This is a work of fan fiction and all canon characters, scenes, and concept are the property of LucasArts. Original characters and plot property of Gerald Tarrant.

Please do not repost this fanfiction without permission.
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Two: Preparations

Tor Sunflier cut his throttle speed to one-third power, leaned back, and sighed. Behind him, the Protector loomed like a bulky, winged monstrosity with the two Nebulon B-Frigates Akaga and Thunder in the background. In front, through the transparisteel, the green moon of Endor winked like a green jewel on a backdrop of black velvet. Tor let himself fly towards it for a moment, then yanked his control stick hard over in a sharp turn, heading his TIE Fighter back towards the Protector.

For two weeks now Gamma flight group and the other TIE fighter squadron of the Protector, Delta flight group had been patrolling this part of space, watching in bored annoyance as heavy bulk-freighters, tugs, cargo lifts, and the like blasted out of hyperspace, unloaded cargo onto the three space platforms nearby, and went into hyperspace again. It reminded Tor of his boyhood on Tatooine, of moisture farming and growing crops in the baked sands outside Anchorhead base. The same precise motions, the same monotony. Nothing ever changed; and inspecting a bulk freighter was about as much fun as watching wind blowing sand into dunes.

Coming out of the Caridian Imperial Academy, he had petitioned his superiors mercilessly for a position as TIE Fighter pilot. Not that you could actually chose, but he had been thinking that it might be one of the more exciting careers in the Imperial navy. Exciting! If this was exciting, then Tatooine was paradise.

His sensor readouts showed a group of freighters that had just come out of hyperspace on the far side of the Protector. Tor sent the fighter on a gentle upwards climb over the Victory Star Destroyer, then shot over the bridge towards the freighters. The group slowed, hyperspace deceleration, and reached an astonishing speed of six MGLT.

Tor glanced at his aft sensors. Behind him were two more T/F, probably Gamma Four and Six: Harve Tisher and Eln Terra. Tor grinned, spoke into his transmitter. "What, you guys coming along for the fun and excitement of inspecting a bulk freighter?"

"Wouldn't miss it, Gamma Five," Harve's dry humor cut into his ear with a crackle of static. "Never know when one of those things is going to turn around and start attacking you." His voice took a panicky edge. "Quick! Power up your lasers! I sense hostility from that freighter over there!"

"Ah, cut it out, Harve." Eln accelerated, shot under both Harve and Tor, and dropped down in front, forming a straight file of fighters heading for the freighter group. Tor could never quite figure Eln out. Everyone knew to step carefully around Eln, for fear that he would scream at you for no reason, or suddenly want a fight with you for the slightest comment. Harve, on the other hand, was rarely anything but cynical and sarcastic, with a twisted sense of humor. How Harve and Eln managed to stay friends, no one knew. They had graduated from the Academy together and both served on the Imperial freighter Destine before being assigned to the Protector four years ago, three years before Tor.

Tor's sensors showed one more T/F coming around the Protector to join them. This one roared in at fifty MGLT faster than the three of them were going, cut a double loop around them, and settled under, matching speeds with the rest of them.

"Nice of you to join us, Two," greeted Eln with rough sarcasm.

"Well, you know me, have to be in on everything," came the reply, Cam Drelnin's voice. Cam was a hotshot if Tor ever knew one, taking every available chance to pull stunts in his TIE Fighter. He was friends with Harve and Eln. Tor ignored him. He couldn't stand him, and Drelnin knew it. "How's it going, Sunflier?"

Tor grunted into his pickup by way of reply.

"Friendly, aren't we?" said Harve cheerfully.

"Shut up," said Tor.

The freighters were inching closer on his front viewport. Bulk freighters looked like a cross between a huge box and a flat package: two enormous long compartments connected in the middle by a wide flat strip that contained the engine. Tor targeted the center freighter of the group, peeled out of formation. "I'm going for the middle one."

