Star Wars Infinities: The Master
Chapter 1
By: Christopher W. Blaine
e-mail: darth_yoshi@yahoo.com
DISCLAIMER: All of the characters and situations contained in this story are ©2003 by LucasFilm Ltd. They are used here without permission for fan-related entertainment purposes only. This original story is ©2003 by Christopher W. Blaine.
The Imperial 7th Fleet, under the command of Admiral Palleon, floated in combat formation in a quadrant of space nominally designated as Sector 57T. It was an unremarkable region of vacuum with no planets suitable for life and a dying sun.
Palleon stood on the bridge of Chimera, the flagship of the 7th, looking out at his assembled fleet, the second largest force in the Armed Forces of the New Order, the new name of the military under the direct control of Lord Ravage. How his career had changed over the last five years he mused. Had it really only been that long since the mysterious death of Admiral Zsinj over Dathomir? That had been the event that had brought then-Captain Palleon to the attention of the man who would one day be Warlord of the New Order.
Thrawn.
Five years ago the civil war had started in earnest when a series of outrageous events struck the galaxy. First and foremost, the Emperor had died, leaving his unknown son in charge of an Empire that was fighting off a rebellion against its authority. In the wake of the Emperor's death, Grand Moff Tarkin, the most senior military commander to serve under Emperor Palpatine, had rebelled himself, taking the Death Star and establishing the Tarkin Confederacy in the Corellian System.
Very soon after that, on the planet Tatooine, Darth Deceptra, having changed her name back to Padme Amidala, joined in the declaration of a New Republic. The galaxy was now in even more chaos than during the bad times of the Old Republic, Palleon thought. He remembered those days, when he had been a young man full of ideals and a zest for adventure. He remembered the political infighting of the Senate and the unwillingness of the Jedi to help out the common citizens.
He shook his head; now was not the time for such thoughts.
The 7th Fleet was currently operating well outside the boundaries of the known galaxy, far beyond anything but the earliest of survey missions. Their exact purpose was to finalize an arrangement between the New Order and a race called the Yhuuzen Vong.
Palleon felt nothing but disgust for the Vong and their culture. They were a society of madmen as far as he was concerned. Better to flush the whole lot of them into some cosmic sewer than meet with them over the negotiating table.
Almost by accident one of their number had been captured infiltrating the ranks of minor functionaries on Imperial Center, the heart of the New Order. The most amazing thing was that they actually used a creature called an ooglith something or other to disguise themselves as normal humans! It had been Lord Ravage himself who had captured the creature, proving that the new Emperor was more the warrior than his father had been. Many in the AFNO believed that if Palpatine had still been on the throne, it would have been no time before the Vong had inserted themselves into key political positions.
The Vong had been turned over to the Emperor's Sword, Luke Skywalker, who spent months teaching the helpless Vong a new definition of pain and horror. That was no small accomplishment because all intelligence reports indicated that the Vong enjoyed pain and lived for agony. They practiced self-mutilation and felt that by exposing others to the "glories" of pain, that they could achieve enlightenment.
Palleon cast a quick glance down into the pit and nodded at the weapons officer. A couple of turbolasers, in the admiral's hu8mble opinion, could do wonders for teaching the savages about enlightenment. It would have been doubly fun to blast their ragtag fleets apart because a turbolaser was technology and the Vong abhorred anything unnatural.
At least he didn't have any of the stinking creatures on his ship, Palleon thought with relief. Skywalker's charge became his servant and was nicknamed Ghastly, which was far too kind a description. Ghastly had told of his race and how they moved from galaxy to galaxy, spreading the will of their dark gods to the more ignorant races. He went on further to state that advance scouting missions of the Vong had encountered Jedi in the past, which many in Imperial Intelligence assumed to be the members of the Jedi Council that had escaped the purges.
The Jedi had intrigued the Vong, for they were an oxymoron to them. The Jedi had confused them, which Palleon doubted was too difficult to achieve given they found poking out their eyes to be pleasurable. On one hand, the Jedi claimed to represent life, but on the other, they relied on technological weapons such as blasters and lightsabers. The Vong high priests determined that it was possible to save the beings of Palleon's universe, but at a heavy price. Many sacrifices would have to be made to appease their gods.
