Being able to travel in style was one of the prerogatives of rank, and so was choosing your own style. The shuttle that carried Grand Admiral Miltin Takel to and from the Tapani Day gala on Procopia wasn't accoutered with the so-serious old-school finery that Octavian Grant was born with or which Rufaan Tigellinus affected, but that didn't matter to Takel himself. He'd earned his position and he'd damned well do with it what he pleased.
One of those accoutrements was named Veespa. Another was named Comara. The former was a carmine-skinned Zeltron, the latter a golden-hued Mirialian, and together they looked quite vibrant amidst the tangled blue-green shimmer-silk of his bedsheets. They looked especially so after he rolled free of their tangled bodies, found the container sitting on his bedstand, and popped a small capsule of compressed sansanna spice down his throat. He closed his eyes and waited for the familiar warm tingle to run through his body. When he opened his eyes every sense exploded in detail. The shimmersilk beneath his hands was gloriously smooth. Every color was explosive. His body twitched with energy, and he could have easily thrown himself on Veespa and Comara again.
But he withheld himself. Before he got back to Gargon he'd need to get a little work done.
His older brother Griff often scolded him for his recreation-al habits. They were, he whined, no way for an Imperial officer to comport himself, especially a grand admiral. Griff insisted it was especially outrageous because they, as natives of Gargon, should be ashamed to indulge in their world's stereotypical vice.
Takel's response was always the same. As long as the Emperor was okay with it, why should he care? Surely the Emperor knew about his personal life (because the Emperor knew all) and had the Emperor punished him? Hardly. Taming Mandalore, controlling the spice trade, saving Darth-karking-Vader at Shenandor: those were what counted. The Emperor, bless him, valued results over all. And for that, Takel served him loyally.
Determined to get his work while his high was still fresh, Takel left Veespa and Comara to sleep in tangled sheets and walked over to his desk. One leg twitching anxiously, he went to work on his datapad reviewing messages and reports, those unglamorous necessities. He was pleased to see that nothing untoward had happened in Mandalorian space when he was away. When the Emperor had appointed him overlord of that sector he'd braced himself for fierce resistance, but it turned out that for all their valiant warrior bluster, Mandalorians were mercenaries at heart, and he'd found plenty of them willing to keep the peace among their own in exchange for credits.
Credits was something Takel had in abundance. The Emperor had also given him purview of his home of nearby Gargon, and that included its plentiful spice deposits. While not as refined as the glitterstim from Kessel or the rare ryll of Ryloth, Gargon's yields had plenty of buyers. The vast majority went into legal Imperial markets but Takel was good with sleights of hand (and bookkeeping), so a portion of his supplies flowed to less licit buyers.
It was the kind of thing that could get an Imperial officer killed if he was stupid about it, but Takel kept that part of his behavior secret even from his brother. As for the Emperor, well, you could never hide things from him, but Palpatine himself had a cozy relationship with Black Sun. In his wisdom, he didn't grudge Takel rubbing metaphorical shoulders with a Hutt or two.
The grand admiral checked one message, flagged urgent, and saw it was from the strike cruiser he'd stationed over Peralta, on the outskirt of the Belsmuth sector. After the destruction of Alderaan that planet had erupted into what one could call a civil war, but to Takel's eyes was more a grudge match between its Governor Vancon and the former Imperial Senator Consantius, who'd thrown his lot in with the terrorists after losing his day job. If the Peraltan rebels had been emboldened by the Death Star's destruction, their joy hadn't lasted long. Loyalists commanded by the planet's governor were keeping the Rebels holed up in the mountains and forests, far from industrialized cities. The Alliance fleet stretched too thin to help its comrades.
And yet, according to this report, a single X-wing had been shot down trying to infiltrate the planet. A tiny thing, but an anomaly. So far the Rebels had barely breached Takel's territory, and this was a strange way to make headway. The situation would bear watching.
The spice-high was starting to wear off, but that was all right. He rose, stretched his limbs, and heard Veespa rousing from slumber. Knowing just the way to complete her wake-up, he stalked toward the bed, leaving his work behind. Mandalore was under control, spice flowed, and all was right with the galaxy.
But if that might change, he was ready for it.
-{}-
"If you don't wake up now, flyboy, you're gonna end up sleeping forever!"
Luke awoke to a gruff voice and the repeated slap of gloved hands on his cheeks. His eyes focused on an equally gruff face looming over his. An uneven beard frosted the man's broad chin and a green helmet covered everything above his narrowed eyes.
Luke groaned, "I'm…" Okay? He wasn't sure about that, but he tried to move his arms and limbs and found them mostly responsive, though he had an out-of-body feeling, like he was watching somebody else move them.
