Chapter 5

Within the ship's main cabin, the Mule bent forward in concentration, small beads of sweat cascading down his unhandsome face. General Han Pritcher did not interfere, having received a directive from his superior to remain silent and observe.

Pritcher turned from his boss to the forward view-screens piped into the cabin. Two kilometer-long, wedge-shaped ships had only minutes before wrecked enormous destruction on the defense platforms and fleet guarding the wormhole. Yet now, one floated dormant in space, awaiting boarding teams, and the other was now damaged, though not critically.

Were Pritcher in command of that ship, he knew he would order it to turn about and blast whatever was in its way in order to make for the wormhole. He had seen the reports of detailed scans of those ships and knew that their armament easily exceeded up to five or six much larger Seldon-class Battlecruisers. Yet both enemy ships were now all but beaten. Why? Were their commanders just incompetent? Why would they not at least order their ships' self-destruction in order to avoid capture by an unknown enemy?

As Pritcher perused the battle-space on the scopes, he noted no fewer than two dozen destroyed capital ships from his local sector fleet, not counting supporting destroyers, frigates, and other support ships. The firepower of those alien ships was simply staggering.

Hearing a sigh from behind, Pritcher turned and saw that the Mule was now more relaxed, the ghost of a smile forming upon his lips. His eyes remained unfocused as he spoke, "We'll see no more trouble from those two ships, Pritchard, but it is imperative that I board both vessels and meet with the alien commanders and senior staff officers as soon as possible."

…

Aboard the Imperial Star Destroyer Ash, a sense of overbearing hopelessness and dread pervaded, from the crews of the many gun emplacements to the bridge itself. For an hour, Captain Poltz watched as many more enemy capital ships jumped into the system, surrounding the two Imperial Star Destroyers and establishing blocking positions. Poltz could not think clearly. He could not shake the dread and defeat eating into his bones. He could not help but feel that they had no business here, and this alien fleet cared not how many they lost – their cause was righteous. What!? Why was he thinking like this? What of his men and this crew?

Around the bridge, officers and crewmen alike sported visages of gloom and defeat. They all knew in their hearts that they could not win. All they could do was wait … for judgment. Not one officer approached the captain to offer tactical advice or to recommend a course of action.

R. Robert Flynn felt it too, but unlike the men on this bridge with him from another galaxy, he knew what was happening. His configuration and programming was sensitive to psychic energy, and what he could sense even with his limited capabilities was off the scale. This could be nothing other than the work of the Mule. Certainly, he had read reports of this phenomenon, and academically he knew what was happening. But reports did not do justice to what he now witnessed. The men all around him were frozen with dread and defeat. Flynn could feel the powerful mutant's psychic pressure even upon his own mind, though unlike the humans around him, he was programmed to resist such pressure. Impressive!

"Sir," said the adjutant off to the left of Captain Poltz.

Poltz turned a dejected gaze and replied, "Yes?"

"An shuttle from the enemy fleet of sufficient size to hold approximately five squads of stormtroopers is maneuvering toward the main docking bay."

Poltz remained silent for a moment and then replied, "Very well. We will go meet them."

"Captain Poltz, sir!" barked Flynn.

Poltz appeared surprised to see the human-looking droid speak with such confidence. Well, why shouldn't he?

"Yes, droid?"

"Sir, it is imperative that you not reveal to anyone you meet from that delegation that I am a … droid."

Poltz now looked confused. He said, "Why is that?"

"Sir, I really don't know how to say this any other way, so I will just say it. Nobody in our galaxy is aware of the existence of droids."

"What?" replied Poltz, "That's absurd!"

"Even so, sir, it is the case. You could gain nothing by telling them of my existence."

"So are you the only droid in your galaxy?" replied Poltz incredulously.

Flynn decided he had revealed enough. Using his own limited psychic ability, he reached into the mind of the captain and made some minor adjustments. It was all he could do for now. Were the captain to reveal his identification to the Mule, the fallout could be severe. His adjustment did little more than decrease the captain's interest in Flynn. With luck, the captain would not consider it worthwhile to share what he knew to the Mule or his forces.

Captain Poltz shook his head in momentary confusion, muttering, "Who cares about a blasted droid anyway?"

