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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Nine: Those Who Were Left Behind
"Lights!"
The sensitive computer system did not recognize the snapped, growled sound directed at it. The room remained dark.
"Blast it!" Kelgyn yelled, his shout echoing around the dark and empty dorm room. "I said lights!"
The lights did not turn on.
Kelgyn sighed loudly, cursed at the computer in languages from at least nine different planets, and then resigned himself to changing out of his workout garb in the dark.
He worked quickly, feverishly, his hands almost tearing the light cloth sash apart in his haste to undo it. He slipped out of his soft upper tunic and threw it to the ground. He had to hurry! Kent...
Kent might be dying.
It had started as a regular workout. Kelgyn and Kent had walked into the gym, not speaking, somber at the tragedy that had just occurred and taken their best friend away from them. Around the room, other cadets glanced surreptitiously at them and then looked away, pretending not to notice the absence of the third party, the tall, muscular blond, the cocky ace pilot. Kelgyn had just barely noticed the looks, still trying to comprehend his loss. He knew standard Imperial procedure. He would never see Daral again.
And for the first time in his whole life, he wondered if applying to the Imperial Academy had been the right choice.
They had logged into the computerized roll check, still in silence as they both started over to the opposite end of the room to where the Mimbradi self-defense teams were practicing. They faced each other on the mat and took the trademark Mimbradi stance of hands above the head, one foot forward, muscles loose and relaxed. Kelgyn looked at Kent, gauging him although he knew that Kent would certainly beat him again.
Al'ken'tail Tagrawar was tall, had been the tallest of the three of them, almost half a head taller than Daral. He was slim too, but with a kind of masculine slimness that spoke of deadly speed and grace in his movements. His short dark blond hair had hung long below his shoulders in the tradition of his tribal people when he had first arrived three years ago from Inturee, a world that Kelgyn had never heard of, but considering that most people had never heard of Myrkr either, that was all right. He was in Kelgyn's graduating class, and coincidentally had been ahead of him in the long registration line that heralded a new cadet's arrival on Carida.
"Name!" the enlistment officer had snapped, seated behind the gray desk at a computer terminal.
The long-haired boy then pronounced some sort of rolling unintelligible sound. The officer snorted.
"That won't do, boy. Give me a name, not a clan identification signal!"
The boy said nothing.
"Blast it, cadet! I don't have all day! Now give me a name or you're being shipped back out to your barbarian land where you belong!"
The boy cocked his head. "Kent," he finally said. "My name is Kent...Tagrawar." His voice was pleasant, a softly accented tenor with a slight drawl as he spoke the Basic words. Kelgyn had liked him immediately.
He had learned later that Kent had an acute sense of humor, loved to eat, and wasn't bothered by the fact that he came from a world where the tribal system was still dominant, although he was just as comfortable with modern weapons as any of the others. The first and only time somebody had attempted to taunt Kent about his ancestry, Kent had just merely stood there and looked at the other boy. Kent was tall, and the other cadet was short, and that was the end of that. And then there was the swoop racing.
The first time Kent had gotten to fly a swoop, he was hooked. He and Daral would spend hours sitting on their beds, heads together, planning new tactics to get the other teams back for their defeat, or prancing around the dorm room with ear-splitting native war cries (which Kent had taught to Daral) of victory while Kelgyn scowled and tried to study. No matter that swoop racing was illegal. Daral and Kent snuck away every weekend to the local ring and had soon incorporated Kelgyn into their scheme. And once Kelgyn had flown a swoop, he couldn't have stopped any more than Kent could. So the races continued, except that the team was now three instead of two. They won more often than they lost and often came away with a good share of prize money...except on those occasions when the authorities found out about the racing and came in with stormtroopers to break it up. Everyone dispersed quickly when that happened. But that was only once or twice. And they had never gotten caught.
But now Daral was gone.