"Let's get him out of here," the gruff man said. "C'mon, Nevetts, give me hand with this guy."
A second man, more lean but wearing the same green helmet and camo-shaded jacket, pulled himself into view. Together to two men unbuckled Luke's crash webbing, grabbed him by the shoulders of his orange flight suit, and pulled him out of the X-wing.
"Can you walk, soldier?" asked the skinnier man, Nevetts.
"Let me try," Luke said. He staggered a few steps on mostly-level ground. The world spun, then slowed and came into focus. He looked around and saw the two soldiers who'd pulled him from the wreck, plus another two standing amidst the trees, both holding old blaster carbines and watching the surrounding forest.
As for the X-wing itself, it was wrecked beyond repair. All but one S-foil had been ripped off. The massive fallen tree had bent the fuselage and impact had compacted the nose entirely. The cockpit's transparisteel lid was shattered and sparks still flew from the smoking remnants of the aft section.
"Artoo!" he remembered. "My astromech, is he alright?"
He got his reply with a warble from topside. To the soldiers he said, "We need to get my Artoo unit." They exchanged doubtful looks but Luke persisted, "Please, he's important."
"All right, we'll be quick about it," said the gruff man.
Luke watched as they clambered onto the top of the ship and started to remove R2 from his socket. The other two- a woman and a man- continued to stand at a distance, watching the forest and sometimes the sky. That was when Luke remembered the Headhunters that had shot him down, the ones he'd assumed were friendly.
He didn't know why Imperials would be flying Head-hunters. He didn't know if he could trust these people either, but they certainly didn't look like Imperials. Of course, neither did the Headhunters. He asked the Force (or his gut) if he could trust these people, but received no insight.
At the moment, they were the only option he had.
"Are you sure this Artoo unit's going to be able to get through the forest?" asked the skinny man. "It would be easier just to extract its data and slag it so the Imps don't get it."
R2-D2 quailed at the prospect, and Luke insisted, "That astromech means a lot to me. He's coming with us. Please."
The skinny man looked to the grizzled one, who shrugged. "Let's see if it can make it."
"How far to your encampment?" Luke asked.
"Far enough that if we don't get moving now we'll be stuck in the dark." The grizzled man glanced at the still-blue sky. "Let's get moving."
So they got moving. Luke was pleased to find his body still responded the way it was supposed to, The terrain they trekked through was mostly flat. Thick conifer trees rose high above, without too much brush or debris to clog the path for R2. Several times they heard aircraft blazing overhead and stopped to watch the skies, but nothing came close to their position.
Ater the first fly-by, Luke asked, "What were those Headhunters that shot me down?"
The grizzled man, who'd introduced himself as Berbar, said, "Those were PPM. Vancon's ships."
"I'm sorry, but PPM? Vancon?"
Berbar and Nevetts both gave him quizzical looks. "Peraltan Planetary Militia. Governor Vancon," the latter said. "You know, Imp loyalist."
"Ah," Luke said. The situation on Peralta was coming together for him piece-by-piece. This rebel uprising was still a low-level conflict, and the local government was still firmly aligned with the Empire.
"Do you know how long the Imperials have had that strike cruiser in orbit?" he asked as they resumed their march.
They gave him the weird look again, but Nevetts said, "Month and a half, it's been up there, though the Imps emptied most of their troops groundside."
"They're reinforcing, ah, the PPM, then?"
Berbar stared at him. "Didn't command get any of our reports?"
"Communications have been tricky," Luke said, more or less truthful, though he felt increasingly over his head.
"Where's the rest of your unit? We haven't gotten any communications from them."
Luke had a feeling this was going to get even more awkward. "There is no unit. I came alone."
The female scout, who'd been silent until now, said, "That's it? What the hell is command thinking? We need more than a droid and a fighter jock with no fighter. We need-"
"Enough, Ferol," Berbar held up a hand but kept eyes on Luke. "I know this might be outside my need-to-know, but is there anything else on the way? We've been requesting supplies and manpower for months. Comms might be bad but command must have gotten something."
Luke was no sabacc player. On the few occasions when he'd sat down for a game with Han and Chewbacca they'd taken him for all he was worth. But he'd also learned a little about bluffing, and faced with these angry, confused soldiers, he decided that was his best option.
"I'm here as a messenger," he said. "I have information for General Juno Eclipse. Is she at the camp we're heading to?"
Berbar and Nevetts exchanged yet another of those unwelcoming looks. The former said, "We can get you to General Eclipse. Whatever you've got for her had better be good. She's not a woman you want to disappoint."
