the Emperor's grace, Piett was convinced.

"Well then," Arlo announced after a moment, pouring them each more brandy, even Firmus, despite having had a little left. "Here's a toast to our fallen comrades, and to the hope of future peace."

The three men raised their glasses in the air, clinking them together, before gulping down the liquid in one swallow. It was really amazing how much Firmus didn't feel anymore, but he was glad of it. It was easier to feel nothing than to let anxiety over all that had happened get the better of him.

" 'shouldda made a toast t' th' fall of the Rebellion," he slurred.

While out of alcohol, all three men raised their glasses as best as they could in their intoxicated state. "Hear, hear!" Arlo cried.

"An' th' hope that their blood'll pave th' streets," Cory added darkly.

And so, the three men each sat back, nodding off, their memories starting to fade. So it came as no surprise that Firmus would be unable to recall the door to the conference room carefully sliding closed after being opened a crack and a curious, red sensor that had been scanning them over pulled back as the little blue and white droid rolled away.

oOoOoOo

It was not usually something Sidious allowed himself to be seen doing, but as he sat atop the portable throne, looking down at the bloodied, shivering figure, he couldn't deny his pleasure at seeing this. While he adored witnessing death, it was usually bad for the public image. Today, it would help it.

Because of the recent tragedy that befell the Empire, the Emperor had decided to have a public execution. It was to alleviate some fears, make promises, and of course, send a message to Rebel High Command. It had taken longer than he would have liked to arrange everything and plan for his revenge against the Rebels, but he was confident that they would soon be eradicated. Vader's death was an inconvenience seeing as he was the one who had planned the military operations for the past several years, but it was of no matter. Sidious had planned wars before, he could do so again.

The rebel before him was pleading pathetically, but neither the Emperor nor the crowd had much pity. They wanted blood almost as much as he did, which only made the Sith smile all the more. This rebel was pale, severely malnourished, and bruised. There was also little left of his mind after Vader had interrogated him. His former apprentice had been most displeased that he could not kill the man after his attack on Senator Amidala, but Sidious had known that keeping this man alive would be useful. He'd had to make Vader be satisfied with having dismembered the rebel.

Raising a hand to calm the crowd, Sidious addressed the petrified prisoner. "You are here today to be executed after being found guilty of your attack upon Senator Amidala several months ago," he said simply. The crowd hissed, growled in furry. Calls for his immediate death the most voiced. The hatred served to amuse and invigorate the Sith Lord. "Rise and accept your punishment."

"P-p-please," the man begged, wetting himself.

"You know the law," Sidious sneered. "Treason is a crime punishable by death. You knew that when you entered into your Rebel Alliance."

The Storm Troopers surrounding the man grabbed him under the arms, and dragged him out into the designated shooting range. Once there, they dropped him unceremoniously, before taking their places in the firing squad. Beside him, Grand Moff Tarkin stood with sneer on his faces while Supreme Commander DuMont stood at ground level with his troopers, ready to give the order to fire. The Emperor could sense anticipation from both men, as well as the extreme hatred they harbored for one another. They were both honored to stand where Vader had once stood, but they were consumed with jealousy of the other. While DuMont got the coveted military title, Tarkin was still more favored by the Emperor, and Sidious delighted in setting them up to oppose one another. After all, the more desirable title of heir was still open.

With only a nod from the Emperor, DuMont commanded his troopers. "Troopers at the ready!"

Moff Tarkin smiled in cold delight. "Let this be a day that the Rebels mark. They will rue the day they thought to oppose the Empire."

"Aim!"

The crowd went wild, screaming and flinging bottles and food and whatever else they had brought with them at the prisoner. The rebel, however, sat on his knees, shaking violently, trying his best to dodge the debris being thrown at him. Troopers standing guard around the crowd were forced to hold many of them back. They all wanted this man dead. This was good. To stir up the people meant Sidious could more easily manipulate them to further his own desires.

"Fire!"

The blasters sounded in the air, barely audible over the roar of the crowd. Every trooper hit true, and within seconds, the rebel was dead. It was a fairly clean death, and by the disappointment and growing hisses of the crowd, Sidious knew the people thought so too. This was good, of course. They wanted more blood, and he was going to give it to them.

"My people," the Emperor stood, hands raised in a plea for silence. "My people. Today was a day that I never wanted to come," he began with mock-frailty. "But I assure you, those responsible for the death of Lord Vader and Senator Amidala will be found and brought to justice!

A deafening cheer went up. Deciding to leave them wanting more, Sidious left, making his way back into the palace, taking the underground tunnel system, flanked by his royal guards as well as a small contingent of Storm Troopers. Since the attack over Naboo, security everywhere had gone up. It was expected, though Sidious hardly needed it. His greatest threat was now gone. There was no chance of Vader killing him now. But for appearance sake, as well as to give the image of the frail old man, he allowed himself to be ushered about like some sort of weak, pathetic creature. It had worked to his advantage before, it would work again.

