Chapter 2

"So let's face it, the Alderaan Royal Guard isn't exactly the pinnacle of modern warfare."

"True. However, consider this, dear husband of mine: The Guard isn't supposed to be anything of the sort. Quite aside from guarding the Viceroy and his family, they are a system defence force. A well-funded and equipped one, yes, but no more than that. You don't need Star Destroyers for anti-piracy patrols."

Trun grinned and took a sip from his cup of Caf. Varann had become fiercely protective of the planet, to the point that Trun was seriously reconsidering re-locating there at some point. Of course 'at some point' could mean tomorrow or in twenty years. When one was working for the Director of Imperial Intelligence, nothing was entirely certain. In the end, he didn't merely want to do it to please his wife, but also because he had been there a few times now and it was a far nicer place to live for a family than the one, massive city that covered Coruscant's surface.

"Which still leaves us with the question of why the Rebels seem to have managed to steal one of their best frigates."

She sighed. "Yes, it does."

Trun was all too aware that Senator Organa had been feeling the heat from both his own legislature, as well as Emperor Palpatine, when the [I]Another Chance[/I] had disappeared and then turned up, quite unexpectedly, raiding an outpost at the edge of the Corporate Sector wearing Rebel markings. Oh, the official story, as far as the investigation had been able to establish, was plausible enough, but Varann had let slip one day that Organa was convinced that there was more to it. And yet, for all his attempts to find out, exactly nothing had ever been discovered. This made people in very high places uneasy, if not outright suspicious. Trun himself had looked into it after Director Isard had opined that it may have been a smokescreen to hide Organa's involvement in it, but that hadn't been the case, as far as he could tell.

He'd laid the problem to rest a long time ago and only dragged it out when he wanted to tease his wife with it, as he had just now, and the grin on her face made it obvious that she knew how he meant it.

So instead of going on, he studied her lovely face and decided that yes, he really was the luckiest man in the galaxy.

The diner they were eating at wasn't all that far from where the Imperial Palace was reaching into the sky, and had been run by some sort of shady Besalisk who had disappeared into nowhere after the Pacification. Now, it catered to mid-level government employees and Senatorial aides who could not, or would not, afford to eat at the Senate. He wasn't really one of either group, but for all his access to the halls of power that working directly for [insert first name here] Isard brought him, he was about as anonymous as any of the legions of personal aides and other assorted flunkies that crowded the Senate District.

"So, have the girls settled in with your sister?"

Varaan nodded. "They don't like that we both have to go, but I think they'll have some fun there. Better that, than nothing for the holidays."

The thought of being separated from their children dampened their moods, so instead of ordering another round of caf, and even though neither of them had to be at their respective ships for another hour, he called for the serving droid and paid for their food. They didn't speak to one another as they picked up their repulsorlift-assisted bags and walked back towards the transport that would take them to the Senate. There they had to go their separate ways, as Trun had to take a different shuttle to reach the transport that was to take him to Kuat. Why he was supposed to go there instead of directly to Naboo was something that Director Isard had refused to reveal, only saying that he was supposed to report to the local Moff who would be giving him pre-positioned Orders. He knew that the Director had some sort of hold over the Moff in that sector, so it all made sense.

His wife, on the other hand, would be meeting up with Senator Organa and his daughter, embark on probably the [I]Tantive IV[/I] and travel to Alderaan in far more luxury than Trun would have on a fast, but damn tiny and probably cramped, T-2c for a lot more than the two hours he could tolerate shuttles before being severely irritated.

On reaching the platform that serviced the public transport lines, connecting the building with the various districts of the planet-spanning city, Trun, who had a few more stops to go, turned towards his wife.

"I hate leaving them alone, even if it's with a relative."

"I know." Varann sighed, and reached over to take his hand. "But they'll be fine. It's not like anything could happen to either of us."

Trun smiled thinly in response, not knowing if he should feel sad or delighted that his wife seemed to be buying the obvious cover stories he was forced to give her every time he left for some misbegotten Rebel stronghold at the other end of the galaxy.

"Of course." he said instead of anything else that he might have wanted to blurt out at that moment.

The shuttle came in for a landing, and without much ado or any tears, the pair exchanged their goodbyes, with Varann watching the departure before she turned and walked towards the senate with quick and determined steps, pulling her luggage behind her. By the time she crossed the threshold into the inside of the building, past the various security checkpoints that she could see, as well as those she couldn't, Varann had schooled her face into a picture of businesslike concern for the task ahead. It was more because it was a good mask to hide all sorts of thoughts behind than, rather because of any issues with the tasks that lay before her, though her distress was related.

