CORUSCANT, 40 YEARS ABE:
The sun was setting on Coruscant, its descent painting the city-planet's thick, pollution-filled sky in vibrant shades of purple, red, and gold. Smoke still rose from the remnants of the platform that had been for one brief, shining moment, the heart of the galaxy's hopes for peace. It wasn't the only place on Coruscant currently wafting smoke into the air from scorched blaster-scars, nor the only place with multicolored blood dried upon its permacrete, however. Coruscant was a planet under siege-and without a fleet to defend it, a planet conquered as well.
Stormtroopers picked through rubble and poked at bodies, searching for signs of danger and life. All they found were blaster-burned corpses, boiled permacrete, and tattered bunting that had once streamed so proudly overhead. The eager crowds and hovering holodroids were gone, leaving only carnage and Imperial troops to share the ravaged platform now.
A jagged black ship that looked like what might happen if one attempted to carve a Lambda-class shuttle out of raw volcanic rock descended through the hazy atmosphere. Two TIE Interceptors flanked it, their pinched ion panels looking almost soft in comparison to its vibroblade-sharp edges. The few speeders braving the skylanes-mostly emergency vehicles or Imperial personnel-veered to give the new arrivals a wide berth.
On the permacrete below, a company of stormtroopers jogged over and stood at crisp attention as the shuttle settled on its landing gear. It landed almost in the center of the peace platform, where Pellaeon and Mon Mothma's signing table had stood only that morning. There was no sign of that table now, nor of the treaty over which both had labored so hard.
There was no sign of Pellaeon, either.
The shuttle's ramp descended and Revan walked out in a swirl of black robes, a gleaming black protocol droid trotting behind.
Revan paused to survey the world that the Empire had so recently reconquered in their new emperor's name. Any thoughts that might have passed across that ancient mind were hidden beneath the even more ancient, red-fleckd visor that concealed the Dark Lord's face from the world.
After a long, thoughtful moment, Revan started forward again and the stormtroopers fell into step behind. They walked as something halfway between an armed force and an honor guard for their diminutive Dark Lord. The two Imperial officers who jogged up and saluted their Emperor didn't seem to know what to do when Revan's only acknowledgement of their presence was a distracted nod; having no better course of action, they joined the procession at its middle, just behind the droid.
As Revan descended from the semi-melted platform to the elevated promenade that connected the celebration square to the heart of Coruscant's political center, the first spectators began to gather.
They crept in slow and skittish, crouching behind rubble or lurking in doorways and at the corners of streets and buildings. Their eyes darted around nervously, uniting the disparate species of watchers into one homogenous sort of prey animal. Whatever colors and shapes they came in, these were Coruscanti citizens. And they were, universally, afraid.
Almost universally.
One stout Gotal, braver or perhaps merely more foolish than the rest, scooped a broken chunk of permacrete from the ground and hurled it at Revan. "No more emperors!" he shouted.
Revan raised a gloved hand-not to catch the projectile, but to signal the stormtroopers to hold their fire. The chunk struck Revan on the chest and bounced off, clattering on the permacrete. "Hold," Revan reiterated, voice tinged with amusement, as the stormtroopers tensed to shoot.
The troopers shifted uncertainly, but obeyed their emperor's orders.
The crowd did not. As though that first blow had shattered the dam, more chunks of rubble and refuse followed along with more shouted threats and insults.
Revan stood calmly, watching without moving or flinching-and as the crowd realized that none of their improvised weapons were reaching their target, the shouting faltered and fell, replaced by a spreading hush.
In the air around Revan and the rest of the Imperial delegation, the scrounged detritus floated. Much of it spun lazily in place as though wafting in a gentle summer wind. Raven stood completely still, staring at the Coruscanti crowd, and they stared back with growing horror in their eyes and orbs and optical sensors. The protocol droid looked around curiously, as though attempting to scan for whatever mechanism was holding the rubble.
After a long, heavy pause, Revan let out a little mmm sound, something halfway between interest and amusement. Then the hand that had so easily held both the stormtroopers and the mob's weapons at bay fell, and the improvised projectiles fell with it. Revan didn't bother tossing any of it back at those who had thrown it, but the message was clear: Revan didn't need to retaliate, or to attack in turn. No one there was a threat.
No one there mattered.
As the hollow echoes of the falling rubble faded, Revan started forward again. The stormtroopers stumbled a little over their own feet, then hurried to catch up. The faces of the two Imperial officers were wan and damp with sweat. The only one who didn't seem bothered, aside from the Dark Lord of course, was the protocol droid.
It trotted after Revan as calmly as though it saw angry mobs dispatched with a single flick of four gloved fingers every day.
As Revan walked across the newly conquered world, silence spread and the fearful, angry Coruscanti citizens slunk away into the gathering dusk.
