Disclaimer: Most of the characters featured are the property of G. Lucas.
No copyright infringement intended. I am NOT making any money with this.
ONLY TO BE ARCHIVED AT FANFICTION.NET
Timeline: Post- Vision of the Future, replacing Union
To M. For feedback, excellent company, fellowship in SW-madness and fun around the clock ;=) (Especially behind the wheel - I sure would like to see you with an X-wing!)
SPOILER ALERT: Planet of Twilight, Showdown at Centrepoint, Specter of The Past, Vision of The Future, Vector Prime as well as some later New Jedi Orders. (And naturally the Thrawn trilogy, how can anyone possibly avoid that? ;=)
WARPED UNIVERSE ALERT: For the sake of storytelling, Isard's not dead at all. Condolenses to those who get stomach cramps from the woman. I know what you're going through. Just thank the stars of Alderaan I didn't bring Callista back.
Star Wars: The Rising By Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi)
CHAPTER V:
Stretching in the pilot's chair of the Starry Ice Mara braced herself for the awaiting whirl of traffic waiting below her in the midst of the wispy, pink clouds that more or less characterized the climate of the small planetshe was approaching.
Ord Mantell. An old Outer Rim haven of smugglers, gamblers, and other sorts of cozy intergalactic scum that kept the planet's liberal banking system going. It was a no-questions-asked place, which had years earlier been one of the reason Mara herself had decided to stay for awhile and see what it had to offer. She had needed someplace discreet, off the central Imperial worlds and off Core, where she could idle around and make use of her sudden freedom. She had wanted to leave the Empire behind - the death of the Emperor had, to her, embodied the fall of the whole blasted thing.
Mara smiled to herself, remembering how she'd felt them, just a slip of a girl with the mat suddenly pulled out from under her feet. She'd been begging for trouble, and a few scars still conmemorated numerous bar fights along with some flying injuries. She was lucky she hadn't gotten herself killed during the wild years, as she'd dubbed them. Most of them, excluding some stray months in other notorious spaceports, had been spent on Mantell, until an alarming encounter had sent her on the run again - this time to the farthest corner possible, Verrat.
And she'd thought it was all in the past now.
Mara slowed down to cruising speed. There was no aerial control - those who frequented on Mantell didn't want to be logged down.
Karrde had understood her cause and lent her the ship she'd mostly piloted as his second in command. She knew the Starry Ice and appreciated its abilities, even though its low maneuverability excluded it from those ships she herself considered actually worth owning. She'd spent thousands of hours as a learner pilot flying TIEs during her Carida years, and after the agile little fighters most ships felt like steering a bantha. Her first ship aside from Imperial ones, the Hunter's Luck had been a good ship and now she owned a better one, the Jade's Fire, but it would've been too obvious to tag it along as it was very much traceable even on Ord Mantell. Her secret was safe with Karrde, and with some luck, she could be back on Coruscant in a matter of days.
She'd tried to keep Luke out of her thoughts, and it had proven to be more difficult than ever. But she needed to focus, and his lonely moaning in her head wouldn't help things forward a bit. She felt his silent plea in her mind even then. It was constant, as if Skywalker didn't even sleep, as if he had some neverending holo rolling in his head. She wished Luke would concentrate on keeping things in shape on Coruscant, but knew in her heart that he'd be as preoccupied as she was.
Luke Skywalker. The name both sent a wave of warmth through her very being, but also inspired her. Without him, his never-ending optimism and belief that there was good in everyone she'd be a whole lot different, and he'd probably be dead. She'd caught her so completely off guard with his then almost naive ignorance that she simply had to know more about him. And when she'd gotten started she'd learnt so much from him. And she'd become even more exhilarated at it became obvious that she, too, had something to teach him. Her skills on communication through the Force excelled his by a long shot and she knew techniques he'd never even heard of. Still, she was usually the student. The Emperor hadn't made her a fully fledged Force- user, only presented her with a very limited array of her belying abilities. Only those that he saw fit and considered useful, even severing some of those he considered utterly useless for his agent.
But, aside from their relationship as Jedi Knights, she loved him and he loved her back. He'd, of course, had other relationship during their acquaintance, but Mara had always somehow felt that even when he was all over Callista, there had been more than a little something between them. It had always been so casual, so obvious, going beyond little love affairs. There was a bond between like nothing else in the Universe, a bond which tied them to each other as tightly as they were bound to the Force. With Luke Mara had finally understood the figure of speech about two halves combined.
