Author's note: Here we are - the chapter with the sequence where several major character arcs and plot threads get kicked into motion! Hope you enjoy!
Chapter Four
Eight-Seven took deep breaths as the hurtling lander shuddered around him. Soon he would be right where he belonged. Still, every passing moment on the rapidly descending craft tightened the grip of unease in his chest. It was one thing to have spent years preparing for action in the field through drills and studies: it was quite another to experience the real thing.
Hearing Eight-Seven's laboured breathing and seeing him stiffen his grasp on the handgrip above, Nines leaned in to whisper loudly to his squad-mate. "Relax! We're as ready for this as we'll ever be! Just follow Phasma's lead once we're planet-side!"
Eight-Seven turned his head and nodded in acknowledgement. While Nines' words did little to ease his welling anxiousness, Eight-Seven knew his squad-mate was right. He had already proved himself in the eyes of his instructors. Every text he had read, every exercise he had completed over the last four years or so had built to this moment. His First Order recruiters and trainers had been the first people in his life not to write him off as a failure: he could not let them down now.
The stormtrooper felt the bulky craft around him slowing down as it completed its descent. Eight-Seven held tight as the lander finally came to a stop. With a hiss, the rear hatch opened. Through his helmet's comlink, Captain Phasma's barked orders rang loud and clear. "Move, move, move!"
Releasing the handgrip, Eight-Seven ran toward the bright light of the opened hatch, filing in behind his squad-mates. Once his heavy boots touched the ground outside, he adopted a low run into the wedge formation the platoon had drilled so many times before. Out in front, Eight-Seven could see the distinctive sheen of Phasma's armour glinting in the eerie blue and purple hues of the Ilisian night sky.
In deathly silence, the platoon covered the remaining ground with astonishing speed. As the village huts came into clearer view, Eight-Seven noticed that a small crowd had gathered along this edge of the settlement. Between his helmet's optics and the dim row of torch lights, he could make out one villager striding forward to meet Phasma. Two of the insectoid figure's segmented arms grasped a simple wooden staff, while the remaining pair were raised in what Eight-Seven could only assume to be a welcoming gesture. Within metres of the village, Phasma raised her own hand to signal a halt.
"My friends!", the figure cried out with a warmth that belied his daunting, clicking mandibles. "There seems to have been some terrible misunderstanding! We were very startled when your ship opened fire, but I am sure that we can sort this out like reasonable beings!"
"Spare me the act, Teq'ah," Phasma answered bluntly. "We know that a Resistance fighter came to see you. Where is he?"
"I am afraid I have no idea what you mean. We are a peace-loving people and would not drea-"
"If you don't want to do this the easy way, so be it! You two – stay with me. Everyone else – search the area. Turn over every hut if you need to!"
"Captain!", the alien patriarch cried in alarm as the other gathered villagers huddled fearfully. "You cannot simply march in here and-"
"Don't presume what I can or cannot do! You may be the chief of this village, but the First Order rules by the will of the Force itself!"
Eight-Seven stayed by Phasma as the rest of the platoon fanned out, eyeing their scanners and parting the flaps of hut doors with their rifle barrels. From all directions, he could hear furniture splintering and villagers wailing as his fellow troopers turned each room inside out in search of the Resistance fighter. The tension was so thick that each minute felt like an eternity. All the same, Eight-Seven held his position as ordered. His time to prove himself would come soon – he was sure of it.
Beneath the aged floorboards of the Ilisian hut, Poe kept his breathing quiet. He fought the urge to cough in the cramped and dusty space. Here and there, the dim glow of the hut's lanterns seeped between the floorboards. Presumably, the unassuming building belonged to someone Teq'ah felt he could trust. With his left hand, Poe felt around the inside pocket of his jacket, tracing the reassuring shapes of the folded parchment and his cigarra lighter.
The floorboards started creaking. Careful not to make a sound, Poe edged his face towards one of the small gaps above and peered through. Just as he expected, a pair of stormtroopers had entered the hut. Their bulky, white armour and weighty boots made their footfalls reverberate across the wooden floor. One held a foreboding, black blaster rifle at the ready; the other kept their eyes on a small, handheld device that Poe could only assume to be a scanner.
