Star Wars Infinities: The Warrior

By Christopher W. Blaine (darth_yoshi@yahoo.com)

DISCLAIMER: The characters and situations contained in this story are ©2002 by George Lucas and are used herein without permission for fan-related, non-profit entertainment purposes only. This original work of fiction is ©2002 by Christopher W. Blaine and may not be reproduced in part or as a whole without the express permission of the author.

CHAPTER 14

"You have been appointed as the governmental representative for Chandrilla?" Tarkin asked as he stroked the fur of his pet feline. The man standing before him was visibly nervous, as he should have been considering that he was standing before the second most powerful man in the galaxy. The Death Star had been in the Chandrilla system for a week now, a system now under complete and total martial law. A system now held within Tarkin's tightening grip.

It had only been a week since stormtroopers had assaulted the presidential palace with orders to arrest president Mon Mothma for treason against the Empire. Information verified by Darth Deceptra indicated that both Mon Mothma and Bail Organna had collaborated with Garm Bel Iblis, the former Corellian senator and self-proclaimed leader of the rebellion, to raise a figurative sword against the Emperor. It was an unexpected boon for Tarkin. This situation was providing him with information he desperately needed in order to crush the rebellion, but it was also giving him legitimate reasons to eliminate political rivals.

Currently, Deceptra was pursuing leads on the missing Princess Leia of Alderaan, a member of the former Imperial Senate. The information Tarkin had received was that she was a key member of the rebel leadership. Why Deceptra was involving herself in this matter that fell under his jurisdiction was beyond him but she was the one person outside the Emperor that he had no control over. Let her catch the rebel if it made her feel useful, he laughed silently to himself. At least then he would know what she was doing.

"I...I am," the man stammered. He had once been, according to the state computer files that Imperial technicians had confiscated, the minister of agriculture or some other minor cabinet post. Now he was speaking for the whole of his world. Tarkin wondered grimly if the man realized that this was all a formality, that the Grand Moff had decided the fate of his world before the Death Star had even arrived here.

"Then you are prepared to surrender your world to me?"

"I…I don't know if I can…" the man said, his nervousness bringing him to the edge of collapse. He knew he was in way over his head and Tarkin was quickly becoming bored with him. Tarkin nodded to the stormtrooper captain behind the man and continued to stroke his pet as the soldier executed the man with a precise laser blast through the back that incinerated the representative's heart. Tarkin sighed and looked over to the holographic image of the planet Chandrilla.

"I suppose it will have to go," he mused. It wasn't a lament over the final fate of the planet, but a sort of protest to his own rigid schedule. He needed more information but he had places to go, leads to follow up on. Plus, keeping the Death Star in any one place was not a good military exercise. Half of the psychological effect of such a massive battle station was that Imperial systems never knew when or where it would appear.

He mentally reviewed what he and his people had learned over the past week. The local security forces were engaged by mercenaries just prior to the arrival of Imperial troops, but he didn't know who had sent them or exactly whom they were. He knew that Bail Organna had betrayed the Emperor, but he did not know exactly how. He supposed it was financial in nature considering the wealth of the planet of Alderaan, but he also knew that Organna had been something of an idealist. People like that always tried to interfere in the plans of their betters.

Chandrilla was an entirely different matter from Alderaan. Mon Mothma had been a powerful political figure, but her world was plain. It had many resources, but no abundance of any. It had many industries, but excelled in no sector. What was it about Mon Mothma that had infuriated the Emperor so much that he had sent the Death Star here? Had he suspected her involvement in the Rebellion from the beginning? What he wouldn't give for just five minutes inside the head of the Emperor!

Tarkin was being given wide latitude to deal with this situation as he saw fit, the Emperor not putting any specific restrictions on his actions. He wondered if Palpatine knew what Tarkin intended for Chandrilla? If he did, then his silence was permission; if he didn't, his stupidity would be his undoing!

Tarkin suppressed another chuckle; he had been particularly jovial during the last few weeks. It had all started with the death of Zsinj, a man whom Tarkin considered and over-sexed perverted fool who should never have been given a military command. His death had allowed Tarkin to dump Thrawn into the Dathomir system. Let Palpatine's pet alien talk about art with the dregs of the Imperial navy!

The only thing that ever seemed to sour Tarkin's mood was Soontir Fel. The man had yet to do anything against Tarkin, but he questioned everything. Fel was a by-the-book officer whose loyalty to the Emperor was never doubted. Unfortunately, Tarkin felt that on the Death Star, only loyalty to him mattered. Fel's romantic connection to Darth Deceptra didn't help out either because it meant that Fel had a channel outside the military chain of command.

He wondered how Fel would react to what was about to happen. The TIE pilot had always showed fierceness in battle, but he was also one to show mercy just as easily if the situation allowed it. Mercy was for lesser beings Tarkin felt.

An example had to be made and while Tarkin would have preferred to lay waste to Alderaan with it's undeserved wealth, Chandrilla provided a more legal target. If Tarkin wanted to win over more powerful families to his cause, then he had to work within the system. Palpatine had done the exact same thing, but now he had created a cult of sycophants surrounding him and Tarkin was not the only person in the hierarchy of the Empire that was not pleased with it. Palpatine was drifting away from the concepts of the New Order and Tarkin believed that with the Death Star, he could put the universe back on the right path.

His junior officers suspected that was Tarkin's plan, but he had not voiced it to any of them. In time he would have to start bringing in some of them, but not after he had finished training them in accepting his orders without question. He was nearly there; many of the officers on the Death Star would kill for him. He just wasn't sure if they would die for him.