Her silent contemplation had helped her kill time during the beginning of the landing, but before long she had to painstakingly move her focus from Luke to her surroundings.
She turned off the autopilot and seize the controls as a swarm of old Sienars with decoratively painted flanks raced past. Ord Mantell was home to an infamous race, the Blockade Runners' Derby, which took place on the other side of the planet - a side facing a cometary cloud orbiting nearby. It brought a lot of tourists and danger-seekers to the planet. Mara would probably have taken part back in her outlaw youth but she hadn't had a ship of her own.
A battered, ancient A-wing scuttled past and Mara avoided collision with a quick Gadorean evasive flip. The G's glued her to her seat and some of her long-gone good mood returned. She had to be optimistic. This had to work - there had to be something here that would tell her once and for all the answer to the question she'd been asking herself as long as she could remember: who had she been before Palpatine had come along?
She wasn't his daughter. She was almost certain she would've known it, guessed it somehow. Besides that she did have vague memories of life very different from being an Imperial. She'd never shared them with Luke and now hoped she had, as it would probably ease his worry, to have some solemn proof that this was just a rumour. The feelings she was getting from him through the Force were only worry, trust and above all, love. At least she could count on Luke to have reason on the matter.
Reminding herself again to keep her thoughts on the life-threatening traffic of the busy spaceport, Mara took a course that took her near a suitably remote landing pad, and zipped up her jumpsuit.
She had to get some proof of her origins - old memories just wouldn't suffice, not with Fey'lya pulling the reins.
Bastion
Admiral Pellaeon took his place at the head of the formation. It had been long since the last time he had to order a welcome such as this. Discreet but respectful. Indeed, it was as if had been only yesterday that he was welcoming the Emperor himself - only then he'd only been of much lower rank, standing in the side, eagerly wanting to catch even just a glimpse of the embodiment of their purpose - the head and heart of the Empire.
When Thrawn had returned some of the glory had been brought back. Thrawn had taken these magnificent ceremonies for granted, had hardly noticed them.
Pellaeon knew for certain that this guest would truly appreciate what he had to offer. The Imperial troops - or what was left of them - were scattered around the so-called Imperial space, which was no more than a few star cluster tightly in the cluster of the New Republic. The Imperial fleet had been reduced to a patron. As much as Pellaeon hoped for peace and aknowledged their chances slim, he wanted recognition. For despite a few Moffs and Vader who'd taken the Rebels for an incompetent, incoherent group of pests, Pellaeon had recognized their skills and their determination. They'd fought well and so had the Empire. He wanted if not else but recognition for this.
And now they had a chance. A chance a part of which was now approaching Bastion's Spaceport's seventh hangar in an age-old but repaired and still magnificent-looking small Dreadnaught.
The ship landed softly, only letting out a small hiss as the hangar doors were opened and a staircase lowered. Pellaeon stepped forward from the line and set to wait beside the stairs.
First came two soldiers in plain uniforms without any identifying markings - they looked like any security personnel one could hire from any spaceport with a suitable amount of credits. After that, a sight which in its terrific familiarity warmed Pellaeon's heart. Even if they failed, he wanted to preserve this situation in his mind.
A dark figure appeared from behind the wisps of vaporized water the Dreadnaught's engines were breathing out. Wearing a black cloak with blue stones decorating the seams and the hood, the Sith lord walked down the stairs. The cloak was perfectly covering - Pellaeon couldn't make out any features or shapes from under it. It was so long it gave an impression of gliding along the transparisteel hangar floor. The Sith paused next to Pellaeon. He hadn't been seen, only felt. Ghostly indeed.
"Admiral."
"Welcome, Master." As bitter as the word which in Pellaeon's mind was only reserved to someone long gone tasted, it came out easily. They began a walk towards the double doors leading to the Centre of Administration. Bastion was still an Imperial city, the crown jewel and heart of Pellaeon's forces and all that they represented. In his world administration mean tactics. This was a place of plotting, a place of maps on which formidable games with lives had been played for decades.
"I take it Commander Isard has arrived as planned." It wasn't really a question.
"She is waiting. This is a great day. "
"Indeed."
For a second Pellaeon thought he heard a hint of a smile in the Sith's voice. Perhaps he'd gone over the edge with his formal and maybe a little overt comment.