When they finally made it back to the Throne Room, Sidious went atop his throne and sat. "Leave me," he commanded. "Clear the halls."

The chief of his guard predictably stepped forward. "Your highness," he replied with a bow and the utmost humility in his voice. "It would not be—"

"Do as I say," the Emperor snapped. He was in no mood to be questioned. Right now he had business to conduct, and he would do it without interruptions.

Knowing his place, the chief bowed low, backing away. "Yes, your highness."

And after a moment, everyone had left. When he could no longer sense anyone in the halls, he pressed a button on the throne, signaling for his awaiting servant to enter. It did not take long for the Emperor to know his call had been heeded. The distinct shink shink shink sound of his approach could be heard throughout the hall. Moments later, the doors opened to reveal a shadowy figure.

Sidious sat scowling as the figure came to stop before the throne, kneeling humbly. "What is thy bidding, your highness?" the deep, gravelly voice floated up to him from below.

"I have a job for you," the Sith Master wasted no time.

"Yes, my lord."

"I have kept you alive for such a purpose as this. I can kill you just as easily, but have chosen to let you live, to continue to serve me." It was good to remind lesser beings of their place in his Empire.

"Yes, my lord. I will do whatever you command."

Smirking slightly at the delicious taste of fear and obedience, the Emperor regarded the kneeling figure. He had always wondered how he would use this creature's specific talents again, but when he had peered into the Force, he'd known there would be a time when he would require such services again. He was pleased the Force had shown him of this need. It would prove to be most useful.

"I want you to hunt down the Rebel leaders and destroy them," he ordered, scowl blackening in hatred.

"It shall be done, my lord."

"You are to use any method you see fit, but you are to remain unseen. I do not want your presence made known until the proper time."

"Yes, my lord."

The Sith Lord regarded his servant quietly for a moment. "Should you be seen, it is of no great consequence in the Outter Rim territories. Kill any who sees you, be it Rebel or Imperial."

"Yes, my lord." There was no hesitation in the reply. It pleased the Emperor all the more.

"I want the scalps of the Rebels," Sidious growled, becoming engorged with hate the more he thought of those who had defied him. "If you find Jedi, I want them exterminated immediately. You may keep their lightsabers as trophies."

"Yes, my lord."

"You will be given a ship with which to travel, as well as two of my own clone guards to escort you and to report to me should you fail." His servant bowed his head even deeper in acceptance before the Sith sensed a question. "You may speak."

"Would not droids be better for such an operation as this, my lord?"

Sidious thought of the request. It would be better to have droids go along this time as it was harder for them to betray secrets. But then, it would be harder for droids to mask his servant's presence while in the palace. The Force stirred around him, telling him of the importance of keeping all of his servants close by, that soon, all would be needed.

"No," the Emperor snapped. "Too long have you relied on droids. Two of my guards will accompany you. They will not question your continued existence. I will see to that."

Another deep bow. "As you wish, my lord."

A dark smile appeared on the Sith's face. "It would also seem that Senators' Organa and Mothma have gone missing as of late. There will be a great reward for you should you bring them back to me. The three of us are long overdue for a …talk."

As he chuckled darkly, he just heard the obedient answer from the kneeling figure. This time, he would no longer be lenient with the Rebels. Vader had been right, it was time to crush the Rebellian. And he would see to it by using the only other creature that could inspire great fear into the heart and minds of the populous besides his late apprentice.

"Rise," the Emperor commanded, watching with grim satisfaction as the creature rose to his full height. He towered over most beings, even Lord Vader could not match him in height. "Go and fulfill your duties and regain a place by my side."

"All will be as you have commanded, your highness," General Grievous bowed deeply.

And with that, Sidious watched as the cyborg stalked out of the throne room, his mechanical body chinked against the stone floors. Yes, all would be as he had commanded. Sidious would see to it, even if he had to turn the entire galaxy upside down to do it.

Author's Note: Remember that time you were all excited about Vader waking up and meeting his mom and I didn't write about that this chapter? Good times…So, yeah…General Grievous came to my house last night and informed me that I would be introducing him into the story. Please don't kill me. Vader will wake up next chapter. (...and writing drunk is difficult for me, so I hope it turned out well enough...)

I would just like to thank everyone, however, for your overwhelming support throughout this story. Serious, guys, you're all awesome! I never expected so many reviews and such kind words! Hope you're all having a great week! :)

P.S. Can anyone make a guess as to the S.W. novel I alluded to in this chapter? It's sort of my own, weird, Easter Egg that probably no one will know but me, but eh, I thought I'd ask.