She plain hated having to lie to her husband, to pretend that she pretended to be ignorant of what it meant when he told their neighbours and friends that he was working 'a boring office job at the Imperial Bureau of Resource Research'. She also wanted to hide that she had serious difficulties with reconciling the man she loved as dearly as life itself with her hatred for his job, the work he did and the system he represented to her. For her part, she had to conceal that she served the Republic in her own small way.

As she stepped into the lift that would take her to Senator Organa's offices, she once again reminded herself that Trun wouldn't hesitate for long, if they were lucky, before turning in the Senator. If her husband ever found out that he and Mon Mothma were effectively the eyes and ears of the Republic in the Imperial Senate, it would spell trouble for all of them. She knew that she willingly ignored what would surely happen to herself in such an event, but the nightmares she sometimes had, particularly when Trun was off on some errand for Isard, were terrifying enough.

"Miss?"

Varann realized that the lift had stopped and that someone was holding the doors open, waiting for her to get out. Without a word and ignoring the concerned looks she knew she was drawing, Varann almost ran out of the lift and down the corridor. By the time she reached the reception desk, where a familiar droid admitted her into the rooms occupied by the Senator from Alderaan, no one knew that she had been having a minor crisis of faith. None of that was noticeable when she joined the Senator and the rest of his party that would travel with him to his homeworld. Polite and respectful greetings were exchanged, nothing more. Aside from the rooms almost certainly being bugged, none of those present—(with the exception of the Senator, herself and Captain Antilles)—knew that House Organa's declaration of loyalty to the Empire weren't honest… To put it lightly, and whatever they might show on the surface. There was no need to pull them into something most, if not all, of them didn't want a part of; there was no need to increase the risk by having a greater number of people aware that there was a secret to keep, and if they could honestly say that they'd known nothing, that might save them if things went very badly wrong.

Final orders were given, those who would remain behind and 'mind the shop' returned to whatever tasks they had been doing, while the rest of the group moved to board the ship. Soon enough, Varann was alone in the quarters she'd been assigned and finally succumbed to her emotions, letting the tears flow freely. She knew that, one day or another, she would have to answer for what she had done. For now, she would serve the Republic how she might, and if the Sabacc deck came up with The Destroyed Starship, she would hope she could survive the fallout.

In contrast to his wife, Trun was more bored then emotional. Much to his surprise, the shuttle was not only empty—but for himself and the two-man crew—but it was not a standard T-2c by any stretch. It may have started out as a representative of that particular class, but going by the background hum of the engines and the hyperspace speed that was being displayed when he walked forward into the cockpit, someone had managed to make this thing go a lot faster than the standard version. This was why he reached Kuat a full day earlier than he'd expected, even including a refuelling stop at some backwater agricultural world.

The shuttle slid past the gleaming hull of a Victory-Class Star Destroyer in one of the new, single-module docks. The ship was slowly being stripped of it's parts by an army of droids and actual workers; Trun watched this process as the shuttle made its way towards the heart of the massive facility, the ring-shaped space station that encircled the planet. Partly to distract himself from the boredom, rather than out of public or personal interest, he studied the station in more detail as they approached. The sensor feed from the shuttle to his Datapad allowed him to look at everything the crew could see, and judging by that, the Fleet expansion was as big as it was supposed to be. Most of the berths were being taken up by military construction, with the civilian sector being relegated to about a fifth or so of the station and the majority of the modular docks springing up at other locations in the system, although from what Trun had seen, it would not take long before these docks were all over the primary shipyards. The ships being constructed ranged from the Imperial-Class Star Destroyer and it's variants to small patrol vessels, making it obvious that the Emperor was taking the continued existence of the Rebellion very seriously indeed.

On the other hand, Trun knew, Kuat Drive Yards did not like it, as that meant effectively giving the civilian market to their Corellian rivals; this had to rankle them, even with the massive military contracts coming their way, in addition to what they had already produced for the Empire. The Kuati ruling class were just that sort of arrogant bastards, and he was glad that he didn't have to deal with them beyond having to walk past the odd administrative flunky or dockworker.