"There are going to be a lot changes, Admiral. Old positions will be returned to those who deserve them. Useless etiquette along with useless old tactics will be done away with. I take it you are a man who does not fear change, Admiral?"
Now this was new indeed. "That is quite right."
The cloak's shuffling changed as they entered the entrance hall with floors made of noisy Kuatian marble. "Despite what you might think - " the tone changed to stern, "I do not judge you for your freshly original solution of making a peace treaty as many would have. That was a good example of our unpredictability to the Rebels. I regret that we can not yet make eye contact - Rebel Intelligence has grown in efficiency during the recent years and we cannot yet afford to take any risks."
Pellaeon said nothing. Rebel spies had been always worth their pay - they'd even gotten hold of the Death Stars blueprints, a mistake from Vader that had costed too much.
"Perhaps it would be righteous now to unveil the plan," The Sith began, "As soon as Commander Isard understands what is in her best interest we shall continue. First the Senate will fall in useless arguments over unimportant matters. I have foreseen this. Then we shall take on the Jedi. Their lines only have to be weakened, their numbers scattered."
Pellaeon looked at the hood - as there was nothing more to look at in terms of facial features - satisfied, "Skywalker won't see it coming."
"And he is not the only rebel in need of reminding of the true nature of things. I do hope we shall see the perish of Mara Jade. Isard shall correct her failure."
Pellaeon smiled as he lead their small party to the conference rooms. Even though the Sith's figure of speech was as decorative as the forlorn Emperor's, the Lord certainly had a vast array of good ideas.
Han strolled the corridors towards the Southwest wing where Luke had set up home years earlier and where Mara had more or less settled in during the months.
Looking back to it, it had been almost telepathic that he'd been thinking about Mara the previous evening. Racking his brain, he tried to remember what had puzzled him. There had been something his nectar-incent brain had been too blurry to figure out. Something he'd decided to ask Mara about.
And then he realized it. It hits harder than an asteroid, making him stop at his feet before he was even aware of what he was doing.
It had been Mara's way of dance that had intrigued him. And now he remembered why. Turning on his heels he changed his course towards Lando's suite.
************************************************'
Thank you for reading. Reviews and feedback would be greatly appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
Heidi Ahlmen siirma6@surfeu.fi
ONLY TO BE ARCHIVED AT FANFICTION.NET
Timeline: Post- Vision of the Future, replacing Union
To M. For feedback, excellent company, fellowship in SW-madness and fun around the clock ;=) (Especially behind the wheel - I sure would like to see you with an X-wing!)
SPOILER ALERT: Planet of Twilight, Showdown at Centrepoint, Specter of The Past, Vision of The Future, Vector Prime as well as some later New Jedi Orders. (And naturally the Thrawn trilogy, how can anyone possibly avoid that? ;=)
WARPED UNIVERSE ALERT: For the sake of storytelling, Isard's not dead at all. Condolenses to those who get stomach cramps from the woman. I know what you're going through. Just thank the stars of Alderaan I didn't bring Callista back.
Star Wars: The Rising By Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi)
CHAPTER V:
Stretching in the pilot's chair of the Starry Ice Mara braced herself for the awaiting whirl of traffic waiting below her in the midst of the wispy, pink clouds that more or less characterized the climate of the small planetshe was approaching.
Ord Mantell. An old Outer Rim haven of smugglers, gamblers, and other sorts of cozy intergalactic scum that kept the planet's liberal banking system going. It was a no-questions-asked place, which had years earlier been one of the reason Mara herself had decided to stay for awhile and see what it had to offer. She had needed someplace discreet, off the central Imperial worlds and off Core, where she could idle around and make use of her sudden freedom. She had wanted to leave the Empire behind - the death of the Emperor had, to her, embodied the fall of the whole blasted thing.
Mara smiled to herself, remembering how she'd felt them, just a slip of a girl with the mat suddenly pulled out from under her feet. She'd been begging for trouble, and a few scars still conmemorated numerous bar fights along with some flying injuries. She was lucky she hadn't gotten herself killed during the wild years, as she'd dubbed them. Most of them, excluding some stray months in other notorious spaceports, had been spent on Mantell, until an alarming encounter had sent her on the run again - this time to the farthest corner possible, Verrat.
And she'd thought it was all in the past now.
Mara slowed down to cruising speed. There was no aerial control - those who frequented on Mantell didn't want to be logged down.