Then, seeming to forget that Flynn was there at all, the captain turned toward the bridge turbolift, escorted by the very stormtrooper contingent that had been guarding Flynn. Unlike the captain, Flynn had found it a bit easier to adjust the two guards.

…

Something was wrong. Captain Tor stared out the large triangular view-plates of his Star Destroyer toward the turbulent energies of the maw. It had been more than ninety standard minutes since the Punishment had entered the anomaly, and not even one scout ship had returned to report. He had no other way of communicating with his cohorts on the other side.

Tor leaned forward in preparation of ordering his and the other remaining Imperial Star Destroyer into the anomaly.

"Captain Tor!" shouted a pit officer off toward the port side.

"Report," replied Tor, wiping a sleeve across his forehead, silently thankful for the interruption.

He could see … something out toward the anomaly, knowing instinctively that his naked eye was woefully inadequate in comparison to the ship's highly capable sensors.

"Sir, a Lambda-class shuttle has emerged from the anomaly. It is under the command of a Commander Bellorq"

"That would be the deputy operations officer for the Punishment," replied Tor automatically. He knew the names of all senior staff officers within the local task force of the Imperial sector fleet.

"Yes sir, he is hailing us."

"Intercom."

A moment later, a screech sounded over the comms system, as the audio emitters adjusted for the vocal signal coming from the shuttle.

"This is Commander Bellorq of the Star Destroyer Punishment," sounded an imperious voice over the bridge intercom."

Tor provided the signal for mute and then said, "Verify that it's Bellorq speaking." The pit officer to whom he had signaled nodded and turned to a bank of consoles. Tor then provided another signal.

"Commander Bellorq, this is Captain Tor. Can you give me a situation report?"

"Sir," replied the disembodied voice over the intercom, "our task force initially encountered resistance from an alien fleet on the other side of the anomaly, but both the Ash and Punishment repelled the attack. Captain Poltz is now supervising consolidation of the objective and dispatching probes to further ascertain the nature, size, and composition of the threat."

Tor watched the Lambda-class shuttle grow within the view-plates. In accordance with standard operating procedures, the shields were still up. Tor turned and watched as a pit officer gave him an affirmative signal. The identity of Commander Bellorq had been verified, and scans revealed only a normal crew element aboard the shuttle. It had not been compromised. He gave the signal to lower the shields of the Star Destroyer.

"Very good, Commander. Report to the bridge for debriefing upon your arrival."

"Yes sir," replied the intercom.

Tor allowed himself a soft sigh of relief. He would not have to send through more forces just yet. Two Star Destroyers had proved more than sufficient for the task. He looked forward to a detailed report from Bellorq, along with any scans and recordings the officer had brought with him.

This sector of space was for the most part uneventful, save for the transfer of criminals to the penal facilities on Kessel or the slimy Hutts and their underhanded dealings. The Hutts were easy to deal with, since their ever-present greed and accompanying tactics were at least predictable.

This though had drawn unwanted attention from Imperial Center. It was rumored that the eyes of the Emperor himself were now fixed on this portion of his galaxy, and that was not something that Tor or his fellow officers desired. Tor was given to understand that he former chancellor and now emperor and his dark and powerful servant, Lord Vader, were ruthless in hunting down and crushing even rumors of dissention and discord. Tor wasn't stupid enough to search out such rumors. He had not made it this far into his career by making unwise choices.

For his part, he rather hoped that Commander Bellorq's report was accurate and the other side of that anomaly contained little in the way of threat. Still, he could not dispel a sense of dark foreboding.

…

Imperious in demeanor, General Han Pritchard strode down the corridors of the alien starship. Six members of his own marines in body armor flanked flanked him on either side, each of them holding blaster carbines at the low-ready. He was impressed by the menacing-looking full body armor of the all-white troopers that seemed to ubiquitous throughout the ship. To the rear and left of Pritchard, a disheveled form of a man, lanky and unkempt, shuffled along while casting furtive glances all about.

Pritchard smiled inwardly. This was the way of the Mule. Very few knew who he really was. The faces of power presented to others was never his own, with the exception of a very few. To anyone here but Pritchard (including the marines accompanying him), the Mule was little more than a downtrodden servant – someone of which nobody of importance would deign to take notice.