"All right, Five." The others spread out behind him, each intent on his own target. Tor accelerated ten more MGLT, dropped down low. The targeting HUD flickered green as the distance closed-not like he was going to fire on the thing; it would be a waste of energy. The freighter loomed in front of him, its two monstrous compartments on either side like the walls of Beggar's Canyon. Tor rolled his Fighter into a loop, then straightened out and flew down the trench.

As he pulled up, he glanced at the CMD. It registered Imperial Freighter Adara Three, all systems operational, cargo: power supplies. Power supplies? Tor accelerated even more, drawing power from lasers to engine. He sped up away from the freighter in a hard power climb, leveling out at the top, shooting straight towards the Protector, then put the TIE into a belly roll that left Tor looking at the VSD, as well as the three platforms spread out behind it, right side up.

"Anyone know what all this stuff is for?" Cam said, breaking the silence.

Harve grunted, banking to port and looping lazily around. "I don't think I want to know. I think we're all better off in the dark."

"Looks frightening, though," Eln said.

Tor cycled through his CMD, finding the Protector, the platforms, the freighters, and the other eight members of Gamma flight group, who were somewhere on the other side inspecting a cargo train. Rin Cloudrunner was on the Rim fighting aliens. Dirk Lightskimmer was chasing Rebels. And where was he? Out in the middle of nowhere, orbiting a virtually unknown moon, inspecting cargo. Why did these things always happen to him? He was the one who had always had to stay at home and help while his older brothers went out to hunt womp rats. He was the one who had to make daily trips to Tosche to purchase vaporator parts while all his friends were down at the swoop rings in Mos Eisley. And he had been the last one to leave for the Academy, almost two years after everyone else had applied and gone. Tor didn't really mind-after all, he was used to it-but it really made him think, sometimes.

His sensors flashed, startling him. He glanced out and pulled up quickly. The Protector loomed huge and dark in front of him. Another ten meters and he would have been nothing but space debris. Breathing a sigh of relief, Tor looked at his sensors again and frowned. They registered an unidentified craft approaching out of hyperspace at six MGLT. Tor frowned, checked again. It was not a freighter. He pushed controls, trying to get a reading on the unidentified ship. The CMD beeped. Tor gasped. The ship was an Star Destroyer, Imperial class, coming in around Endor at five-zero-six. The ISD Colossus.

Abruptly, the transmitter in his helmet crackled. "This is Control. All craft report back to Protector immediately. Squadrons from Colossus will take over your present mission. Repeat: all craft report back to Protector immediately."

The transmitter fell silent. Behind Tor, the other three T/F from his group swung around, changing vector from the freighters back towards the ship. Tor angled downwards, bringing his fighter towards the docking bay. A tingle of anticipation and excitement crept down to his toes. Whatever was happening, it was certainly going to be better than this. Well, with his experience, that wasn't likely. But then again, most anything was better than this.

Tor brought his fighter up and felt the hard shudder of the tractor beam take him and pull him into the belly of the great craft.

Night at the Imperial Naval Academy on Carida. The dim glow of the computer screen bathed the dormitory in a weird purple light. The furnishings were sparse: three beds, three wall-installed computers, an intercom, two chairs, a refresher room off to the right. The heavy metal door stood open, revealing the half-lit white duracrete walls of the long hallway beyond. Two beds in the room were occupied by shadowy shapes, one soundly asleep, the other tossing and turning in his sleep. The third bed was empty.

Keeping his eyes glued on the screen, Kelgyn Dyrrod reached down to his desk to grab a handful of dry crackers and shove them into his mouth. If only he had taken the time to read through this a week earlier instead of spending all that time with Daral and Kent at the swoop rings. For a moment, his eyes saw not the computer screen but the haggard, bearded face of his father, regarding him outside his family's cantina in Hyllyard City. Sweat trickled down from his father's forehead, gleaming in the bright Myrkr sunlight, as he spoke sternly. "Study hard, son. You know we don't have the money to pay for this, but I'm sending you anyway because I know you can do it. But if your grades don't show it, you're coming right back here. I need an extra hand at the bar, anyway. And don't go to the swoop rings. Besides being illegal, they're all too dangerous."