Luke decided he'd reached the point where it was better to keep silent. They trudged through the forest, moving gradually uphill. Luke saw they were approaching the base of an ascending mountain and hoped they didn't have to move R2-D2 through too rugged terrain. Overhead, gray clouds occluded the sun and their lengthening shadows dissolved into a waxing gloom.
"Can we still get to base before nightfall?" Luke asked eventually.
"We'll make it," said Nevett. "Just barely."
As the light grew dimmer and the ascent steeper, Berbar said, "By the way, you got a name?"
Luke had been wondering when they'd get to this part. Though Alliance command had tried to tamper the spread of his fame, he pretty much expected his name to produce wide-eyed awe among fellow Rebels.
Best to get it over with. "I'm Luke Skywalker," he said.
The soldiers didn't even react. Nevetts asked, "What fleet are you based with?"
"I, um, came from the Atrivis sector."
"Long way to Peralta," grunted Ferol. "They must've sent you with something important."
Luke has a feeling his bluff was going to come back to bite him, so he only nodded. "Can we pick up the pace? I want to get to shelter before nightfall."
"Don't worry, we'll get there," said Berbar, but after that he did indeed speed up their march.
As night grew deeper Luke found himself alone with his thoughts. Their utter failure to recognize his name stung. He always told himself he didn't like fame, but maybe part of him craved to be a hero after all, worshipped and adored. He tried to push thoughts off himself and look at this objectively. These soldiers had probably been stuck on Peralta for the past seven months or more. Possibly, they were native to this planet. And since comms were bad, they'd probably heard only a little about what had happened at Yavin.
So this wasn't about him, and he shouldn't take it personally. He'd spent many months flying around the galaxy, sometimes with Han and Leia, often in his X-wing with the Rogues, that he'd forgotten how many people were fighting the Empire like these soldiers here: boots on the ground, eyes on the sky, never leaving dirt far behind. This war on Peralta was a local one, very different from what he'd seen so far.
Gloom grew darker, and just before darkness became impassable they found their destination. Luke had no idea they'd reached it until Ferol walked ahead, cleared away a cluster of brush piled at the base of a rocky slope, and exposed a round metal hatch. She kicked it three times, paused a second, then kicked it a fourth.
The hatch opened from the inside. A pair of armed guards peeked out, then waved the newcomers inside. Luke through and helped the soldiers lower R2-D2 into the tunnel bored deep into the rock. A string of small glowlamps hung from the ceiling and provided the only illumination. Berbar was the last one in and he swung the hatch shut behind him.
"Looks like the mission was a success," said one of the guards. In full lighting Luke marked it as a woman with black hair pulled into a severe bun and sinuous blue tattoos marking the left cheek of her tanned face.
"That it was," Berbar said. "Drasca, meet Commander Skywalker from the Atrivis fleet."
"Atrivis?" The woman frowned. "Are there others?"
"I came alone," Luke said.
"All that way?" She frowned deeper.
"I have a message for General Eclipse." Luke felt all their eyes grow harder and added, "But it's not that urgent. Actually, I'd like to get out of this flight suit and clean up if I can."
"I'll check with Trake about the general's availability," Drasca said, though they eyes were on Berbar. "We can find a barracks you can make yourself at home in."
"I'd appreciate that," Luke said, but she still watched Berbar.
The grizzled man said, "We weren't followed. Vancon's birds did some fly-byes hours ago but we stayed under cover."
Drasca looked skeptical, but she led the newcomers down the hallway.
As he walked, R2-D2 trailing behind hum, Luke said, "This is impressive tunneling."
"You have much experience with mining?" asked Berbar.
"Ah, no, not really."
"This one dried up a quarter-century ago. All the ore got used during the Clone Wars. Good place to hide nowadays."
The tunnel was a long one, and eventually it split into two separate paths. That second path split up into others, and soon Luke understood this whole place was a giant maze. If any Imperial search party did find it, they'd probably get lost inside its tangled entrails. Though Luke was used to spending time aboard starships, in corridors no less cramped than this, the tough rock walls, dim lighting, and looming weight of the mountain atop their heads all made him feel claustrophobic and tense.
Eventually they showed him to communal barracks and left him there. There were beds here and a refresher with running water. When he got out of his flight suit and cleaned the grime and sweat off his face he felt a little closer to normal.
After he'd changed into a dark-brown tunic, with his lightsaber kept in an interior jacket pouch, Luke stepped out into the barracks again. R2-D2 was waiting for him, and the low whine the astromech produced sounded like that of a sick puppy.