Karrde had understood her cause and lent her the ship she'd mostly piloted as his second in command. She knew the Starry Ice and appreciated its abilities, even though its low maneuverability excluded it from those ships she herself considered actually worth owning. She'd spent thousands of hours as a learner pilot flying TIEs during her Carida years, and after the agile little fighters most ships felt like steering a bantha. Her first ship aside from Imperial ones, the Hunter's Luck had been a good ship and now she owned a better one, the Jade's Fire, but it would've been too obvious to tag it along as it was very much traceable even on Ord Mantell. Her secret was safe with Karrde, and with some luck, she could be back on Coruscant in a matter of days.
She'd tried to keep Luke out of her thoughts, and it had proven to be more difficult than ever. But she needed to focus, and his lonely moaning in her head wouldn't help things forward a bit. She felt his silent plea in her mind even then. It was constant, as if Skywalker didn't even sleep, as if he had some neverending holo rolling in his head. She wished Luke would concentrate on keeping things in shape on Coruscant, but knew in her heart that he'd be as preoccupied as she was.
Luke Skywalker. The name both sent a wave of warmth through her very being, but also inspired her. Without him, his never-ending optimism and belief that there was good in everyone she'd be a whole lot different, and he'd probably be dead. She'd caught her so completely off guard with his then almost naive ignorance that she simply had to know more about him. And when she'd gotten started she'd learnt so much from him. And she'd become even more exhilarated at it became obvious that she, too, had something to teach him. Her skills on communication through the Force excelled his by a long shot and she knew techniques he'd never even heard of. Still, she was usually the student. The Emperor hadn't made her a fully fledged Force- user, only presented her with a very limited array of her belying abilities. Only those that he saw fit and considered useful, even severing some of those he considered utterly useless for his agent.
But, aside from their relationship as Jedi Knights, she loved him and he loved her back. He'd, of course, had other relationship during their acquaintance, but Mara had always somehow felt that even when he was all over Callista, there had been more than a little something between them. It had always been so casual, so obvious, going beyond little love affairs. There was a bond between like nothing else in the Universe, a bond which tied them to each other as tightly as they were bound to the Force. With Luke Mara had finally understood the figure of speech about two halves combined.
Her silent contemplation had helped her kill time during the beginning of the landing, but before long she had to painstakingly move her focus from Luke to her surroundings.
She turned off the autopilot and seize the controls as a swarm of old Sienars with decoratively painted flanks raced past. Ord Mantell was home to an infamous race, the Blockade Runners' Derby, which took place on the other side of the planet - a side facing a cometary cloud orbiting nearby. It brought a lot of tourists and danger-seekers to the planet. Mara would probably have taken part back in her outlaw youth but she hadn't had a ship of her own.
A battered, ancient A-wing scuttled past and Mara avoided collision with a quick Gadorean evasive flip. The G's glued her to her seat and some of her long-gone good mood returned. She had to be optimistic. This had to work - there had to be something here that would tell her once and for all the answer to the question she'd been asking herself as long as she could remember: who had she been before Palpatine had come along?
She wasn't his daughter. She was almost certain she would've known it, guessed it somehow. Besides that she did have vague memories of life very different from being an Imperial. She'd never shared them with Luke and now hoped she had, as it would probably ease his worry, to have some solemn proof that this was just a rumour. The feelings she was getting from him through the Force were only worry, trust and above all, love. At least she could count on Luke to have reason on the matter.
Reminding herself again to keep her thoughts on the life-threatening traffic of the busy spaceport, Mara took a course that took her near a suitably remote landing pad, and zipped up her jumpsuit.
She had to get some proof of her origins - old memories just wouldn't suffice, not with Fey'lya pulling the reins.
Bastion
Admiral Pellaeon took his place at the head of the formation. It had been long since the last time he had to order a welcome such as this. Discreet but respectful. Indeed, it was as if had been only yesterday that he was welcoming the Emperor himself - only then he'd only been of much lower rank, standing in the side, eagerly wanting to catch even just a glimpse of the embodiment of their purpose - the head and heart of the Empire.
When Thrawn had returned some of the glory had been brought back. Thrawn had taken these magnificent ceremonies for granted, had hardly noticed them.