Poe's hand went to his holster. With luck, the distinct mineral deposits in the earth around him would be enough to obscure his life signs. For several agonising minutes, Poe watched the two troopers rummaging through the small room. Here and there, they shunted aside the curious, multi-levelled pieces of wooden furniture the Ilisians used as tables and shelves, leaving objects broken and scattered across the floor. Eventually, one trooper gestured back to the door and the pair began to leave. Poe restrained himself from sighing in relief.
Just as the two intruders were making their way through the door flap, the trooper with the scanner stopped abruptly. Turning back towards the hut's interior, they held the device aloft for a few seconds before pointing towards the floor.
Poe's mouth ran dry. There was no doubt about it: they had picked up his life signs. His pulse quickened as both troopers brought their rifles into a firing position, studying the floorboards for any hint of movement. Moments later, one of them gestured towards a spot on the floor furthest from them. It was the section of the floorboards that the villagers had lifted out and placed back to hide Poe.
Realising that he would be discovered in seconds, Poe reached into his pocket and pulled out the parchment, spreading it out in front of him. Fighting to stay calm, he took out his lighter, placed it at the edge of the parchment, and flicked the spark wheel.
Poe held his breath as the parchment's edge ignited. A sudden burst to his left snapped him back to attention. Barely two metres away, the light was streaming through a newly made hole in the floor. A heartbeat later, a further pair of blaster bolts tore through the floorboards, striking the ground even closer to the Resistance operative. Coughing through the kicked-up dust, Poe drew his blaster pistol and took aim. With a pull of the trigger, his own red bolt punched upwards through the floorboards at an angle, missing a stormtrooper's foot by inches. A second round of blasterfire from the elite First Order fighters smashed apart most of the floor around Poe, leaving a man-sized hope.
Poe levelled his pistol once more. Already, one of the two troopers was advancing on the hole while their partner kept Poe pinned in place with covering fire. Hellish, crimson shots edged towards his crouched form. With growing sweat on his brow, Poe glanced back and forth between the approaching stormtrooper and the burning parchment. While the flames had now consumed just over a third of the document, they were spreading painfully slowly, and the troopers were almost upon him.
Poe's choice was clear: finish destroying the intel or defend himself from capture.
His duty or his life.
In less than a second, he knew what he had to do.
Just as the lead trooper's hefty boots struck the ground through the freshly made hole in the floorboards, Poe turned his pistol towards the parchment and fired. The blaster bolt vaporised a large chunk of the parchment that the flames had not yet reached. He put a second round through the remaining part for good measure. Seeing an armoured glove enter his peripheral vision, Poe turned the pistol back towards his assailants.
Too late. The stormtrooper grabbed Poe by the wrist, twisting his arm and banging it against the wall until he dropped the weapon. Even as his desperate kicks struck his captor's plastoid armour plating, Poe could see the second trooper jumping down to help their partner subdue him. A further three First Order fighters came into view around the edge of the hole. It was only a matter of a time before they dragged him out of here in cuffs.
Still, Poe thought to himself as he noticed the second trooper brushing sand to extinguish the flames on what little remained of the parchment, no one can say I lost sight of my duty!
From the outskirts of the village, Eight-Seven could hear a distant scuffle. Moments later, five of his platoon-mates came into view, two of them roughly holding a battered and handcuffed human male between them. The man seemed fairly young to Eight-Seven: no more than a decade his senior, with brown hair and relatively light skin. One trooper strode up to Phasma, clutching what seemed to be the burnt remains of a piece of paper. "We have him, Captain! Whatever he had on this parchment, we can't say, but he was dead keen to keep it from us!"
Phasma glanced between the parchment remains and the Resistance fighter, who even now was fighting against his restraints. With a quick nod from his superior, the trooper closest to Teq'ah struck the chieftain in the lower carapace with his rifle butt. The Ilisian patriarch fell to his knees before Phasma. "So," began the Inquisitorial stormtrooper captain, "it seems there was no 'misunderstanding' after all. A pity. I hoped that a spiritual being like yourself would see the holy truth in our cause."