He patted the droid's head and said, "It's all right, Artoo, this is where we need to be." It might even be true, but right now he was having a hard time believing it. These people weren't hostile, but they were skeptical and unwelcoming. For months, apparently, they'd been ignored by Alliance central command. He was sure it wasn't their fault, or anyone's; the war was simply too big, and the Alliance didn't have the resources to support everyone. Some places were fated to draw the short stick and Peralta was one of them.
He and R2-D2 waited for what seemed like hours. Luke nibbled on rations he'd kept in his flight suit, pondered going out into tunnels he'd surely get lost in, and finally felt extreme weariness come over him. He found a spare bed for sleep, lay down, closed his eyes.
A minute or five hours later, a hard knock on the doorframe roused him awake. Drasca poked her tattooed face through the door and said, "She's ready."
Luke sat upright, blinking bleary eyes. "Ready?"
"Yes. The general will see you now."
He staggered upright and tugged his tunic straight. "Great. Let's go."
She eyed R2-D2. "Don't you need your droid?"
"Oh, of course. Come along, Artoo."
The droid whistled and rolled in behind Luke as he followed Drasca into the tunnels. They moved through twists and turns and the only sounds were footsteps and the whirr of R2's wheels. Luke tried to find something to fill the awkward silence.
"Are you from this planet?" he asked.
"Where else would I be from?"
"Well, I'm from Tatooine originally. In case you were wondering."
"I've heard it's a hole." She didn't even look back at him.
"That's… not an uncommon opinion."
"Well, at least you got away to serve the glorious rebellion." Weariness took the edge off her sarcasm. "Do you have a personal thing with the Empire or did you just want to be a hero?"
Weary or not, those words still stung. "Both," he admitted.
"You're not the only one. Almost all our people here are locals who think the place deserves better management. Believe it or not, but Peralta does have its nice spots. Don't expect to see any, though."
"I wasn't."
She glanced back at him with the tug of a smile. "Good."
They finally reached their destination: a short tunnel that dead-ended into a sealed metal door. Like the exterior one this was a manual hatch which opened outward, and Drasca rapped her knuckles on the metal gate with the same four-blow combination.
A lock clanked open. Drasca grabbed the handle and pulled. Instead of stepping through herself she waved Luke inside. With R2 behind him, he stepped through the portal.
The round chamber beyond was a home, but not much of one. A single cot was slung along the wall beside a plain metal desk. Datapads piled on a few shelves and mechanical equipment was stacked next to metal crates with folded-up clothes. It was a soldier's home, the kind that could be packed up and moved on a minute's notice.
Sitting on a chair beside the desk was a woman. Like the rest of these Peralta soldiers she wore no uniform, only black trousers, a white shirt, and a green jacket with a general's pips attached to the collar as in afterthought. Her platinum-blond hair was pulled back and her face, which in other circumstances would have been beautiful, looked severe for its shadowed eyes and tight lips.
"Thank you for seeing me, General," Luke said.
"Thank you for coming all the way out here. I'd thought Alliance command had forgotten all about us." She didn't sound like she was joking.
Luke decided he needed to play diplomat. "Nobody's forgotten about you. Our resources are just stretched very thin right now."
"Well, at least someone remembered."
Luke had gotten better at placing accents. Hers wasn't Coruscant but it was still refined. Contruum, perhaps, or Corulag? Someplace Imperial, which was no surprise. The Alliance was full of former Imps. She regarded him with tired but judgmental eyes. He looked around for a second chair and saw one by the piled crates, but she didn't offer it.
"From what I've been told," she said, "you haven't been properly informed of our situation. You didn't even know who Governor Vancon was."
"I'm sorry, it slipped my mind. I did just get through a crash."
"I hope you're better now."
"I am."
"Then maybe you can tell me why the Alliance, after all this time, sent us you for help? Something special in your droid, maybe?"
R2 cooed beside him, and Luke admitted, "Artoo-Detoo is a very useful droid… but he's not the reason I'm here."
Irritation crept into that cold voice. "Then maybe you should tell me why you are here, Commander… Skywalker, wasn't it?"
"That's right."
It didn't sound like she was familiar with his exploits either. Standing there beneath her cold gaze he felt supremely awkward, and he knew this was only going to get worse.
"To be honest, General, Alliance command didn't send me."
That didn't even phase her. "Then who did? Please don't confess you're an Imperial agent sent to infiltrate us. They're far more capable than you seem to be. I should know. I used to be one."
Luke was getting annoyed. "I'm as loyal a Rebel as you are. I've seen my share of fighting and I've lost people too."
Eclipse raised a platinum eyebrow. "Everyone's got pain. It's the cheapest thing in the galaxy. Now are you going to blabber some or more or will you stop wasting my time?"
"I came on my own initiative, to see you personally."