Pellaeon knew for certain that this guest would truly appreciate what he had to offer. The Imperial troops - or what was left of them - were scattered around the so-called Imperial space, which was no more than a few star cluster tightly in the cluster of the New Republic. The Imperial fleet had been reduced to a patron. As much as Pellaeon hoped for peace and aknowledged their chances slim, he wanted recognition. For despite a few Moffs and Vader who'd taken the Rebels for an incompetent, incoherent group of pests, Pellaeon had recognized their skills and their determination. They'd fought well and so had the Empire. He wanted if not else but recognition for this.
And now they had a chance. A chance a part of which was now approaching Bastion's Spaceport's seventh hangar in an age-old but repaired and still magnificent-looking small Dreadnaught.
The ship landed softly, only letting out a small hiss as the hangar doors were opened and a staircase lowered. Pellaeon stepped forward from the line and set to wait beside the stairs.
First came two soldiers in plain uniforms without any identifying markings - they looked like any security personnel one could hire from any spaceport with a suitable amount of credits. After that, a sight which in its terrific familiarity warmed Pellaeon's heart. Even if they failed, he wanted to preserve this situation in his mind.
A dark figure appeared from behind the wisps of vaporized water the Dreadnaught's engines were breathing out. Wearing a black cloak with blue stones decorating the seams and the hood, the Sith lord walked down the stairs. The cloak was perfectly covering - Pellaeon couldn't make out any features or shapes from under it. It was so long it gave an impression of gliding along the transparisteel hangar floor. The Sith paused next to Pellaeon. He hadn't been seen, only felt. Ghostly indeed.
"Admiral."
"Welcome, Master." As bitter as the word which in Pellaeon's mind was only reserved to someone long gone tasted, it came out easily. They began a walk towards the double doors leading to the Centre of Administration. Bastion was still an Imperial city, the crown jewel and heart of Pellaeon's forces and all that they represented. In his world administration mean tactics. This was a place of plotting, a place of maps on which formidable games with lives had been played for decades.
"I take it Commander Isard has arrived as planned." It wasn't really a question.
"She is waiting. This is a great day. "
"Indeed."
For a second Pellaeon thought he heard a hint of a smile in the Sith's voice. Perhaps he'd gone over the edge with his formal and maybe a little overt comment.
"There are going to be a lot changes, Admiral. Old positions will be returned to those who deserve them. Useless etiquette along with useless old tactics will be done away with. I take it you are a man who does not fear change, Admiral?"
Now this was new indeed. "That is quite right."
The cloak's shuffling changed as they entered the entrance hall with floors made of noisy Kuatian marble. "Despite what you might think - " the tone changed to stern, "I do not judge you for your freshly original solution of making a peace treaty as many would have. That was a good example of our unpredictability to the Rebels. I regret that we can not yet make eye contact - Rebel Intelligence has grown in efficiency during the recent years and we cannot yet afford to take any risks."
Pellaeon said nothing. Rebel spies had been always worth their pay - they'd even gotten hold of the Death Stars blueprints, a mistake from Vader that had costed too much.
"Perhaps it would be righteous now to unveil the plan," The Sith began, "As soon as Commander Isard understands what is in her best interest we shall continue. First the Senate will fall in useless arguments over unimportant matters. I have foreseen this. Then we shall take on the Jedi. Their lines only have to be weakened, their numbers scattered."
Pellaeon looked at the hood - as there was nothing more to look at in terms of facial features - satisfied, "Skywalker won't see it coming."
"And he is not the only rebel in need of reminding of the true nature of things. I do hope we shall see the perish of Mara Jade. Isard shall correct her failure."
Pellaeon smiled as he lead their small party to the conference rooms. Even though the Sith's figure of speech was as decorative as the forlorn Emperor's, the Lord certainly had a vast array of good ideas.
Han strolled the corridors towards the Southwest wing where Luke had set up home years earlier and where Mara had more or less settled in during the months.
Looking back to it, it had been almost telepathic that he'd been thinking about Mara the previous evening. Racking his brain, he tried to remember what had puzzled him. There had been something his nectar-incent brain had been too blurry to figure out. Something he'd decided to ask Mara about.
And then he realized it. It hits harder than an asteroid, making him stop at his feet before he was even aware of what he was doing.
It had been Mara's way of dance that had intrigued him. And now he remembered why. Turning on his heels he changed his course towards Lando's suite.
************************************************'
Thank you for reading. Reviews and feedback would be greatly appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
Heidi Ahlmen siirma6@surfeu.fi