A tense stillness filled the air as Phasma strode away from the downed chieftain. The dull, orange lamplight gently shone across her armour as a pair of troopers moved in to restrain the injured patriarch. Coming to a stand before the huddled, fear-stricken villagers, Phasma gave her order in eerily measured tones. "Platoon: raze every building in this village. Leave no survivors."
Gasps and cries erupted across the small crowd. "Captain!", Teq'ah pleaded. "Have mercy! It was my decision to meet and harbour this Resistance fighter! Do what you wish with me, but please spare my people!"
"Chief Teq'ah", Phasma replied without a hint of sympathy. "You know as well as I do that I can't risk the spread of whatever intel you and this Resistance scum are hiding. Besides, the First Order needs to make clear what happens to those who stand in the way of the Force's will."
All around Phasma, the platoon had already started taking up positions. The crowd of villagers dispersed in panic. Some rushed to their homes to warn their families. Others ran into the night, hoping that the shadows of the surrounding wilderness might offer sanctuary.
A hail of crimson bolts abruptly ended that illusion.
Eight-Seven felt his breath quicken as the blasterfire intensified around him. Here and there, troopers with cumbersome, back-mounted cylinders turned their devices' long nozzles towards the village huts. Within seconds, the huts were up in flames. More screeching filled the air. While the Ilisians' creaky, high-pitched whistles were nothing like the human screams Eight-Seven was accustomed to, the sound still shook him to the core.
Get a grip, trooper! Eight-Seven mentally shouted at himself as he fought to raise his blaster rifle. Yet the weapon felt impossibly heavy in his hands. Between the huts ahead, he could make out villagers who had escaped the blaze. Some carried screaming, cloth-wrapped figures that Eight-Seven could only assume to be children. They ran between the burning buildings, frantically searching for an escape route that the stormtroopers had not yet covered.
Their efforts were in vain. By now the platoon had finished surrounding the village. From all sides, fire and smoke were engulfing the settlement. Step by step, the troopers tightened their noose. Soon each passing second seemed to bring the flash of a blaster nozzle, followed by a morbid thud. Finally pulling up his rifle, Eight-Seven peered down the sights, finding a pair of Ilisians scrambling onto the roof of a flaming hut, apparently hoping to jump down from the other side and make a dash for the wilderness. Yet every time Eight-Seven tried to pull the trigger, his finger froze. Time seemed to slow as his heartbeat pounded in his ears, his surroundings receding into a haze punctured only by those chilling, alien screams. Moments later, a pair of red bolts from another trooper's blaster sent the would-be escapees tumbling to the ground.
Eight-Seven stood motionless before the carnage. Now the entire village was an infernal glow in the night. In the space of a few minutes, the near-constant screaming and weapons fire had become an intermittent cry and blaster shot amidst the crackle of flames. Within the confines of his helmet, Eight-Seven could hear every rapid, shallow breath he took.
Just as Eight-Seven was starting to will himself back into motion, Phasma's voice rang loudly over his comlink. "I think that's all of them! All units – return to me!"
Still struggling to control his breathing, Eight-Seven dutifully marched back to his captain's position. Just beyond the edge of the blazing village, he could make out Phasma silently taking in the destruction. A few metres behind her, a handful of his fellow troopers were still holding down Chief Teq'ah and the captured Resistance fighter. While the Ilisian's insectoid features were as strange to Eight-Seven as ever, the stormtrooper swore he could feel each wave of anguish bursting from the screeching, writhing patriarch.
Then it happened.
With a sudden, mighty spring, the grieving chieftain broke free of his restraints. Before his surprised captors could even react, Teq'ah was already halfway to Phasma. One of his lower hands reached into a small crevice under his carapace, pulling out a glinting knife.
Just as Phasma turned to face her attacker, a bolt of crimson flashed between them.
Seconds later, a lifeless Teq'ah struck the ground at Phasma's feet.
In the background, the Resistance operative struggled in vain against his restraints, letting out a furious scream of "You monsters!"
Barely five metres away, Eight-Seven stood frozen, clutching the freshly fired blaster rifle in his hands.
"Good shot, trooper!", Phasma exclaimed as she studied the smouldering hole in Teq'ah's chest. "You have served the Force and the Supreme Leader well! Rest assured that you'll receive a special commendation for this! Now, let's get that Resistance filth back to the ship!"