"Why?"
"I need to talk to you. About the man called Starkiller."
He expected her to show surprise at least, but her eyes narrowed to lethal slits. "If you came here out stupid hero-worship you can get out of my sight right now."
He raised his hands. "No, that's not it. I'm a… well…"
"Well what?" Her voice went deadly too. "Go on. I'm trying to decide if you're a lunatic or just stupid."
He couldn't bring himself to actually say it, so instead Luke fumbled into his jacket and removed his lightsaber. With the twitch of the thumb, the brilliant blue-white blade extended into the air between them.
That got her attention. Eclipse stared into the weapon, its light reflected in her shock-wide eyes.
Voice hoarse she asked, "Where did you get that?"
There were many ways to answer that question. "It belonged to my father."
Her eyes narrowed; the ice in her voice returned. "You are a hero-worshiper, then. A hero-chaser. You think you can be just like him."
"You mean Starkiller's father was a Jedi too?"
"Have you ever used that weapon? In combat?" Her Imperial accent was very good at condescension.
"Yes."
"You've killed with it?"
Cold settled in his stomach. "I have. A few times."
"I suppose you've fought Darth Vader too."
"Actually, in a manner of speaking… I have."
Like she was humoring a half-wit child she asked, "And where was that?"
"Yavin."
That finally got her. She blinked, looked at the weapon, at his face, then the weapon again. She only met his eyes when she shut the blazing light off. Eclipse got to her feet and stepped slowly across the room until she was within arms' reach of him. She was a tall woman, on eye-level with Luke, and hers raked him up and down anew.
"There were rumors," she said, "that it was some bush pilot who did it. And some rumors said he was… that he had the Force."
"I'm not a Jedi."
"But you want to be?"
"There's this… power inside of me. I can feel it, but I don't know how to use it and there's nobody left who can teach me."
"I can't help you with that," she said, all snide and condescension gone. "I know nothing about the Force."
"I came here to learn about Starkiller. I have so many questions and Leia Organa said you were the only one who could answer them."
"You know Leia Organa?"
"She's… a friend."
Her face twisted with conflicting emotions. He could feel them coming off her: surprise, anger, sadness, but also curiosity. A little bit of spite returned to the surface as she said, "You made a very long trip and I'm afraid it's for nothing. I can't give you what you're looking for."
"You can tell me about Starkiller. He was a Jedi, wasn't he?"
"He was more complicated than that."
"I heard he was Darth Vader's apprentice, but he rejected that to help the Rebels. Is that true?"
She didn't reply. She was staring at him and through him into an unhappy past. He knew these memories were painful to her but he couldn't stop now.
"You said you were an Imperial agent. Were you… with him at the beginning?"
"I was his… driver. His pilot. Number seven, I think."
"But you came over to the Rebellion together?"
Tiny hesitation, then a nod.
"I also heard that he died, but he came back. Some think it was a clone. Did you know that man too?"
Again she nodded.
Luke took a deep breath. "I also heard he was at the attack on Kamino. I heard that he defeated Darth Vader in combat and captured him. Is that true?"
He waited a long time before she nodded.
It hurt him to hurt her, but Luke pressed on. "I heard there was a battle after that, where a lot of people died, including General Kota. And Starkiller. I couldn't even get the name of the where it happened-"
"Shenandor," she creaked.
It was no planet or system Luke had ever heard of. "You were there, then."
"Yes."
"And you loved him."
That hard mask trembled, but she managed to keep it up. "Without him I would never be here. This. A Rebel." Her eyes started to gleam and she fiercely blinked the tears away. "I'd still be a soldier, I'm sure. A good little soldier for the Empire. Maybe I'd have even been on the Death Star. Maybe I'd have died there."
"That would have been the Alliance's loss. Leia says you're a great leader."
Eclipse looked directly at him. "Does she really?"
Luke decided to stretch it a bit. "One of the best we have."
"Then maybe she could send me some of the damned backup I asked for." Eclipse growled and looked away. "I'm sorry. That poor woman… she lost her family, her entire planet, and I just lost…"
Someone who had been her world. Luke sensed that, and said very softly, "I'd like to hear everything you can tell me about Starkiller, good or bad or in between, including how his story ended. I know it must be difficult to talk about, but please… I've come a long way to know."
Her eyes darted back to him. "You're also stuck here. You realize that, don't you? We don't have spare ships lying around."
"Your fight is my fight." He lifted his lightsaber slightly. "I'll help your people any way I can."
"Then I guess I owe you something in return." Eclipse collected herself, then walked back to her desk and sat down. She gestured across the room. "Pull up the other chair, Commander Skywalker. This is going to be a long story."