Everything familiar seemed to have dissolved before Kelgyn's eyes at Daral's departure. The gym and everyone in it was as new and frightening as it had been on his first day at the Academy. His palms began to sweat as he and Kent circled, looking for an opening. Kelgyn felt like a week-old cadet, lost, scared, and...
And angry. Angry at the authorities, at the Empire, at the Emperor himself. It was a cold, gut-wrenching feeling that felt wrong, somehow, but he nursed it, kept the fires burning. The Empire had no right to punish Daral for what his brother did. The anger swelled, became hatred. Kelgyn felt like strangling the Emperor with his bare hands. He could see that old, wizened face before him, those eyes looking out at him, leering at him. I command you, those eyes seemed to say. You are my slave. I command and you obey. I command...
With a cry, Kelgyn lunged forward, grappling with all his might at the Emperor's features. He felt cloth beneath his fingers, a tangible form returning his attack. He swung, again and again, not with any self-defense technique, but with the fires of pure rage surging to the surface. Die! Die! Die! Nothing mattered but the anger. He was the anger. He would kill the Emperor. Kill!
A muffled moan jolted his thoughts. Surely that was not the Emperor! The moan came again, a soft cry of helplessness. The red fog that had seemed to obscure Kelgyn's vision lifted. Before him, in a heap on the mat, lay Kent. He was curled up in a tight ball, barely twitching as pressed both hands to his face. Blood leaked from between his fingers. His skin was a mass of bruises. As Kelgyn watched, Kent twitched again, gasped in air, and then exhaled. His body went still.
Kelgyn sucked in his breath in horror, then with a wrenching cry, dropped down beside him. "Kent!" he whispered frantically. "Kent! No. You can't...Kent, you've got to be alive. Hang on. I'll get help. Kent!"
Pattering footsteps behind him alerted him to the presence of the other cadets, who had left off at their activities at the sight of Kent's body sprawled on the mat. They gathered around, staring in stunned shock. Kelgyn closed his eyes as feelings of horror overwhelmed him. He pressed clenched fists to his eyes, trying to shut out the image of Kent, beaten, bloody, dying...
By Kelgyn's own hand.
How could his feelings have carried him away like that? For a moment, Kelgyn had seen the Emperor there, before him. He remembered the hate boiling up, consuming him. So much power! It was as if the hate itself fed him, gave him power beyond his own abilities. Power to do anything he wished, just as long as he kept that anger bottled up inside.
Power even to kill.
He moaned softly, rocking back and forth beside Kent as a rough voice reached his ears.
"Move back, boy. I said, move back!"
Hands grabbed him, forced him back. He did not resist, instead, went limp and allowed himself to be dragged back while two medical personnel in drab olive uniforms with the medical symbol on one shoulder and the Imperial crest on the other lifted Kent onto a medevac repulsor stretcher. As soon as Kent's body was hooked to the monitor, a red light flared to life, signaling critical condition. The medics moved him out, and Kelgyn had stumbled out of the door of the gym, walking in a daze back to the dormitory room that he, Daral, and Kent had shared in an earlier, happier time.
The lights still had not turned on by the time Kelgyn had finished putting on his cadet's required uniform and exited his room, hurriedly brushing past other cadets in the hallway, intent on getting to the medical center. Halfway there, he started to run. The hot Caridan sun beat down on him, scorching his skin, but he kept running.
As Kelgyn, gasping, approached the med center, however, he noticed a grim-faced officer nearby, his rank insignia identifying him as a lieutenant. Kelgyn dimly recognized him: Lieutenant Escrath, one of the Academy's cadet training officers. Escrath signaled him to halt, then held up one finger, beckoning.
"Come with me, boy," he said harshly, barely glancing at him, and began walking rapidly towards the offices adjoining the med building.
Kelgyn moved mechanically, shuffling his feet behind Escrath. He would be expelled. He knew it. Just like Daral. Expelled and sent back home to Myrkr, to his parents' disgrace and the horror of his friends. He could see the disgust on their faces as he explained to them why he had been sent back.