Living sacrifices.
Lord Ravage had considered what to do about the impending threat of the Vong and he and Warlord Thrawn had spent many weeks discussing a plan of action. Palleon had not been in on the meetings, but Thrawn, in one of their many conversations together, had alluded to the context of the discussions.
"The Vong are a future threat," the blue-skinned alien had said. "Yet not one to take lightly. Their culture shows they are slow and methodical. Their art is painful to look at and painful to create. They enjoy torturing themselves and will deny themselves the pleasure of purifying this galaxy if only to sweeten the eventual end result. They will not be coming for us tomorrow or even next week, but the future of the New Order is at risk."
Palleon had considered the words carefully and wondered what would have happened had they not gotten the advanced notice? What would have happened to the worlds he cherished if they had no idea what was coming? By all accounts and from what little he had seen, Palleon was convinced that the biological weapons of the Vong were at least the equal of the standard Imperial arsenal. Could a divided galaxy stand up to such a threat? The thought of heavy weapons in the hands of madmen made him shiver.
The New Republic would say that the New Order was full of madmen and perhaps at one time that was mostly true. Under Lord Ravage, many of sycophants that had achieved military rank were dismissed and Warlord Thrawn summarily removed those who were not fit to lead. In the battles that followed between the AFNO and everyone from the New Republic to the Corporate Sector, Thrawn time and time again proved that tactics and leadership always outweighed numbers and stupidity.
The days of massed suicide attacks on targets where hundreds of brave Imperial pilots died to achieve worthless goals were over. Good men were no longer regaled to political prison duty. Palleon's former posting at Dathomir was now a luxury vacation spot.
The fleets were smaller, but they were made up of specialized vessels and commanders now had to think. It was no surprise then to many that the old guard was being phased out in favor of new upstarts like Palleon. He was just the first of a new generation of military leaders that employed intelligence instead of brute force.
No, the New Order was no longer comprised of madmen, but the admiral had to question the wisdom of the Emperor in wanting an alliance with the Vong. But then he had to wonder if his questioning had any bearing on the reality of the situation or on his duty.
The answer, of course, was no and Thrawn was here to put his seal of approval on an arrangement that would ensure the security of the New Order "forever", as the intelligence officers said.
On the other side of the sun, out of normal viewing range, sat three of the massive worldships that the Vong rode the galaxies in. No doubt it was surrounded by the biologic constructs that were analogous to Imperial warships, while corralskipppers, the fighters of the Vong, buzzed around the larger pieces like flies over dung.
His gut was in a knot. Palleon was completely against any type of appeasement and he had made mention of this no fewer than ten times to Warlord Thrawn. His superior only smiled, his red, pupiless eyes squinting as he did so. He would put a hand on Palleon's shoulder, giving it a squeeze and then move on to the next subject.
The admiral had finally deduced that he was really Thrawn's only true friend, the only person who did not hate him for being an alien or successful and did not want to attach his own career to Thrawn's. Palleon simply liked Thrawn for his intelligence and dedication to the cause of the New Order. It had cost Palleon some friends, but the special kinship he shared with his superior more than made up for it. Palleon often joked to himself that he felt as if he were getting smarter every time he spoke with the Warlord
Once they returned home to Imperial Center, Palleon was confident he would be transferred to Thrawn's 3rd Fleet to be his personal attaché. It was a promotion he would accept gladly.
The turbolift doors at the far end of the bridge opened and someone called for attention on the deck as the Warlord entered. Thrawn immediately ordered them back to work and moved briskly to stand beside Palleon. Behind Thrawn, two black and red armored stormtroopers escorted a military protocol droid who was carrying what looked to be a wilted flower in a cheap pot. "Warlord," Palleon said with a nod.