I'm sorry, Dad, Kelgyn whispered silently. Guilt flooded through him. His father's hard-earned money-and he was wasting it. He felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. All his life he had worked hard, harder than he really could, without anything to show for it. And now that he could show something, he wasn't working. How many of your friends on Myrkr got to go to the Academy, Kelgyn? None. And you're here spending time playing instead of learning.

He groaned audibly, looking at the amount of data on the screen. Commander Antaris was not going to be happy with him, star pupil or no, if he failed that exam tomorrow.

"The Battalions of Zhell were conquered by the Taungs," read the next line, "a people entitling themselves 'Dha Werda Verda,' or 'The Dark Shadow Warrior.' The absence of agrarian advances during that era of Coruscant's history indicates that..." Kelgyn felt his eyelids begin to come together, and the words on the screen began to blur. Strange alien men danced in front of his eyeballs. He tried to prop his lids open, but they were heavy, so heavy...

A hand grabbed his shoulder and shook him. Kelgyn's head jerked back and his eyes popped open. He twisted as best as he could into a combat stance, still half-lying in the chair, arms flailing the air and connecting with his would-be-attacker with a smack.

A muffled thump as whoever it was hit the floor, followed by loud cursing. Kelgyn started in surprise and sat up. "Daral?"

Grunting came from the floor. "How would it sound," came the retort, "if Daral Krellis, influential citizen of Coruscant and best pilot in the Imperial Academy, was killed in the line of duty in accidental hand-to-hand combat?"

"Come on, Daral." Kelgyn stood up, swaying from fatigue. He glanced over at the other occupied bed; Kent had not been wakened by the commotion. "I didn't hit you nearly that hard. Quit shouting; you're going to wake everyone within fifty kilometers of the academy. And you don't have to brag to me. I know all about your exploits already."

Daral rolled over, his face an unhealthy shade of green in the purple light. He had tousled light blond hair, unlike Kelgyn's neatly groomed dark hair and was as white as Kelgyn was dark, as tall as Kelgyn was short, as tough and muscular as Kelgyn was lean and wiry. He was the picture of wealthy pampering, one of those few that could afford to throw away credits wherever he went and still have enough to pay the yearly tuition at the Academy four times over.

And he was arrogant. Arrogant, cocky, egotistical to a fault. As fate would have it, he was Kelgyn's best friend.

Daral sat up. "You still studying?"

"What does it look like?" Kelgyn retorted, jabbing a finger back at the humming monitor.

"Take a break, Kel. You've been working so hard you're going to die of information overload. Have fun. This isn't boot camp, you know." He grinned devilishly. "That comes later."

Kelgyn sighed. "Maybe not, but it's the next thing to it. Look, Daral. Maybe it's different for you. You don't need to study. But I don't have connections. My father is not one of the most influential men in twenty systems. I don't have the wealthiest family on Coruscant. I worked to get in here, and if my grades don't show it, back I go to Myrkr and my father's cantina. I have two more years of this. Just because you're graduating this year-"

Daral held his hands up, grinning. "Calm down. Yeah, I see your point. Especially if you're from...Myrkr, or wherever. Little-known planets in little-known systems. I've never heard of it before."

"That's not surprising, considering it's in the middle of nowhere." Kelgyn turned the chair around to face Daral. "And Hyllyard City is a jumble of old buildings that should have been demolished a long time ago. Nothing like Coruscant, I'm sure."

The sarcasm was wasted on Daral, who looked at the ceiling thoughtfully. "No, nothing like it." He closed his eyes briefly, then began his Coruscant speech. Kelgyn half closed his ears, leaned back in his chair. Daral was the son of a wealthy nobleman of an old family on Coruscant. An old family with power, fame, and money going back generations. Kelgyn wondered how much of the cocky self-assurance Daral would have had if he were an only child, burdened with the responsibility of taking over his father's position someday. He looked over at Daral, who was still talking. But Daral wasn't. He had two brothers, both older. One of them was prepared to follow in the footsteps of his father. The other one-well, Daral never talked about him. Kelgyn didn't even know his name. He'd asked, once. Daral had closed up immediately, then glared at him the rest of the day like he'd insulted him personally. Kelgyn guessed it was better for some things to stay unknown.