Why did they kick you out?
I killed a man.
We will all be gone soon. Daral, expelled for something he didn't do. I, sent back for killing one of my best friends. And Kent, dead because of me.
Daral. I deserve it. But you...you never did.
Escrath unlocked the door of one of the offices and stepped inside, followed by Kelgyn. The harsh light made Escrath's long, thin face look like that of a ghoul. Kelgyn swallowed nervously as the officer regarded him with expressionless eyes.
"What is your name, cadet?" The voice was as severe as the face, a hard, mechanical tone.
Kelgyn swallowed again. "Dyrrod, sir." It came out in a squeak. "Kelgyn Dyrrod."
"What system?"
"Myrkr."
The officer frowned. "That is a little known system. Do you know what you have just done, Cadet Dyrrod?"
"Is-is he-"
"I am no medic, cadet. But it will be a medical wonder if he ever regains consciousness. Or even if he survives the hour." Kelgyn winced, but Escrath kept talking in that flat, emotionless voice, as if nothing could break that austere demeanor. "You, however, cadet, are a different matter."
"Sir, I-"
"Shut up, Dyrrod!"
Kelgyn was startled by the vehemence in that voice. "Yes, s-sir," he mumbled.
"You do not interrupt a senior officer. You talk when I ask you a question. That is all. Is that clear, cadet?"
Kelgyn nodded frantically.
"In all likelihood, you will be expelled from the Academy. However, cadet, there is a chance that you may remain. The Empire is always looking for better soldiers, and your performance today was admirable. It speaks of your potential."
Kelgyn could hardly believe his ears. His performance was...admirable? He had almost killed Kent! Was Escrath insane? How could he be praising Kelgyn's fighting skills when he had almost killed a man? He opened his mouth, then closed it as he remembered Escrath's earlier warning.
"In the unlikely possibility that High Command permits you to stay, Dyrrod, I will file a request to have you transferred to high-level combat training immediately."
High-level combat training? Realization hit. Escrath was praising his fighting ability. He was praising his skill in hand-to-hand combat. Because of what had just happened, Escrath was transferring him to the stormtrooper training unit.
Because he had almost killed Kent.
Everything he had wanted to ask Escrath about fled. His mind felt numb, a blank void. How was this possible? How could the Empire be so brutal? How could he have been so blind to have not seen it from the start?
Kelgyn stared at Escrath and silently cursed himself for being a fool.
Escrath's comlink crackled. The officer unhooked it from his belt. "Yes?"
"Lieutenant Escrath?"
"Speaking."
"This is Jerrel from medical. The boy is dead."
Kelgyn's heart stopped. Blackness swam before his eyes. He fought to keep from passing out in front of Escrath. Escrath paid him no attention.
"He had stopped breathing when he was brought in," Jerrel continued. "He was still alive, but his brain was crushed from the broken skull bone. We felt like it would only prolong the inevitable if we treated him."
No! Kelgyn's brain reeled. Kent dead. And they had done nothing to save him. Nothing at all.
"He was just another cadet, after all." Jerrel paused. "You do not approve, sir?"
"No matter," Escrath spoke flatly into the comlink. "You are right. He was just another cadet. If there was nothing to be done, then you were correct. Thank you for informing me, Jerrel."
"Yes, sir."
Escrath replaced the comlink on his belt. "So, Dyrrod, the other boy is dead. Nevertheless, you have great skill. Further training should enhance these techniques to stormtrooper level. I shall file the request immediately, provided that the authorities deem you worthy to stay. Perhaps you shall graduate a year early and be assigned to a commando team. That would be a great honor. Commandos are the finest of the Empire's soldiers."
"Yes, sir," Kelgyn mumbled.
He was just another cadet. Your performance was admirable. Just another cadet...