Thrawn took a deep breath, something he often did before beginning one of his more ambitious plans. Palleon's curiosity was piqued. "Admiral, order the Unrepentant to launch Combat Patrol Tao," Thrawn ordered.
Palleon had been in the navy far too long to start questioning orders and though he wondered why the Warlord wanted to send out a single pair of TIE Fighters to bulk up the hundreds already screening the fleet, he was disciplined enough not hold his tongue. He told the communications officer to make it so and a few seconds later, a Victory-Class star destroyer ahead of them turned slightly to port. There was a brief purple flare from under the vessel and then nothing.
"I've never seen that effect," Palleon muttered. Normally, TIE Fighters gave off a slight blue glow when they first engaged their engines, but it could have been a trick of the light. Nothing more was said for several minutes and Palleon started to notice something odd. "Sir, did you recall the rest of the patrols?"
Thrawn nodded. "Yes, we won't need them."
Palleon leaned in close. "Sir, I strongly advise against such action. There are no official hostilities between the Vong and ourselves, but they have hundreds of their own fighters out beyond the sun. They could be on us in a matter of…"
Thrawn held up a single finger. "You must be patient, Admiral," Thrawn told him. "I wish to demonstrate to you the resolve of our Emperor. I think you will be pleased." Palleon moved back to where he had been and put his hands behind his back.
The droid came around them, producing the plant for Thrawn, who in turned rubbed the bulb. It reacted to his touch and suddenly came to life. The plant was called a villip and was used a natural communications device by the Vong. With Thrawn's continued caresses, the bulb began to morph into a hideous face. A nightmare stared back at them and Palleon had to look away to keep his stomach from lurching.
The face was that of a female of the Vong race, a minor functionary who had been given the unpleasant task of speaking with the barbarian Warlord. Through her efforts, she hoped to regain some measure of honor Palleon assumed. By the scars on her face, the missing eyes and torn lips, it appeared she had worked hard to try and gain acceptance to the gods she had somehow disgraced. He could not help but wonder what it was she could have done to warrant such a need for penance.
Over the course of the last few months, the female had learned to get a grasp of standard Basic. When she spoke, it was heavily accented and in a voice that sounded like pulverized gravel. "Warlord Thrawn," she began. "The Yuuhzen Vong appreciate the sacrifices you have provided us in the past as a testament to your willingness to embrace pain and all of its beauty. It is hoped that your Emperor and your peoples will learn to appreciate the peace that comes with submission…"
"Be quiet," Thrawn said, his voice ice cold. Palleon felt chills running down his spine at the tone. It was the voice of the master of battle, the tactical genius that had so far been able to win any and all engagements he was involved in. It didn't matter if the battlefield was on a desolate planet, inside a meeting room or across a communications channel; Thrawn was always the one in charge.
The female looked aghast. Obviously, having a barbarian speak to you so was very insulting. "How dare you!" she hissed.
"I said to be silent, woman," Thrawn ordered. She did so, her lifeless orbs seeming to smolder in rage. "Your people have done nothing more than execute our prisoners. You saved the Imperial government the time and expense of having to do it themselves. We care nothing for your ridiculous religion or ways."
Drool was now running down the woman's lips and she began screaming in her own native tongue. After several choice words, she switched back to Basic. "Infidel! I will personally chew the skin from your bones."
"Ah, such a strong threat from a weak race," Thrawn commented and Palleon could not help but grin. "Our philosophy is survival of the fittest in the New Order and in that respect, we are very much alike. However, there is one difference."
"And what, pray tell, is that, infidel? Tell me what the difference is between the glorious Vong and the soon-to-be-vanquished humans?" she scolded. A sensor officer called out that several corralskippers were inbound.
"Your race is self-destructive and will die out eventually. Ask your highest priests and they will tell you that the Vong keep moving, traveling from system to system in the hopes of staving off the entropy that will reduce you to nothingness," Thrawn told her. Then he leaned in close, getting nose to nose (though hers was severely distorted). "The New Order is self-protective and my Lord Ravage will do whatever is necessary to protect order. Quite plainly, that means death for the Yuuzhen Vong."