Cheers of victory rang out around Eight-Seven as the platoon dragged their uncooperative prisoner back to the lander. Some of his squad-mates even gave him congratulatory pats on the shoulder. Yet Eight-Seven could feel only a growing hollowness in the pit of his stomach. His mind kept replaying that fateful moment: the moment he had seen his superior in danger and his instincts had finally kicked in. Before he had even started to process what was happening, he had raised his rifle and pulled the trigger. In that moment, he saved his captain. By the measure of everything he had been taught since his recruitment, he had acted heroically.
But then why does none of it feel heroic?
Yaqeel grimaced at the sight. Strewn across the cold, stone floor before her was the body of the Togruta Jedi she had seen in the holo-cam footage. During her long journey to Dantooine, Yaqeel had carefully gone through the files the Council briefed her with before her departure from Coruscant. Now she knew that the felled Knight at her feet was a woman named Ko Traana. She had been around ten standard years younger than Yaqeel: not even middle-aged by Togruta standards.
Yaqeel took in her damp and dimly lit surroundings. From what she had read, this site was at least four thousand years old. Scholars at the Temple on Coruscant believed that the site had some connection to the Jedi Enclave the legendary Master Vodo Siosk-Baas founded on this world around that time. From what Yaqeel recalled from her studies, during its years of activity, the Enclave instructors had trained many prodigious Knights, but several of these renowned students fell to the dark side, took up the mantle of the Sith, and almost brought both the Jedi and the Old Republic to their knees: Exar Kun, Darth Revan, and Darth Malak to name just three. Yaqeel could not help but wonder what figures from galactic history might have stood between these same stone walls.
The old Bothan returned her eyes to Jedi Traana's body. In the centre of the lifeless Togruta's chest gaped the fist-sized hole that the Knight of Ren's lightsaber had left, surrounded by burn marks and cauterised flesh. While this sight was disturbing enough, even stronger shudders ran down Yaqeel's spine when she took in the victim's face. It was contorted and frozen in an expression Yaqeel could only describe as pure terror. Whatever Jedi Traana had experienced in her final moments, it must have left her in total anguish.
After steeling her nerves enough to scribble some notes in her pocket datapad, Yaqeel took cautious steps towards the shrine at the far end of the chamber. It was a simple stone altar with a few holders for incense sticks. From what Yaqeel had gathered, many Jedi had come here over the centuries to reflect and meditate. As she approached the shrine, the Jedi Master noticed that one of the incense sticks had been lit much more recently than the others. Next to it was a small bottle containing what seemed to be a rolled-up piece of paper. Delicately, Yaqeel pulled out the sheet and unrolled it along the shrine. Along the paper was a simple, handwritten sentence in what Yaqeel recognised as High Galactic, an archaic tongue now mostly associated with clergy and educated nobles. Taking a moment to remember her ancient language studies at the Temple on Coruscant, Yaqeel translated the script: "We serve the Balance."
Yaqeel's brow furrowed as she carefully placed the enigmatic note into a protective bag and pocketed it. The notion of 'balance' was common in many religious and philosophical views of the Force. Among the Jedi, the 'balance' ideal typically referred to the natural, harmonious order of the universe maintained by the light side of the Force, though Yaqeel was aware of less orthodox schools of thought that advocated a state of 'balance' between the Force's light and dark sides. What 'balance' meant to the Knights of Ren, Yaqeel did not know, but if the Knight who had raided this site had taken the time to leave a respectful note and light an incense stick as an offering, then she was clearly not dealing with conventional adherents of the dark side.
For the next hour or so, Yaqeel continued to study and take notes on the scene of the crime. She confirmed that the stolen artefacts included at least three ancient scrolls and, perhaps most concerningly, a Jedi holocron – one of the very few on Dantooine that had not been relocated to another world like Telos or Coruscant during the Old Sith Wars. Still, Yaqeel struggled to discern any significant pattern in the contents of the seized artefacts: something that might offer a clue as to what the Knight of Ren was after. As far as she could see, the only thing the artefacts had in common was that they dated to the period immediately before the bombardment of Dantooine just over four thousand and fifty standard years ago: a bombardment that had devastated the original Jedi Enclave to which this site was thought to be connected.