Escrath's words echoed in his ears as Kelgyn stumbled out of the office and back to his room, where he could be alone. Alone.
Darth Vader stood alone, a sinister black-cloaked figure, waiting in the middle of the small room. He felt the man coming down the long corridor before the door hissed open.
"Yes, lieutenant?" he said quietly.
"Incoming message for you, Lord Vader," the man said quickly.
Vader did not turn around. "Indeed? I will take it here."
"Yes, my lord." The man's tone held reverence and fear, just the right amount, as he exited and spoke into a small comlink.
The Holonet transmitter flared to life. A small holo of a middle-aged, nondescript man stood there. Vader recognized him as one of his top spies.
"Yes?"
"My lord, we have traced the records of this boy back as far as they go. It appears that Tatooine was indeed his home planet, as you suspected. He lived there on a moisture farm with a certain uncle and aunt that were both...disposed of in an...accident."
"How unfortunate," Vader said dryly. So far, so good. "Continue."
"There is no record of his birth, or his parents." The man looked at Vader. "His records are short; there is nothing else that we have found. We conducted an extensive search."
"You have done well." Vader regarded the spy thoughtfully. "And his name?"
"Skywalker. Luke Skywalker."
Vader felt a chill run through him at the familiar name, recalled his dream of Obi-Wan. "You found no record of his family?"
"None, my lord."
"I need more information, Tarriko."
"My lord, the extent of my-our-expertise in this area is small. Perhaps another organization-Black Sun-?"
"No! Not Black Sun!" Vader spat the name. He would have nothing to do with Black Sun. Nothing to do with that criminal organization, nor its cold-blooded leader. Bad enough that Xizor was creeping up the ladder towards the Emperor's favor. He would do nothing to make the Dark Prince think that he had Vader's favor as well.
"But my lord, Black Sun is the most-"
"I know what Black Sun is, Tarriko. And I will not have that organization meddling in my affairs!"
"As you wish, my lord." Tarriko bowed. "I will continue to search the records for more information."
He bowed again and terminated the connection.
Vader stood and ran through Tarriko's information in his mind. He had suspected as much. Little wonder that the boy's records were obscure. A moisture farmer on Tatooine had little to do with any power outside the planet.
Until now.
Luke Skywalker. Who was this Luke Skywalker? Could he be a relative? Vader could recall no relatives of his that had borne children. Could he be a close relation, one he had not known about? Unlikely. Could he be-
Vader's breath caught in his throat, painfully. For a moment, the mechanical breathing paused, creating a dead silence in the room.
Could he be his son?
No, that was impossible. He had not had a son. His wife was dead. There was no way in the worlds he could have had a child.
And yet the possibility was there. And Vader could not shake the feeling that somehow, it might be true.
His son.
Vader's mouth curled upwards in a cruel smile. He ignored the pain, feeling the dark side come to him. That did put a whole new twist on things. Skywalker had Force powers. Great Force powers. Perhaps equaling Vader or the Emperor himself. The Emperor did not have to know, not yet, until Vader knew for certain, but it was still a most enlightening revelation.
Something else to think about.
Daral awoke with a start to the beeping of the alarm clock. Sleepily, he rubbed his bleared eyes and reached out to shut it off-
And then jerked fully awake as reality set in. The navicomputer was beeping, telling him that they were coming up on the Kessel system.
His palms suddenly felt sweaty and he rubbed them on his dirty, soiled pants before reaching out and settling one hand on the hyperdrive lever. The time on the chronometer ticked down. He braced himself...
And as the time reached zero, Daral pulled back on the lever. Starlines flared around him and condensed in pinpricks of light, signaling his entrance into realspace. Kessel squatted before him, an ugly brown mottled planet with one moon. He could see the huge mining complexes even from space.
His comm crackled to life. "Unidentified ship, you are entering a private sector. State your name and business."
Daral did not answer, but instead set to work programming new coordinates into the navcomputer.