Of all the things he had expected when he stepped off the shuttle, being alone in a specially cleared airlock-reception area with the Empire's second-in-command waiting for him was not it. He had met Dath Paqua on occasion, but couldn't say that he knew her at all well, nor had he known that she was off Coruscant, never mind that she would be meeting him here. Long story short, her presence here came utterly out of the proverbial blue.

Paqua was standing on the opposite end of the room, looking at him with her standard look of annoyance and barely contained anger on her face. Trun quickly caught himself, and as was befitting a senior Intelligence officer, his face showed no emotion. If he had, the emotion would have been surprise, but he showed none of that. He was sure that as a Force-Sensitive, she could sense his emotions anyway, but there were appearances to be maintained. He bowed respectfully and said, by way of a greeting, "My Lady, I am honoured to meet you, as unexpected as it is."

Paqua nodded. "Likewise, although you were expected." She continued, "We are on a mission of personal importance to the Emperor, and until the proper juncture, utter secrecy must be maintained."

"I see," Trun replied, and Paqua nodded in approval, sensing that he truly did.

"Director Isard was asked to provide the temporary services of someone who could handle the delicate task that lays before us. You were chosen because he said that you were one of his best." She said this in a manner which suggested she wwas pre-empting Trun's next question. Given her abilities, he didn't doubt this.

"I am honoured, milady."

She snorted with what could almost be mistaken for humour at a distance. "You're not, but you will do your best to carry this mission through."

Okay, now Trun was beginning to feel creeped out. What was it with Force users?

Paqua ignored that and instead handed him a code cylinder. Trun inserted it into his datapad and saw that she had, not only legitimate Orders for him, but that those orders were countersigned by the Emperor himself and thus automatically overrode anything else he may have been told. He didn't know how he felt about being known in the highest circles possible, but there was nothing for it but to do what he was told. The alternative—refusal of the orders—would only result in death for Trun, Varann and his daughters, not to mention his other immediate family members.

"Follow me, Captain." she said, referring to the rank he still officially held in the Navy.

Sensing that Paqua didn't expect an answer, he grabbed the handle of his luggage and followed in her wake. He had to struggle to keep up with her, so when she eventually turned towards the docking tube of a ship, he was not exactly out of breath but still glad of a short break. The tube was a luxury one and included windows as well as a holoprojector that allowed any user to see the ship he was moving towards; Trun glanced out, only to be startled when he could see the distinctive, dagger-shaped profile of an Imperial-class Star Destroyer. Okay, he'd known that Paqua had been given a new command ship for reasons that he did not care to examine any closer, but this ship… It looked a lot more menacing than a normal ImpClass did. To begin with, it was painted black from bow to stern. It was not the black of cloth or of gems, but a deeper, darker black that struck fear in Trun's heart, even as a loyal Imperial officer. The ship seemed to be barely visible against the background of space, with the sunlight being swallowed up by the hull. The exceptions to this were the massive Imperial seals painted on each side of the dorsal and ventral hull where it was the widest, the superstructure between them, the seals detailed in a white paint which stood out more starkly for the near-utter blackness of the massive vessel. Two more seals were on the side of the bridge module; they were all lit up by what had to be some of the largest lamps possible with modern technology. All in all, it looked menacing, and he found the name floating under the ship itself fitting. [I]Iron Fist[/I] indeed. He found the hull colouration appropriate—Iron, though he had rarely seen the pure stuff, was said to be black.

Paqua had no time for his musings on her ship, however, so he couldn't study her any further. He could, however, continue to follow this Force-using woman aboard the sixteen hundred meter-long vessel. On the inside, it looked like any other Navy ship, from the uniforms people were wearing to the standard architecture.

"Captain?"

"Yes, milady?"

She motioned at a young officer that had somehow materialized next to them.

"Follow the Lieutenant to your quarters and report to me on the bridge in one hour. No more, no less… One hour."

"Yes, Ma'am."

tbc

I wrote most of this while having the Star Trek Megasuite playlist off YouTube running in the background. There's a reason for that. As much as I love the Star Wars music and think that John Williams should be made Eternal President of Earth, when I write I prefer stuff that's more easy listening than that. Star Trek, awesome in it's own right and in an utterly different manner fits the bill.

Re the ship: If a Smuggler can have an Imperial Star Destroyer painted red, the Imps can have one painted black.

Up next: We meet up with one of my all-time favourites.