Realising that her search here was raising more questions than answers, Yaqeel stepped back through the chamber's unassuming doorway. She felt a warm breeze on her skin where her fur was thinnest. The yellow grass of the Dantooinian plains tickled the soles of her lower paws as she strode towards her parked Jedi starfighter. It was a new model: a thin, wedgelike body with a pair of wings that jutted out and sloped back. On each wing, close to the main body, was a large, cylindrical engine. Dubbed the StealthR, it was essentially a sleeker and lighter variant of the R-28 starfighter that had become quite popular in recent decades. Like the StealthX fighters Yaqeel had known in her youth, it could cloak itself from eyes and sensors alike and the restrictions on comm usage while the cloak was engaged made it extremely difficult to pilot for most beings other than Force sensitives.
Reaching the small craft and opening the cockpit, Yaqeel dropped into the pilot's seat and put on her headset. With a small sigh, she inwardly acknowledged that, wherever she went next on her investigation, she would have to tread even more carefully. While she was already within the Empire's borders, she knew that both Fel Emperors to date had been happy to accommodate a maintained Jedi presence on Dantooine, knowing its historical importance to the Order and hoping to improve relations between the Jedi and the Imperial Knights. However, the Fels made no such special exceptions for other places in this sector of Imperial Space. While discovering a snooping Jedi would cause less of a diplomatic incident than discovering a snooping GA Intelligence agent, the success of Yaqeel's mission still hinged on avoiding Imperial entanglements.
After turning on the fighter's comm system and checking that she was on the correct long-range, encrypted frequency, Yaqeel hailed Coruscant. "Masters, do you read me? This is Master Saav'etu, calling from Dantooine."
On the dashboard, a small holo-projector activated, putting a miniature version of a familiar face in front of her. "We read you, Master Saav'etu. This is Master Horn. Go ahead – Masters K'Kruhk and T'ra Saa are in the Council Chamber with me."
Smiling at the holographic sight of her dear friend, Yaqeel continued. "I've performed a thorough search of the site, examined Jedi Traana's body, confirmed what's been stolen, and found some small things left by the Knight of Ren, but nothing here seems to tell us where or why they've taken the artefacts."
"They were never going to make it easy for us to work that out, Master Saav'etu, so don't blame yourself for not finding more clues!", Jysella replied sincerely. "Maybe if we could find out if they have any nearby meeting places where they might be exchanging the things they've stolen?"
"That's exactly what I thought, Master Horn! In fact, I'm checking a local database of trading locations as we speak! Obviously, the list won't advertise hotspots for the Knights of Ren or anything, but maybe I could…wait! I just might have something here!"
"A lead, Master Saav'etu?"
"More accurately, somewhere – or someone – that might give me a lead. I'm plotting a course for Takodana. It's in one of the nearby neutral zones between Imperial and Alliance Space, but since it's on a hyperspace route that would take me directly into the Imperial Outlands, it shouldn't create too long a detour."
"I'll trust your judgement, Master Saav'etu. Keep us informed and may the Force be with you."
With that, Jysella's image faded. For several seconds, Yaqeel let her gaze linger on the list of names on the screen before her. Guess it's time I visit an old friend!
"And still the Pretender on Bastion says he will look for a peaceful solution! Do not mistake my words: peace is a noble aim. No one is as deeply committed to peace as the First Order. But how can there be peace in a galaxy that has so thoroughly turned its back on the will of the Force?! How can there be peace under an Empire that has let itself degenerate?! No, brothers and sisters: we will only have peace when the Force grants it to us, and the Force will only grant it to us when the true believers finish purging the galaxy of everything that despoils the sacred order of the cosmos! But you may ask: is it not true that Fel and the Jedi both preach faith in the Force and the harmony it brings to the universe? My followers: do not let these false prophets deceive you! They know exactly what the Force demands of them, but they keep it hidden because they fear that they will lose their own authority! That is why, for all their public posturing, they are secretly in league with each other and with unholy powers! If my words alone do not convince you, the Force has blessed me with powers of vision beyond even the mightiest Jedi! With my own eyes, I have seen the plots these schemers weave in the shadows! That is why I have been releasing their precious secrets onto the HoloNet for all to see! But fear not: the First Order will burn away this festering rot! Join our crusade and together, we will give the Empire back to the righteous and bring the galaxy back into the Force's purifying light! Cowards and traitors may condemn us as terrorists, but as far as I am concerned, to choose terrorism is to show the highest devotion to the Force! It is to refuse subordination, subjugation, and humiliation before the apostates! It is to remain Imperial!"
