Chapter 13

The dark and menacing figure strode purposefully through the corridors of the massive building, his mind bent only on the upcoming meeting. Over many years, he had become hardened in his attitude, clinging to anger as a small child might cling to a favorite toy. The figure took no notice of others quickly stepping aside as he passed, glancing nervously in his direction – but never for long. Fear is what he sensed all about him as he continued his trek; fear and weakness.

He despised both, but he also used both to bring all to heel about him, usually unconsciously. His deep breathing was regulated by the machine that now composed much of what was left of his body, a constant reminder of the grievous injuries he had sustained so many years ago. Most of those injuries would never heal. Ironically, that weakness too stirred fear in those around him. Fear is what all felt for him, save one.

Master – that name he reserved for that one who did not fear him, or at least he did not sense fear from him.

Lord Vader strode mechanically toward the chambers to which he had been summoned, now ignoring the terror emanating from those around him and focusing instead on his coming encounter. Too recently he had once again experienced fear himself.

When his flagship had crossed into the strange galaxy containing the planet Sol, all strength had left Vader unexpectedly. He had felt a complete absence of the Force, and palpable fear had washed over him like a tidal wave. He had been gripped in weakness. He recalled having summoned only sufficient strength to order the ship back to his own galaxy. Anger over that weakness now rose in him, but he held it in check.

Vader arrived at his destination.

"What is thy bidding, my master?" Lord Vader uttered as he kneeled before the gnarled old man.

Without looking through the vision-enhanced photo-receptors built into his black, plasteel face mask, Vader could sense the figure seated before him. His presence in the Force was hideously strong – as strong as others were weak. His iron will had bent an entire galaxy to his solitary rule, and now he stood as the unopposed emperor of the known universe; nearly unopposed.

The rebel faction that had sprung up had grown in strength over the past few years, and Vader had brought his concerns about that rebellion to his master, requesting permission to use the vast resources of the Empire to ruthlessly crush it. Lord Sidious had dismissed Vader's concern, adding that all was proceeding according to plan.

"Arise, Lord Vader," said the gnarled old man seated before him.

Vader stood and faced his master, the old man's physical appearance belying the immense power at his disposal. The scarred face of his master served as a constant reminder of why the Jedi could not be trusted and had become enemies of the Empire. Vader alone knew the true identity of his master and Sith Lord.

All others knew him as Emperor Palpatine – all others save one. The man who had caused the disfigurement of Vader also knew of Palaptine's true identity. His old master had never been accounted for after leaving Vader for dead, and the dark lord felt certain that Kenobi was still somewhere within the vastness of the galaxy, possibly plotting with the rebels, or leading them. Vader allowed the memory of his failure on Mustafar to feed his anger, but he also fleetingly recalled his all too recent fear in that alien galaxy devoid of the Force.

"I sense fear in you, my apprentice," said Sidious with a hint of stress on the last word.

Vader winced internally though carefully covering his thoughts with his unceasing anger. His master did not use the term, "apprentice" in reference to him often, but when he did so it seemed geared to reinforce Vader's position on the lower end of the Sith, "rule of two." Other thoughts threatened to rise to the surface, but no – not here, and not now. His current master was powerful, and he could all too easily sense Vader's feelings.

So Vader continued to feed his anger with painful past memories. He gazed into the eyes of Sidious, and through his own eyes hidden behind his dark mask, Vader could sense the man's incredible power.

Unlike the weathered and frail remains of the Sith Lord's face, the eyes of Sidious maintained a piercing strength and focus that would not be denied. They alone, among his features, revealed but a hint of the power of which the frail-looking man was capable.

"I have … concerns, my master. The rebel forces…"

"They are of no concern to us," said Sidious dismissively.

"Yes my master, they are weak and pathetic," continued Vader carefully, "but our spies report that they are now involved in the affairs of Sol."

Vader knew he did not have to further describe the planet to his master, for Sidious was well aware of the only inhabited planet in that otherwise dead galaxy.

"Yes, I know," replied the old man, "Do you think, Lord Vader, that I have not taken into account every action of the people on that planet?"