Pilot serial number XJ-547, a number he had carried with him since the first day he stepped off the hoverbus at the Imperial Pilot Academy (Imperial Center), shifted his neck slightly and felt the bones pop. The tension was released slightly as he made a course adjustment and aligned himself with the big bulbous worldship that his computer had tagged as target #1.
He caught sight of about fifty skips (as the pilots called the Vong fighters) coming at him and he wondered, just briefly, if his quantum armor could stand up to their combined assault. His answer came immediately as a howling Vong pilot slammed his skip into the Sun Crusher by accident. The armor of the Sun Crusher made it very hard to see in the blackness of space.
The Sun Crusher, the pilot decided as he avoided an enemy ship was a magnificent fighter, the only one of its kind, developed in secret by Grand Moff Tarkin's scientists. The Maw Installation where it had been built had been overrun by the AFNO very soon after the Tarkin Declaration and the weapon had been seized while still a prototype. It was now complete and it was arguably the most powerful weapon in the star fleet.
If this test run against the Vong was successful, then pilot XJ-547 was confident he would be the person to lead an attack on the Death Star, helping to bring order to the galaxy. He loved that thought and watched as another skip crashed into him, becoming nothing more than debris and atoms.
Visions of promotions danced in his head as he skillfully brought himself closer to the enemy line. His secondary monitor told him that the 7th Fleet was jumping out. That was part of the plan, though; they would be back for him. He returned his attention back to his flight path, smirking as skips fired plasma cannons at him. Their weapons had zero effect on his armor, armor that was worth more than most worlds in the New Order. More money had been spent on the Sun Crusher project than the pilot cared to imagine, mostly because he never worried about such things. He lived to fly and to fight and in his new wonderful machine, he got to do that.
The waves of skips, seeing that the Imperial fleet was exiting to hyperspace, circled back around to attack the Sun Crusher. The pilot didn't even bother to fire his small laser cannons, preferring to watch as the Vong ran into him in vain suicidal attacks and more often than not, bad flying.
One hundred thousand kilometers out from the worldship, he fired his only torpedo. Several skips broke off their attack to pursue the weapon, but it was simply too fast, had too much of a head start. It raced across the expanse of space and approached the worldship. Dovin basils, scattered on the surface of the worldship, opened gravity distortion wells to deflect the missile, but it was to no avail. Imperial scientists had calculated the exact trajectory of torpedo, inputting information up to the minute from sensors in the Sun Crusher itself and even taking into account the predicted reactions by the Vong. The pilot's target was simply too large to miss. Even a drunken moisture farmer from Tatooine could hit it he told himself.
The torpedo missed the worldship by a good fifty kilometers and continued on towards the dying sun. The pilot imagined that the Vong were having a good laugh at his expense, even as their pilots continued to die trying to dent his armor with either ineffective weapons fire or through the sacrifice of their own lives. Yes, he thought, chuckle and point at the stupid human! He started to laugh as well, thinking about how their faces were about to change from mirth to horror in only a minute or so.
He reached down and pressed a button, darkening his viewscreen and jerked by reflex as a skip raced into the viewport. It exploded in a cascade of orange light and white fragments. The pilot wondered if the clear crystalline-impregnated plasti-steel could withstand such punishment. It held and he breathed a sigh of relief. He reached down to a keyboard and pressed a glyph to bring up the radar track of the torpedo. It was now in the gravity pull of the sun and was accelerating so fast that the radar could not keep up, so that he was in fact only reading where the torpedo had been instead of where it was.
"Boom," the pilot whispered as the torpedo struck the plasma surface of the sun.
The dying star became pure light as it was destroyed. There was no sound, only the light and the pilot was thankful for the polarized lenses of the cockpit and his helmet. Without them, he surely would have been blinded instantly.
The shockwave spread out, its energy pouring off in visible light as photons went free into the reaches of the darkness. Within ten seconds it had enveloped the Vong fleet and reduced it to nothing, returning it to a state of existence from before the universe was created. Skips were consumed so quickly they didn't have time to explode. In a way, it was beautiful and the pilot, not normally philosophical, began to ponder the meaning of life, the birth of the galaxy and other such poignant thoughts.