But Kelgyn couldn't even imagine living half as well as Daral had lived-servants at your beck and call, expensive imported food, powerful contacts that could get you out of any trouble you were in.

Kelgyn felt a flash of jealousy as he remembered the gray tumble-down stone buildings of Myrkr, so different from the gleaming high-rises of Imperial Center. Most of the houses he had known from his youth did without even power or running water and made do with the beat up transports and run-down Skiprays that were the only spacecraft the locals could afford. He thought of the forest, the vornskrs and the strange yslamiri, and then the musty smell of home, his father's cantina, and the second floor where the family lived. The jealousy ebbed. No, it wasn't much, Kelgyn conceded to himself, but there wasn't any place he would rather grow up in.

"Hey," Daral prompted. "Are you listening?"

"Yeah," said Kelgyn. It was an automatic reflex of his whenever he listened to Daral's boasting, to tune out and then respond like he had heard every word. He had heard about Daral's home a million times; he bet he had every word of Daral's speech memorized. He knew what Daral would say next. "The restaurants are really good, too. My favorite's the Menarai because it has all sorts of strange stuff from all over the galaxy."

"I was saying that the restaurants are really good, too. My favorite's the Menarai because it has all sorts of strange stuff from all over the galaxy." He looked at Kelgyn, who smiled slightly and shook his head. Daral raised his eyebrows. "You should come visit me sometime after you're graduated. I'll be in the Fleet, of course, but my brother'll be there and he's heard all about you from me."

"Sure," murmured Kelgyn. He respected Daral for that, at least. With all that money and prestige, the Krellises had no need for higher public education. He'd heard Daral talk about his father's private education by the great philosophers of the day, how he himself had had a private tutor all his life. But somehow Daral had tired of the good life, had wanted more. And so he was here now, suffering through the rigors of Academy training with cadets from families not even one-tenth as wealthy as his; people he would have never even condescended to talk to back on Coruscant. And, by the look of things, he was enjoying it. The training part, that is, not the studying. He was a horrible student and he knew it and didn't care.

Daral laughed. "Then again, maybe you don't want to. But you ever run low on credits, just drop by and let me give you a hand."

"Thanks a lot." Kelgyn turned around, shut off the computer. The clock read a little past two. "What are you doing up, anyway?"

Daral shrugged. "You woke me up with all your groaning. Couldn't sleep well, anyway. Got a history exam tomorrow that I didn't study for and I was trying to figure out how to pass. And a physics exam. Guess it's too late to study."

"I'm studying," Kelgyn pointed out. "And fifth year history isn't that much harder than third year history, I imagine."

"Was studying," Daral said. "What's the point, anyway? Studying is for idiots. Money is for geniuses. You got money, you can buy your way into anything."

Kelgyn rolled his eyes. "Some of us aren't that lucky," he shot back as he stumbled over to bed. Behind him, Daral got up off the ground with a loud grunt and slapped the door release. The loud bang of the closing door echoed through the corridor outside.

"You really got a flair for dramatics, don't you, Daral?" Kelgyn grumbled as he flopped down on the hard mattress, not bothering to undress.

"Yeah, well, you know." Kelgyn could feel Daral's wide grin from across the dark room. "Runs in the family."

The final calculations were made, data entered into the navcomputers by the chief navigator, and like a huge, lumbering animal, the Protector twisted on its axis to begin the hyperspace jump sequence. Beside it, the Interdictor Harpax, looking for all the world like a miniature Star Destroyer except for its four gravity well generators, took up position next to its new flagship.

The main viewscreen of the Protector, however, still showed the bridge of the ISD Colossus and Admiral Tekar Zaarin, chief Imperial technology officer. Zaarin was an older man, with a severe, inhuman glare in his watery gray eyes, a thin, pinched face, and tight mouth. Thinning brown hair swept back from a high forehead. The spotless admiral's uniform just made Zaarin look even older and grimmer and more demonic.