Vader pondered what his master said. Sidious surely had access to intelligence and sources to which Vader himself was not privy, and the vast apparatus of Imperial spies and agents throughout the galaxy was more than capable of tracking actions of every individual on a single planet. However, Vader had his doubts of those spies. He had also received reports of the resourcefulness and craftiness of the Sol natives. They seemed to have a natural knack at deceit and intrigue, unmatched by any but the most accomplished bounty hunters within the known galaxy.

In short, Vader felt it might not be beyond at least some of the spies assigned to Sol to be duped into reporting that which was not actually the case. It was with some discomfort that Vader recalled that some of the Sol natives had been accepted into Imperial service, and that some were even here on Imperial Center.

"I did not mean to cast doubt on your judgment, my master," said Vader.

"And you would do well to remember your place," added Sidious menacingly, "You do not like that I have allowed members of that planet to join our forces?"

"Your decisions are just and final," said Vader automatically.

"Yes. They are," said Vader's master.

He turned his hooded gaze slightly away from Vader and said, "Stop where you are, guard."

Vader felt a slight disturbance in the Force and spun about, his crimson saber snap-hissed to life and at the ready. A mere two meters before him, one of his master's Imperial guards stood at the modified position of attention that the Imperial Guard used in the presence of the Emperor, his force pike in hand. Vader felt rage flash over him, and he prepared to strike down the man who had dared come so close to him in the presence of the Emperor.

"Hold, Lord Vader!" shouted Sidious, with iron in his voice.

Vader's rage did not subside, but his obedience after all these years was all but automatic. He pulled himself out of his fighting stance, though his saber remained aglow and humming. How had he not sensed the approach of this guard? Was he robotic? Vader reached with the Force, and then stopped. This was no droid. He was…

"The member of my Imperial Guard you see before you, is unquestionably my servant, but he is also of additional use," said Vader's master from behind him.

The Emperor cackled softly, filling the great room with mirthless laughter, "You did not sense him," added Sidious.

It was not a question.

"No, my master," said Vader warily, still locking his vision on a man he could sense in no other way – save by the absence of what should have been there.

The guard clad in red armor stared back at Vader, seemingly unafraid of him, or at least unconcerned, though … its face was hidden beneath a helmet that stared blankly back at Vader. Vader had read multiple reports of how rebels from that planet had fought against impossible odds, seeming not to care whether or not they perished in the process – and other areas contained people who reportedly valued death over life itself. That Vader could not sense this guard through the Force…

"Only now do you begin to see, my apprentice," said Sidious from behind Vader.

The Sol native, now a member of the Imperial Guard turned and walked back to his position by the entrance to his master's throne room. Vader assumed his master had given the guard a visual cue. Vader slowly turned to once again face his master, his light saber extinguished and reattached.

"It is not natural, my master," said Vader.

"It is that un-natural characteristic that will serve us, Lord Vader," growled Sidious.

The Emperor smiled tightly, showing his teeth, and once again his chuckle was entirely without mirth.

…

Greg gazed into the mirror. That it was not a mirror in the true sense of the word, at least as Greg had remembered it on Sol … Earth (he had to consciously remind himself of the older term) so long ago no longer registered on him. It showed him as others would see him, and Greg had become so accustomed to the imaging device that a natural mirror would now seem odd to him. Peering back at him was the figure of a young man in a crisp Imperial gray uniform. Soon, he would don the rank of an Imperial lieutenant.

Over the past standard year of training on Raithal, Greg had received the basic officers training designated for cadets seeking commissions. The training had been rigorous, discipline had been tight and regimented, and indoctrination had been constant. Greg had memorized a great many Imperial slogans, regulations, and dogma. Through it all, he had worked to remember from where he had come, but doing so had proved difficult. The Empire was indomitable and unstoppable. Such thoughts now came to his mind unbidden, and Greg found it a struggle to push them away.

Only weeks into his training at the academy, Greg had begun to befriend his roommate, who was a native of Aargau. The young man's name was Vox Seldon, and he had relatives on the deep core planet with political influence. Greg recalled that Vox had been intelligent and intuitive when speaking to superiors and fellow cadets. About three months into training at the academy, Vox had been dismissed from the academy, for a reason that Greg was unaware.