Then the wave was over the Sun Crusher.
The energy flow was almost spiritual in the way it seemed to just silently envelop everything. There was a glow that seemed to permeate the ship, slip between the atoms of the armor and bathe him in its pureness. Later, after his body was recovered, it would be determined that the coralskipper strike to the view port had caused a micro fracture that had allowed rad after rad of deadly radiation into the cockpit.
It would take Imperial scientists and technician weeks to remove the smell of cooked meat from the inside of the Sun Crusher and even longer to replace all of the defective parts. It didn't matter, though, so long as the ends justified the means.
Palleon looked at the report scrolling across the screen on his desk. Thrawn was in a corner, speaking quietly to his bodyguards, two members of the Crimson Guard. Their red armor contrasted sharply with the white and black of the office, a splotch of blood it seemed. The loss of the pilot weighed heavily on Palleon.
Thrawn finished speaking and moved back to Palleon's desk. The admiral stood up and Thrawn motioned him to sit while he took a seat in one of the plain chairs that formed a semi-circle in front. "You were not informed by my order. The only persons, besides the scientists involved, that knew about this was the pilot himself."
"Did our lord sanction this action?" Palleon asked, wondering if he was seeing the beginning of yet another coup. He blushed with shame as he realized such thoughts betrayed his friendship with Thrawn. For a moment, he wondered if he possessed the same biases and attitudes as the other less enlightened members of the military. Did he harbor a secret mistrust of his superior?
If the Warlord took offense, he did not show it. Over the years that Thrawn had been in charge of the military he had learned that humans were a distrusting sort, no matter how hard they tried. It was interesting to watch Palleon mentally chastise himself. "Everything has been done according to plans worked out by myself and Lord Ravage," Thrawn answered, his red eyes flashing. "I felt that you might protest the use of a weapon of mass destruction like the Sun Crusher."
Palleon looked away, realizing that his views were still tainting his career. He was one of the few senior officers in the AFNO that believed weapons like the Death Star were simply overkill and served no real purpose. Thrawn shared a similar view, except that he admitted that there were times that powerful weapons could have their uses. "So, because I protest I am kept out of the loop?"
Thrawn paused for a moment. "What would you have said?"
"I would have agreed in this case. The Vong are disgusting. They are worse than Hutts and even more devious." Palleon sat back, seeing the small smirk on his superior's face. It was nice to know that even he could throw a hydrospanner into Thrawn's precise way of looking at the world.
"Then perhaps I was in error in not seeking your advice, but nevertheless, the decision was made by Lord Ravage," Thrawn replied. He changed the subject. "We are going back to the Core."
"The Sun Crusher is to be used against the Death Star, then?" Palleon asked.
"It was a most fortunate find and a way to end the threat of Tarkin forever," Thrawn said as he stood up. He walked over to a hologram map of the Core Worlds and pointed to Corellia. "The Death Star still sits here and any attempt to dislodge it could result in the destruction of Corellia itself."
Palleon joined him. "Palpatine did not think Corellia was worth saving; why does Lord Ravage?" he wondered aloud.
Thrawn pointed a representation of a space station in the Corellian System. "This is Centerpoint Station. This is part of a system designed to move planets," he revealed. Palleon started to disagree with the idea but Thrawn held up a finger. "You must simply trust what I say. Lord Ravage does not want to take a chance of damaging any of the equipment. It may have future uses."
"Then the Sun Crusher is useless," Palleon announced. Even if they used the craft to punch holes through the thick skin of the Death Star and reduce it to scrap, there was the problem with debris falling on Corellia or even being tossed out of orbit towards the other worlds.
"Not if we get the Death Star to move out of the system to another," Thrawn said.
"And why would Tarkin do that? In the Corellian System he has his fleets and security forces and the shipyards…"
Thrawn only smiled. "We will offer him something even better in exchange. Mon Calamari."