Emperor Fel thumbed the handheld projector's power button, dissipating the frightful holo-recording of the First Order's elusive 'Supreme Leader'. With a deep breath, he took in the moonlit greenery around him. Out of all his old haunts on Bastion, he felt most at peace here in the Pellaeon Gardens. It was a tranquil, verdant place, perfect for meditation or, in this case, gathering his thoughts. From older Imperial dignitaries, he had heard a memorable anecdote about the gardens' namesake Grand Admiral Gilad Pellaeon. Apparently, Pellaeon used to remark that he liked to trim his plants to keep his garden orderly and help it grow, but after the devastation of the Yuuzhan Vong War, he decided to let the garden enjoy a touch of anarchy. That moderate spirit in exercising power had served the Fel Emperors well in gardening and statecraft alike.
After a few seconds sitting still, Fel brought up the datapad he had been reading and re-reading for several hours now. It was the full report on the First Order that Imperial Intelligence had given him. At this moment, the Emperor was flicking through a series of statements uploaded in the more unsavoury corners of the HoloNet: statements purporting to be announcements from the so-called Supreme Leader himself. While most of it was the same mix of fundamentalist preaching and conspiracist ranting Fel had come to expect from the First Order, as Imperial Intelligence had noted, every so often, a detail in the claimed leaks was a genuine piece of classified information.
Of course, the true details in question were presented in an extremely skewed fashion. For example, a private meeting with Jedi Master Skywalker towards the start of Fel's reign to discuss closer cooperation between the Jedi Order and the Imperial Knights was insinuated to be part of some nefarious pact to keep the 'true faith' suppressed. Still, from where Fel stood, the fact that such classified matters were appearing in these strange announcements at all raised two disturbing possibilities. Either the First Order's 'Supreme Leader' was every bit as gifted in the Force as he claimed to be, or the First Order's network of spies and sympathisers reached even further into the Imperial bureaucracy's upper echelons than Fel had initially suspected.
To make matters worse, the HoloNet traffic data in the report suggested that several Moff Council members had been accessing these announcements and frequenting the areas of the network known to be hotspots for First Order supporters. Naturally, Fel suspected that, if asked, those Moffs would claim that they were simply keeping an eye out for potential terrorist activity. He doubted they truly believed him to be so naïve. Still, without more solid evidence, there was little he could do about it without provoking a major backlash from the rest of the militarist faction on the Council, which unfortunately included several figures who were key to the Empire's daily operations despite their increasingly vocal opposition to Victory Without War.
A sudden rustle snapped Fel back to the present. For a few seconds, the gardens were still. Then it came again, this time from somewhere in the undergrowth behind him. Reaching through the Force, Fel could make out an approaching presence. The split second the rustle of leaves returned on his right, Fel drew his lightsaber and spun to meet the source of the sound, igniting the silver-white blade with a snap-hiss…
…and deactivating it with a warm smile just as quickly.
"Roan! You know you shouldn't sneak up on me like that! What if I hadn't realised it was you?"
While the Emperor seemed at ease, his heart was racing from the shock. Had Fel's reactions been even the slightest bit slower, he might have struck down his own son by accident. Still, while he could feel waves of relief and embarrassment washing over the young prince, Fel sensed no fear in Roan. It was as if the boy's mind held no doubt that Fel would recognise him and stop the blade in time. That was how deeply Roan trusted his father.
"Sorry, father," Fel's heir apparent replied with a sheepish grin. "I just wanted to show you how far I've come with my Force abilities. You have to admit – I got very close to you before you noticed me coming!"
Fel laughed as he brought a comforting hand to Roan's shoulder. "You most certainly did, son! Still, I hope you're balancing your Imperial Knight training with your political studies. I know that reading about the different regional and galactic powers and their systems of government or learning how to craft a persuasive speech for a policy proposal might seem quite boring. When I was your age, I also couldn't wait to get out of the study room and practise wielding a lightsaber or moving objects with my mind. But one day you'll sit on the Imperial Throne, and you'll know first-hand just how demanding it is to be a head of state."