Vox was replaced by another young man, but the new roommate seemed without personality, preferring to keep to himself. Greg had never really trusted the new man and so did not learn much about him, other than his name. Greg could not even recall the man's name now, but then Greg had never been good with names. He knew that much of the training and indoctrination he had experienced here would last a lifetime.

Absently, Greg studied the image in the "mirror" before him. The man staring back at him seemed strange and out-of-place. His visage was one of confidence, but it also took on a slight tone of arrogance. Greg pushed that down, as he had struggled to do throughout his training. Arrogance got people killed, and Greg knew it. That same arrogance is also what he had so despised about the Imperial officers under whom he had worked during his short enlisted stint in the Imperial navy. He detected the tone of his chronometer's alert. It was time.

…

Drips of water hollowly sounded in the distance, lightly competing with the low hum of large fans even further away. Those fans moved stale air about the cavernous chambers deep beneath the mountain complex. Many years before, the complex had been constructed at great cost and labor to ensconce high-ranking military and civilian leadership in the event of major combat operations involving strategic nuclear strikes.

The overhead lamps were of the older incandescent bulbs that glowed much more dimly than would more modern fluorescent lamps, and certainly less than that of the forms of lighting available from extra-galactic technology, now flooding the planet. The floor of the cavern had been carved or blasted once upon a time and then crafted to a smooth sheen of rock surface, waxed, stripped, and then waxed again by countless enlisted personnel. Like much of the cave itself, the walls were also dimly lit, interrupted only on occasion by the now archaic incandescent lamps hanging from the cavern ceiling.

Deep inside the cavern sat a rectangular table, plain in appearance. Around the table sat a number of men, some older and a few younger. None of the men were from the same place, and in the shadows many more men were armed with an assortment of weapons. Until bidden, those men would remain in the shadows and unseen. The men at the table sat in plain, metal folding chairs, and they eyed each other thoughtfully.

"Are we yet ready for Phase Three?" queried one of the men in Basic.

All men at the table spoke Basic, as it was the common language throughout the former nations of Earth now. Only two years prior, translators would have been required at a meeting such as this, but now an extraterrestrial conqueror had forced upon them a commonality of tongue. The man who spoke was wearing a denim jacket with a polo shirt beneath. He had a brown moustache flecked with gray and a receding hairline. He normally wore glasses, but he was wearing contact lenses for this meeting. Belying his attire and appearance, the man was a general in the insurgency of his homeland, the former United States. His call-sign prior to, and then after the invasion was Lancer Six. Indeed, few outside his immediate command knew what his real name was, and so most referred to him by his call-sign.

The man to the right of Lancer Six pushed a small stack of papers toward him, and Lancer Six picked them up, flipping through them slowly.

He then looked up at the assembled group of men and added, "What are your thoughts on this?"

"We have studied the problem extensively, and what was proposed is feasible, but the consequences of failure would be catastrophic," said a man across from Lancer Six.

He recognized the Brit. The man had once worked at JAC Molesworth, and he had a reputation as a competent spook, so far as reputations in the intelligence community went. If rumors were to be believed, this particular Brit had assisted in engineering some incredibly dangerous, yet successful espionage missions against the former Soviet Union. He now served as one of the high-ranking intelligence officers in the European insurgency.

"Why are we slowing attacks in Azerbaijan," demanded a man toward one of the table ends, "When we were just starting to do serious damage to the Imperials?"

The man's dialect bespoke his Georgian heritage. Many might have assumed him to be Russian, but Georgians did not like being confused with Russians. Datshi had once served in the Soviet army as a colonel, and shortly after the breakup of the Soviet Union he had become a senior military leader in the newly independent nation of Georgia. Datshi found himself on the winning side of his nation's bloody civil war in 1995, and at the outbreak of the Empire's invasion he had been working behind the scenes to develop military ties with the West.

Datshi was an impatient man who demanded results, but he drove himself as hard as he drove others. Since the Imperial invasion, he had led forces throughout the region, spanning from southern Russia to northern Turkey. His prowess and resolve as a fierce fighter and capable leader among the Caucuses was legendary.