He stood up and dropped his pet. The animal went over and began sniffing at the cooked flesh of the minister. Tarkin reached down and touched a button on his desk and a voice answered quickly over the com-unit. "Proceed, Commander."

"Yes, sir," the Death Star's gunnery officer answered. The lights dimmed slightly and Tarkin made a mental note to speak with the chief engineer about ensuring enough auxiliary power for the entire station during battle operations. Tarkin turned to look out the viewport of his office, wishing that he had thought of some sort of ceremony to mark this situation. He moved over to the music system installed in the bulkhead and programmed in a favorite symphony. It was a recording from the Old Republic by the Royal Alderaanian Orchestra. The selection was from the opera Death of a Dream. Tarkin had been unfortunate enough to witness it being performed in Wookie as a young man. It had helped shape his indignation of alien species.

As the music played, Tarkin glanced out to see several star destroyers and picket ships moving into the clear zone, a distance far enough away that their defense shields would be able to protect them from the debris. After the world was destroyed, most of this part of the system would be a whirling mass of gravitational distortions. At sub-light speed, most of the vessels that were attached to the Death Star, including the space station itself, would be unable to jump to light speed for another six hours.

There would be other problems as well. The paths of any stellar visitors, such as comets, would be greatly disrupted and they would be forced to deviate for the first time in millions of years. Interstellar transmissions would be impossible because of the space-time distortions. Trade routes would be disrupted and economies for several other worlds would be near collapse until the worlds that were aligning themselves with Tarkin stepped in to provide "aid".

A display panel indicated that the weapon's emitters, those smaller lasers whose products would be combined into one powerful blast, were nearly charged. A voice boomed over the station's loudspeaker system, counting down the time until the weapon fired. Two stormtroopers started to drag out the body of the prisoner and the stormtrooper captain was busy speaking though his helmet's communication system.

Tarkin's pet rubbed on his leg making sounds of pleasure, but he paid it no heed. Instead, he imagined that he could look down on the planet and see the people as they pointed up into sky. No doubt the Death Star could be seen, but he wondered if the people understood its true meaning. A god of death named Tarkin was hovering above them and he was about to smite them.

As if in response, the main gun fired. A kilometer-wide green spear of light crossed the distance between the Death Star and the planet. The music in the background reached a crescendo as the planet exploded into an infinite number of particles, reduced to the basic building blocks by which it had been formed.

There was no sound that Tarkin could make out, though he wondered if the collapsing atmosphere allowed for one last resounding moan. If it did, was it the simple death of a hunk of rock or was it the combination of the cried of the damned citizens as they met their fate.

Or was it the Force raging over the loss of so many innocents?

Tarkin had expected more a flash, but the cold void of space proved too powerful and snuffed out the fires before they could even start. Chandrilla was dead before the emitter tips cooled.

It took Baron Fel five minutes to storm into Tarkin's office. The stormtrooper captain made to stop him, but Tarkin called him off. "Is there a problem, Captain Fel?"

He was sweating and his knuckles were white. "You destroyed the planet!"

"I didn't think I had to answer to you, Captain; in fact, I'm positive I don't. You report to me." Tarkin sat down and pressed a button, closing the blast shield doors for his viewport. "You don't need to be reminded of that, do you?"

Fel brought himself to attention. "I had men on the planet!"

"My, my," Tarkin said, shaking his head. "Your yeoman didn't receive my order to ensure that all Imperial troops were off the planet by 1300 hours?" He could tell Fel had not known about it, as had been Tarkin's orders. He had hoped to possibly catch the Hero of the Empire on the surface. "I'll have my people look into it."

"That is not good enough! I lost half my squadron! They were down there trying to get replacement parts for our TIE Interceptors!" Fel resisted the urge to smash a fist on Tarkin's desk. "Why didn't you publish a general order? That is standard Imperial procedure!"

"I will not explain how I run my battle station to a subordinate! Escort the Captain out!" Tarkin barked. The stormtrooper reached out and grabbed Fel by the arm. The pilot shook off the guard.

"This isn't the last of this! You have made a big mistake!"

"Is that a threat?"

"No," Fel said with a smile. "It isn't. You've just destroyed half of the Empire's finest set of pilots. I won't have to say a thing." Fel laughed and then did an about-face, exiting very quickly.

"Begin download," the communications officer ordered. The Death Star would grab all subspace message traffic it could before hopping into hyperspace. The young lieutenant walked around the computer terminals, observing every technician and making mental notes about which ones were performing efficiently and which ones he might have to have executed one day.

"Sir," the technician in charge of top-secret-only traffic. "Flash-priority message!"

The officer came up and pushed the technician out of his seat. He sat down and pulled the cipher from his breast pocket and inserted it into the terminal. Immediately, a message scrolled across the screen. "Sithspawn!" the officer shouted.

Tarkin took another bite from his meal as the officer continued to stand at attention. "Report," the Grand Moff ordered.

"Sir, the entire Corellian system is in open revolt. The Emperor has ordered us to divert from going to Alderaan and enter the system to quell the uprisings." The lieutenant looked around, surveying the trappings of power.

Tarkin cursed silently. He had not expected this at all. How could anyone on Corellia have find out about Chandrilla so quickly? The Emperor would not have announced the destruction of the planet until the next day, when the Death Star appeared in orbit around some other planet.

Only someone like Garm Bel Iblis could organize such effective resistance so quickly, but where did he get the information.

He stopped in mid-thought and dismissed the communications officer. When he was gone, Tarkin issued orders to his bodyguards. "Arrest Baron Fel immediately."