The voice on the other end of the comm spoke again, this time sounding angry and annoyed. "Unidentified ship, respond immediately or prepare to be attacked and boarded!"
Daral's finger's flew as he fed the coordinates into the computer. Almost done...
Around the bend of Kessel, a squadron of Z-95 Headhunters could be seen approaching. Normally, Daral would have felt at ease taking out any amount of Headhunters. After all, Headhunters were old and not very sturdy. Two or three well placed shots would easily take one of out action.
But then there was the fact that the civilian transport he was piloting had no weapons.
Daral's fingers flew faster. So did the Headhunters. One fired a warning shot, but the red bolt vanished a good distance away. Far, but not far enough.
He spared a moment to quickly glance over the console. Ah, yes. The craft did have minimal shielding. He boosted the shields as high as they could go, slowing down the transport. He was in no hurry to reach Kessel, anyway.
Another laser blast, closer this time. Daral cursed the transport for not being a more advanced model and continued to work.
"Unidentified ship," squawked the comm. Daral reached over and slapped it off. A look outside showed the Headhunters to be almost in range.
A laser bolt flashed past the windshield. Daral yelped, and quickly brought the transport over and up. The Headhunters were not daunted. They were in range and began to fire.
Once again, Lady Luck saved him. Either the Headhunters were bad shots, or Daral's piloting of the transport was better than he thought, because most of the shots missed. As he tried frantically to maneuver out of the way of their laser blasts, he typed in the remaining coordinates with one hand.
Yes! He was finally done! The hyperdrive engines should be running and ready. He gave them a quick check just to make sure, and as the last of his shields failed, he pulled the lever.
Stars faded into starlines.
Daral sighed a long sigh of relief and slumped in the pilot's chair. His shirt was soaked with sweat. He had dreamed for years about his first space battle. He had always envisioned himself seated inside a TIE Fighter or Interceptor, fighting gallantly to keep the Rebel X-wings or A-wings at bay.
Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined it would take place with himself at the helm of an old, broken-down civilian freighter, fending off Z-95 Headhunters from a prison planet.
Well, no matter. His lip twisted in scorn as he half-lay there, thinking of the Academy and the Empire. Never again would he be taken in by their twisted messages of glory and power. He knew them for what they were, now. He could see through their arrogant façade now. And for what they had done to him and thousands of others, he would get even.
Not by joining the Rebellion. Rebellion, indeed! Another organization, other rules. Rules were made to be broken, and you couldn't break the rules in that kind of desperate union. But someday, somehow...
He wondered how Kelgyn and Kent were doing. He wondered if they were having fun without him, if they had gone on and forgotten about him already.
Deep down inside, he knew that they would never do that. But that feeling of loneliness told him otherwise, pushing him down, making him feel small and insignificant. There had always been the money before, the promise of a home and a comfortable life even if he hadn't wished to make one for himself. But now…
It was as if he was the only person in the universe, as if everyone else he loved and hated was dead, and he was barreling through hyperspace in a stolen freighter that would never reach a destination.
He shook his head. He should take another nap. There was nothing that needed to be done. He'd disposed of the dead men by ejecting them in an escape pod into hyperspace, where he hoped they would not bother anyone, then he had gone through the small kitchen, finding a few ration bars. Yes. He should definitely go to sleep. It was a long way to his next stop.
Legend had it that when the Maker created the galaxy, he shaped planets out of new, raw material, burning and scraping away the impurities into a little heap of unfit matter to be taken care of later. The finished planets were beautiful. Coruscant, Yavin IV, Hapes, Corellia, Alderaan. And then he had taken the little heap of castoff components and thought and then shaped it into a planet as well.
So now Daral was headed to the most useless, most barren, most worthless planet in the entire galaxy. The planet shaped out of the dregs of all the other planets ever created. The ultimate resting place for the scum of the universe.
Tatooine.