Nothing escaped the notice of the Mule. Like his subordinate, he too was impressed with what he witnessed. These … stormtroopers were a menacing lot. The uniform, all-covering helmets of the troopers put forth a vision of fearful authority to all who viewed them, the helmets somewhat reminiscent of leering skulls. Because the troopers wore helmets, it was impossible to see their facial expressions. What a stroke of genius! The Mule decided he would have to adopt something similar in his own forces.

The corridors of this ship were immaculate, and everything was ordered. Sure, the men aboard the ship looked defeated, but that was his own doing. His psychic projection held firm, but he could tell that these men were accustomed to extraordinary discipline and order.

As another large blast door hissed open, Pritchard and his detachment stepped forward to meet a shiny silver-plated robot. Nobody betrayed any surprise at spotting the machine. They had first run into something just like it on the other alien ship, so now they were better prepared. Nor was this robot the first they had seen even on this particular ship. The things were all over the place, and in multiple configurations and sizes. Pritchard understood that the robots were referred to as droids by those from the other galaxy.

Next to the shiny robot stood what was obviously a high-ranking officer, judging from the number of blue and red squares on his rank plate. The officer was in turn flanked by two stormtroopers, each holding a blaster at port arms, their expressions unreadable. The officer spoke something to the robot. The robot then turned to Pritchard.

The droid said, "This is Captain Poltz of the Imperial Star Destroyer Ash. He is the a representative of the Galactic Empire and senior representative in this galaxy of Emperor Palpatine himself."

Pritchard nodded and turned to the officer.

"Welcome to our galaxy, Captain Poltz. It is unfortunate that we met under hostile circumstances, but I am pleased to welcome you to the service of the First Citizen."

From behind Pritchard, the Mule immediately reached into the mind of Captain Poltz and made adjustments. While the language of the man from another galaxy might differ, the "switches" within his mind were all too familiar, and he found adjusting the man to be effortless. He similarly adjusted the minds of the two white-plated troopers flanking him. Out of mild curiosity, he mentally reached toward the shiny robot, but he detected nothing. All of that took less than a second.

The demeanor of Captain Poltz changed instantly and dramatically. He now smiled generously and rattled off something in his own language. The robot looked momentarily confused while turning its head to Pritchard and then back to Poltz, but the captain reiterated what he had said and glared at the robot, which in turn swiveled its head and glowing photoreceptors toward Pritchard.

"Captain Poltz … is honored to be of service to the First Citizen and his galactic forces. He looks forward to expanding his … our reach into a new galaxy."

Without missing a beat, Pritchard smiled. He knew what had just happened, as he had seen such scenes played out countless times before. This officer was now a sworn servant to the Mule and would die for him without hesitation if necessary. His loyalty to the Mule's galactic empire was now unquestionable.

…

He has commandeered the two alien ships.

The First Speaker of the Second Foundation studied the instruments before him within the small freighter. Already, he had been forced to make very light adjustments to pilots of military picket ships who had been on the verge of demanding information from the captain of the freighter on which the Second Foundation agents were now ensconced.

First Speaker Pedro Chavez lifted his gaze to lock eyes with the only other agent aboard. With several facial tics and expressions and eye movements, he held a conversation with Jon Sulvin containing information that would have taken an average person hours to complete. That the two men could also project thoughts and ideas to each other greatly limited the amount of spoken words that needed to be exchanged.

He will take those two alien ships through, intoned Sulvin.

Indeed. We must have eyes there.

It may be very dangerous to attempt. We must not again underestimate the Mule!

Chavez nodded. He knew that either of them attempting to board one of the mile-long ships that would cross into the other galaxy would likely meet in failure. Still, there was no rush to go over with those particular ships. Soon, smaller and even non-military vessels would likely cross over. That was their best bet. They were, after all, in what appeared to be a freighter.

The First Speaker closed his eyes, and he reached out with his mind to brush over the many minds concentrated in this area of space. Within an hour, he had pinpointed several minds that might be of use to his mission. One or more of them would serve as his eyes.