YAVIN IV, 40 YEARS ABE:
The fires had mostly gone out in the Jedi Praxeum; stone does not burn well. Several still smoldered on the permacrete courtyard outside, fueled by vehicle lubricant, broken tree branches, and debris left behind by those attempting to flee on the school's small complement of shuttles. At least one of those shuttles had never gotten off the ground and now it, too, burned: a crumpled husk of durasteel and bones.
General Armitage Hux, recently promoted and eager to demonstrate his loyalty to the new emperor, marched alone across the broken permacrete. He was young for his rank, a position he had earned on a combination of obsessive attention to detail and his fanatical enthusiasm for the New Order. He had been ordered to oversee the sacking of the Jedi Praxeum, but it was a mission for which he would have gladly volunteered if given the chance. His only regret was that the mission, while technically a success, had not been anything near the slaughter he had anticipated.
He strode between the bodies, his coat flapping, a scowl on his gaunt face. There should have been more than one shuttle dashed to ruin on this ground, and fewer TIE fighters. There should have been more bodies, too, and of a very different ratio. He saw only three dead Jedi, crumpled like mynocks, while at least twelve stormtroopers lay dead within sight of his immediate vantage point. A few living stormtroopers moved around the edges of the courtyard and more searched within the walls of the old temple itself, all of them checking for survivors or saboteurs-and somehow, finding nothing. There were dead Jedi in the shuttle, of course, but even at maximum capacity that only accounted for another handful. How were there not more Jedi casualties? They had been caught by surprise, outnumbered-they should have all been lying here dead at his feet, not just these few unlucky stragglers!
His communicator crackled and Hux stopped, sighed, and drew it from his pocket. "General Hux, report," demanded the unmistakable tones of Admiral Jerjerrod, officer in command of the three Star Destroyers orbiting above. "What is the situation on the ground?"
"All resistance has been pacified, Admiral Jerjerrod," Hux replied promptly, stiffening his already-straight spine and folding his free hand behind his back, as though he were reciting in front of his military instructors. "My troops are still checking for survivors, but indications are that the temple is empty. The Jedi's so-called 'Praxeum' is ours."
"And the Jedi themselves?"
Hux winced. "Fled, for the most part," he admitted reluctantly. "We have a few corpses here to complement the ones your forces shot-down attempting to leave the planet, but most of the targets escaped into the surrounding jungle. My troops will root them out, never fear," he added with utterly misplaced confidence. Worse, he knew it was misplaced, but couldn't stop himself from automatically blustering.
The sight of an empty scout trooper helmet sitting on its side on the battered permacrete was an unnecessary emphasis of the reality of the situation. Hux glowered at it, then stepped forward and picked it up, turning it this way and that as though he might be able to discern some answers from the scuffed white plastoid. There were no bloodstains, but then, Jedi weapons cauterized when they cut, didn't they? There was so little blood when they fought. It was quite disappointing. Unless one could make them bleed, of course…
"Then again, admiral…"
"Yes?" Jerjerrod demanded, her clipped tones more impatient now than brisk.
"My soldiers are finding it...difficult to battle both the jungle and the Jedi. Please inform Commander Phasma that I request the assistance of her...special troops."
"Are you sure about that, general?"
It only took a second for Hux to think it over. No, he wasn't particularly keen on Phasma's little pets, or on sharing any of the glory of this mission, but they would put more Jedi blood on the ground. Nothing mattered more than that.
"Quite sure, sir."
"Understood, general. I'll make the arrangements."
"Thank you." Hux thumbed his communicator off and lowered his arms, the scout trooper helmet dangling half-forgotten from his gloved fingers. His thin face curled into a cruel smile. Let the Jedi run and hide if they liked; if they wanted to behave like prey, then so be it. The Empire had plenty of hunters.
Hux turned away from the ruins to face the jungle that concealed his quarry and whispered, "Soon, Jedi. Soon."
Behind him, the fires continued to burn.