"The plan was always to slow fighting at the end of Phase Two, Datshi. You know that," gently chided a man to the opposite end of the table from the fiery Georgian.

Boqin had served as a senior politician in the People's Republic of China for over twelve years before the invasion of the Empire. Prior to that, he had served as a mid-level officer in the PRC Army. His skills as both a tactician and a negotiator had made him a perfect fit for a globe-spanning insurgency that was designed to appear sporadic and disorganized. Boqin had a soft spot in his heart for the Georgian on the opposite side of the table. He imagined that had they grown up in the same place and under the same circumstances, they might have become good comrades, though their personalities appeared on the surface to be polar opposites. He smiled lightly as the middle-aged Georgian lowered his steady gaze and slowly shook his head.

"Our key people are in place," said Lancer Six.

He added, "Our shaping operations have been ongoing for some time, and I think conditions for the start of the phase are now set."

He eyed the men at the table. The three others had not spoken. One man was a bulky Colombian who had been both part of the government and heavily involved in the nation's notorious drug trade. Lancer Six knew that he still was, but his drug-smuggling efforts were now aimed at the other galaxy, and his vast network of smugglers had grown exponentially, garnering ripe business as far as some of the core worlds, and more importantly pouring funds into the resistance. As usual, Javier remained silent. Lancer Six was not familiar with the other two individuals. He knew that one was a German, and the other was an Arab from Syria.

"How soon before we strike?" barked Datshi.

"Patience, my friend," said Moheb, the man from Syria.

Lancer Six smiled in spite of himself. Moheb was a quiet man, to such a degree that when he spoke it was usually welcome. In response, the Georgian again lowered his gaze, though not by much.

"We have infiltrated a number of sector fleets, but conditions are not yet set for the 'strike' our Georgian cohort desires," said the Brit whose name still eluded Lancer Six.

He continued, "Were we to act too soon, all our efforts would be for naught."

Most men at the table gravely nodded, the single lamp above the table creating shadows upon it.

"Our spies have uncovered something else," said the German who had so far remained silent.

The other men turned their attention to the man with dark brown hair and a rich, full moustache and beard. The man also sported glasses that seemed too big for his face, though the facial hair diminished that effect.

"What is the something else?" asked the Brit unnecessarily.

"The Empire had developed a powerful new weapon," replied the German.

That statement evoked some laughter from the group. What in the Empire's arsenal was not powerful enough to wipe out all humanity on the planet. That the Empire had not chosen to do so did not mean they could not do so. Amid the laughter, the German remained stoic.

"We know that the Imperials have countless kilometer-long starships capable of laying waste to the surface of this planet. Even here, we might not survive once their ships' batteries started firing upon the surface," said the Brit.

"This weapon is different," said the German gravely, and he added, "We may be forced to accelerate our plans."

…

The small figure walked slowly through the thick vegetation, using a short walking stick as he ambled toward the nearby lake. The figure slowly lowered himself on a large root of an ancient tree that partially revealed itself from the soggy ground. His large, pointed ears sagged sideways once he cast his line into the lake, in search of the evening's meal. So thick was the canopy of jungle above him that it was difficult to detect the time of day. But detect it he could.

Master Yoda had spent many years here on Dagobah, after he had lost his struggle with Darth Sidious. He was saddened that he and so many other of the Jedi masters had been blinded to the truth for so long – too long.

"Masters! Bah!" spat Yoda with disgust.

For too long had the Jedi order clung to tradition rather than seeking the truth of the Force, and in the end it had cost them dearly. So many Jedi had perished at once, and many more had been hunted down by the Emperor's pet, Vader. Yoda recalled years before the boy would turn into a monster. Young Skywalker had been angry and afraid.

"I sense much fear in you," he had told the boy.

Yoda had not wanted to accept him into the Jedi order, yet others had been convinced, believing him to be the chosen one. Yoda cast his gaze into the water as he felt something nibbling on his line. Using the Force, he guided the creature in the water toward the bait on the end of his line and pulled the hapless creature from its natural dwelling. Into his stew it would go.