Now, in a tirade about the monstrous construction project above Endor, Zaarin looked in his element, dark eyes glowering out at Harkov like it was all his fault. It was too much work, he complained, not enough workers, not enough time and equipment, too much technological data, too hard...

"Look, Tekar," said Harkov pointedly. "I'd like to talk to you later, but I've got an appointment in the Sepan system. Orders from Lord Vader himself." Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the captain of the Protector, Captain Zeldiri, hovering at the next console, impatiently glancing up now and then at Harkov and making small noises. Harkov signaled that he was almost done with his transmission and turned back to the screen.

"Well..." Zaarin began doubtfully. Harkov sighed. Once you got the man talking you literally had to tape his mouth shut to make him stop.

"Really, Tekar, I need to leave. That's what you're here for-to see that all this-" he gestured around to the construction supplies outside on the platforms, "-gets taken care of. Workers and equipment included. Heard that we are due to receive a new shipment of Wookiee slaves, by the way. That should help you out."

Zaarin glared at him. "Your sympathy is so touching."

"Thank you." Harkov reached to terminate the connection, had a flash of thought. "Oh...about that new aide that I received last week..."

Zaarin half-smiled, making him look almost human. "I infer that your work load is lightened."

"You know I hate having my work load lightened," Harkov said. "I like work."

"As you wish." Zaarin shrugged. "But you must be the only one in the Fleet who does." He stepped back. "I will contact you if anything comes up."

"Of course." Harkov's fingers moved to the transmission switch. Zaarin and the Colossus's bridge vanished. Harkov moved to one of the side windows, lost in his own thoughts. Endor shone brightly, dwarfing the platforms and the Colossus like a Buw'washi next to a D'hitr. He stared out at the space platforms, sitting there so innocently and vulnerably, just out of the gravity field of the emerald moon. He knew-knew exactly what it was that they were building out there, what he and Zaarin were supervising. All the planning, all the preparation had been under his command. And he had done nothing.

Harkov shivered again, his mind drawing him back to another time and place, this one filled with black smoke, red fire, the stink of evaporating coolant gases mixed with sweat and sand and blood... No!

"Drask!" His mother's voice, shouting hoarsely. "Drask, where are you?" He felt himself, nineteen years old again, lying motionless on the rocky ground, mud splattered and bleeding, then dragging himself towards the sounds. Behind him, something exploded. Shrapnel hit the ground around him and buried itself in the back of his leg.

Harkov groaned, closed his eyes, but the images continued, clearer than ever before, playing themselves out in his mind.

He peered around the corner of the crumbling wall of the house, the stone warm and black from fire, shrinking back. Stormtroopers, holding his mother and sister, and his father sprawled on the ground, neck twisted at a grotesque angle. He squeezed his eyes shut.

A blaster shot. Then another. Screaming...fading into silence. Behind him, black smoke billowed and stormtroopers shouted harshly. He half-stood, tried to take a step, tripped, fell, his leg throbbing, too exhausted to run anymore...

"Admiral?" A voice cut in. The memory faded, and he was back on the bridge of the Protector. "Admiral?" The voice, closer this time. Harkov looked up with an effort. Commander Hapréll, gazing at him with a concerned look. "Are you all right? Shall I call your medic?"

Harkov waved him away with an effort. Through the viewing ports, stars faded into starlines. "It's all right, Commander. I-I am fine."

Hapréll went back across the bridge. Harkov stood, staring out into the nothingness. It had been almost thirty years-thirty years!-but the memory felt fresh, as if it had been yesterday. He had not seen it in such clarity in years-indeed, had not seen it in years, had denied it ever happening, even to himself and thrown himself into his work to keep himself from remembering. His home, his family, his world, gone, destroyed. All in a single day.

Harkov stiffened, pushing the remembrance from his mind, clearing it of everything and leaving an blank white space, forcing himself to concentrate on the here and now, on his mission. He would not remember, would not think on the past. Some things were best forgotten.

But the emptiness deep inside stayed with him as the Protector drove through the gray of hyperspace towards Sepan.