Roan returned his father's smile. Though the dark-haired boy was only twelve, he already showed the striking facial features common to the Fel family. Were Roan's eyes green, he would be the spitting image of his grandfather. Instead, his irises were the same piercing blue as his father's.
"Thank you, father. How much longer will you be here? It's getting late."
"Not too much longer, Roan. Just wrapping up on a few political matters. If you see your mother, tell her I'll be with her shortly."
Just then, the pair felt a third presence approach them. They turned to see the perennially cloaked and armoured Master Calbhan walking down the path towards them. "Your Majesty, Your Highness – I hope I'm not interrupting anything!"
Fel extended his arm in welcome. "Not at all, Master Calbhan! Young Roan was just about to turn in for the night and, to be honest, I should probably do the same!"
"Very wise, my liege, though if you have a few minutes to spare, I'd appreciate it."
Astutely realising that the Imperial Knight Master wished to speak with his father alone, Roan gave both men a polite nod before heading for the exit. Once the youthful prince was out of earshot, Calbhan turned back to his Emperor. "My liege – have you read the whole report?"
"Trey," Fel responded with a friendly air, "nobody's around – you don't have to keep addressing me like that!"
"Much appreciated, Val, but please answer the question!"
"Yes, Trey, I've read the report. If I'm being totally honest, I haven't been able to think about much else these past few days."
"Then you know how deeply the First Order's tendrils have burrowed into the Empire! We already suspected that they had sympathisers on the Moff Council – now it looks like we have several sector governors in the heart of the Empire who might already be in touch with these terrorists!"
"Trey, as tempting as it is to have Imperial Intelligence pay them a visit, you know I can't ju–"
"I'm not suggesting you send agents to kick down their doors and search their homes! I may not be a politician, but I hardly need to be a political genius to guess what calculations you're making in how you deal with the Moffs! I'm only asking that you be careful. I've known you since you were a youngling running around these gardens, bravely fighting off whatever evil threats to the realm your imagination could conjure! Now it looks like there are very real threats to your life right in the centre of the Empire – maybe even here on Bastion!"
Fel's eyes met his old instructor's. He appreciated the senior Knight's uncompromising loyalty as both a servant of the Empire and a long-time friend. Still, Fel had his own duties to the Empire and those duties inescapably came with risks. "Trey, if this is about my decision to go to Kree'os for the accession talks, you know that backing out now would jeopardise our chance to bring Kree'os into the Empire."
"Val, I won't ask you to back out of the talks. We've been over that several times already, I know you've made up your mind on it, and I trust your judgement on what's at stake politically. What I will ask you to reconsider is your order for me to remain here on Bastion while you go to Kree'os. If the First Order's reach is anything like what the report suggests, then I should be there at your side with my lightsaber!"
Fel smiled at his friend's concern. "I know you're only trying to protect me, Trey, but I'm not going to change my mind about this. Let me put it this way: if we're right and the First Order has secret supporters on the Moff Council and in other major organs of the Empire, then they'd almost certainly make their move here on Bastion while I'm away! And what about Ry? What about Roan? Do you think the First Order wouldn't try to get at me by going after my wife and son? No, Trey – more than ever, I need people I can trust right here in the capital."
The Imperial Knight gave a long sigh of acceptance. "All right, Val. I understand your decision. I'm just worried about what might happen if they go for you while I'm not there."
The young but weary Emperor tilted his head upwards, gazing through the garden windows at the spot in the Bastion night sky where Kree'os lay far out of sight. "So am I, Trey. So am I."
Author's note: As you might have gathered, in this timeline Takodana has a different location to that in Disney Canon!
I went back and forth on whether to have Finn/Eight-Seven kill someone in the village massacre scene. I eventually decided in favour of it to avoid him starting his character arc with conveniently clean hands for someone who's spent years as a soldier for a fascistic movement. Hopefully, the significance of his and his platoon's actions for his character development will become clear in the next chapter!
If you've been reading the story so far, please leave a comment - I'd love to hear people's thoughts!
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