Yoda shifted his gaze to the thick canopy above and dimmed his eyes. Many things, you could see through the Force. Through the Force, he had watched young Luke Skywalker, safely upon the sands of Tatooine. Vader had not yet detected the presence of the younger Skywalker. Yoda frowned as he turned his attention to the sister. She was on course to fall into the hands of a father who knew her not and would surely show her no mercy. Trigger key events, that would, but with pain and suffering … always too much suffering. He turned his gaze back to the water.

Through Yoda's acute sense with the Force, he could feel the Emperor's power growing, and a great conflict was coming, but there was something else.

Another presence made itself known, but this presence was not something to which the ancient Jedi was accustomed. It was amiss, somehow wrong, but impact upon events it would. Of that much the old master felt certain.

The old Jedi returned his attention to his small fishing line and hummed to himself. Another lake creature had gained interest in his bait, and Master Yoda allowed himself a light smile. He would dine well tonight.

"My home this is," muttered the ancient Jedi.

…

Greg studied the men before him in the pit. They looked like men one would find in the pit of any Imperial Star Destroyer, but these men had been honed and trained by Greg over the past three months. Greg sported the insignia of an Imperial lieutenant now, and he had quickly impressed his senior officers with his prowess. Most of his regiment consisted of stormtroopers aboard the ISD Courageous, but Greg did not sport the black uniform of a stormtrooper officer. He did what he had always done – work as an intelligence officer.

The ship's captain had learned of Greg's capabilities and had requested he work on the bridge of the Courageous. Greg spent much of his time in the pit going from station to station to analyze data coming in on the various machines. He was pleased to see the programs he had worked on included in the systems on which his enlisted analysts were working. The men seemed to enjoy being challenged to think and recommend courses of action to Greg, though they always distinguished his position as an officer.

Greg had been in space for two months now. Until recently, the Courageous had been patrolling the Sluis Sector with the rest of the sector fleet. Greg's crew had worked in combination with pits from three other ships to successfully stymie an attempted rebel operation in a key Imperial shipyard. From interrogations of captured Bothan spies, Greg's sector fleet then conducted a successful attack on a surprisingly large rebel fleet, leaving few survivors. Greg uncovered various pieces of intelligence that pointed to Alderaan of all places. His superiors had been dubious when he brought it up to them. The planet apparently had powerful allies in the Imperial Senate.

About three weeks ago, the Courageous broke off from its sector fleet and made way to the Kessel System. They had remained in-system since that time. Greg stepped out of the pit and walked over to the enormous view-plates of the star destroyer. Though he could not spot them with his naked eye, he knew that the other star destroyers and a plethora of smaller ships were within sensor range of each other. He also knew that all civilian traffic had been re-routed clear of this portion of space over the last two weeks.

Every couple of days, a starship would travel too close to the system, only to be met by stern warnings and sometimes warning shots from Imperial ships. Nothing other than such trivial civilian traffic had occurred however. A bright glow to Greg's right drew his attention, and he could see the edge of what he knew to be a cluster of black holes, not that he would have known what they were had he seen them, but other officers had told him of it and referred to it as, "The Maw."

Klaxons throughout the bridge of the Courageous sounded, and Greg scrambled back to the pit.

"Report!" shouted Greg to the pit NCO.

The NCO was running from station to station, and he came to attention in front of Greg.

"Sir, we are reading no enemy contacts, but a sizable fleet, and … something else is emerging from the maw."

"Something else?" asked Greg, "Can you be more specific?"

"It is very large, sir, and it is accompanying the emerging fleet, though I cannot ascertain as to how."

Greg nodded and studied the various terminals. The thing coming out of the maw was definitely huge. That couldn't be right.

Greg scrambled out of the pit and ran up to the view plates of the Courageous. The great ship had turned to face the maw, and so the giant conglomeration of black holes was visible, but he could also see the fleet coming forth from it. But there was something else – not a ship, but it was huge. He was not the only officer or enlisted man staring with his draw dropped.

"What is that thing?" exclaimed one of the junior bridge officers in wonderment.

From behind him, Greg heard the clearing throat of the ship's commanding officer. The officers turned and snapped to attention.

"That … is now the ultimate power in the universe," said the captain.