Chapter 18

He had not foreseen this – not entirely. Many things did the Force reveal to those who listened, and listening was he, always. He also knew that the Force did not reveal events, or if it did they were but images of what might be. Images came both bidden and unbidden to him as through mists, and some more clearly, and even others in dreams.

Skywalker was in the hands of Kenobi now. That, Yoda saw clearly. The future was always in motion, but he still foresaw the recovery of Skywalker's sister now upon the enormous battle station of the Empire, though not for long. Other events were transparent, or seemingly so. Yoda could distantly foresee a great battle between the Skywalker father and son, but that particular vision was not so clear as it had once been. Other visions now clouded that one, almost as many that were attempting to split apart. New visions including both father and son now introduced themselves into Yoda's mind, all with equal possibility.

The Emperor grew more powerful, and Yoda sensed he drew his power from different sources now than he had earlier envisioned. His arrogance was evident in all he did, and his hand was seen upon many events. Darkly, Yoda recalled the creation of the clone army in secret, prior to the fall of the Republic.

He had sensed the destruction of Alderaan. How could he not? It had come as a shock, and he yet reeled in horror and sadness. Such a senseless mass-slaughtering of life! Yet the new presence he felt, but no, not new. The presence was … familiar, from the past, but had been lost for a while. A Jedi was this person, but his presence in the Force was much diminished. From a terrible destruction had he but barely escaped. Of that, Yoda was certain.

The old gnome stared into the dense foliage that lent color to the gloom of his home in exile. No precipitation from above fell today, at least not in the form of anything other than that which had collected in the thick canopy above. This place was alive with the Force. He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, that place too was alive, with the Dark Side of the Force. It waited patiently for a young man to enter. No longer was the image of that particular future so certain, but perhaps a trial of a different kind waited for him. Yoda shook his head. It was too soon, and the boy was not ready.

A reptile chattered in the distance, and Yoda stirred the ground with his walking stick. He grunted to himself.

"Always in motion is the future."

…

Rows of Imperial stormtroopers stood in formation, dark gray armor glistening under artificial light. They stood at the position of attention, carbines at port arms. This was but one regiment of several within the massive training complex, and their rigorous training was now complete. Indoctrination was still ongoing, and indeed that portion of training would likely not see an end. Their gray armor denoted these troopers as set apart, and they were to perform a different function from standard Imperial stormtroopers.

The training the troopers had undergone included basic combat training provided to regular stormtroopers. Addition training the troopers had undergone included espionage, assassination, reconnaissance, counterinsurgency training, and more. The men were finely-honed tools of warfare, sharpened to a fine edge. Soon, they would be pitted against enemies of the Empire.

A man stood from a vantage point, gazing at the formation of troopers. His receding hairline and round face included what appeared to be thin black blindfold. He could not see in a physical sense, but the Force had provided vision to him that was beyond what the physical realm could provide. His was an Imperial Inquisitor, and he had also been tasked with overseeing the training of these regiments of special troopers. Through his Force vision, he could see the troopers before him. It was their absence within the Force that revealed their presence. Their training was to a level sufficient to begin their deployment throughout the galaxy, and Jerec was responsible for the final portion of their indoctrination.

He recalled the day he had first become aware of beings such as these. A young man from Sol had stood before him, terrified. Jerec's attempts to wield his considerable powers within the Dark Side of the Force against the young man had proven ineffectual. It was then that he had discovered what an asset such men could be, were his ultimate plans to come to fruition. He was a patient man, but now events were unfolding that might allow him to achieve his goal much sooner than he had anticipated.

He carefully guarded his thoughts at all times, and he knew that all times he must be cautious. The Emperor was powerful, and his ruthless agent, Vader, was ever watchful for threats. Jerec had carefully crafted his own plans, and they would have to be just as carefully executed. The slightest misstep would certainly lead to a swift and terrible end for him.

Imperial indoctrination was perfected to an art. The troopers arrayed before him were constantly bombarded by propaganda, from the time they woke up until the time they went to sleep. Even in sleep, the troopers were subjected to subliminal messages through various means. They would indeed be powerful tools in the arsenal of the Empire. He smiled inwardly, though it never reached his face.

…

"You really want to go through with this, my friend?"

"Na'am," replied the Syrian, slipping unconsciously into Arabic.

"You are needed here."

"I will be more useful there."

Datshi stared at his friend. The eastern European city was not that far from the dark caverns in which they normally met, and the effects of Fall were visible in the colorful leaves of the trees dotting the old town.

Moheb was wearing a light jacket with some older gray slacks. Datshi wore blue jeans with a long-sleeved shirt, as he usually did, his hands shoved in his pockets. Just around the corner was an Imperial recruitment center, and Datshi was now finished trying to talk his friend out of his chosen course of action.

"Go then my friend, and peace be upon you."

"En'sha'lla!"

Moheb turned to leave his friend and made his way toward the small building. Datshi watched him go. He knew they had contacts and even officers throughout the Empire, but he sighed as he watched his friend go. He was certain he would not see Moheb again.

…

Fluun felt better than he had in years. In his mind, this is what a professional regiment of Imperial stormtroopers was meant to be. The men assigned with him on this massive, mobile space station were the best of the best, second to none. Their purpose was clear, as they were tasked with maintaining peace aboard the space station itself and serving as expeditionary troopers for large-scale ground assaults.

While Fluun was certainly pleased with his quarters and other amenities to be found on the station, he was most impressed with the multiple state-of-the-art training facilities aboard the planetoid space station. Multiple firing ranges, shoot-houses, immersive holo-simulators, and challenging physical endurance courses were constantly available for groups up to battalion level.

Each stormtrooper regiment also had the opportunity to compete against one another in massive training centers that were designed to replicate any number of likely battlefield conditions. Most pleasing was the inclusion of low-intensity conflict scenarios including civilian role-players.

"Your squad will conduct a security patrol of the charlie four-nine sector," said the platoon commander.

Fluun stood around a large briefing table with other squad leaders and the platoon commander, over which a holo-projection of the training facility glowed and slowly rotated. As the platoon commander spoke, Fluun watched as the sector he had indicated glowed red. He checked his internal imaging systems to ensure the sector indicated had downloaded properly. It had, and it included details not currently shown on the holo-table. Fluun turned his attention back toward the platoon commander. While civilians and those not wearing stormtrooper armor would see just another stormtrooper, Fluun clearly saw the platoon commander's rank within the heads-up display within his visor.

"Roger, sir."

The platoon commander briefed mission criteria to the other squad leaders. Once he was done and received acknowledgement from each squad leader, he covered what the company's intelligence section had provided regarding the threat. As he spoke, the hologram showed likely enemy positions and threat areas. Automatically, Fluun checked his own internal systems to ensure threat data had been received, and he knew his fellow squad leaders were doing the same. The group was dismissed, and the squad leaders departed to provide briefings with their respective squads, conduct pre-combat checks and execute rehearsals.

At the end of the day, after Fluun dismissed his squad, he changed into his garrison clothing and headed for the nearest cantina. He was sore in a couple of places, and he absently rubbed at his left shoulder. The enemy role players were armed with real weapons, or at least they felt real. He knew that the weapons had significantly toned-down power, but they stung all the same when they hit, and if they hit in the right (or wrong) place, then the effect was a stun that would last several minutes. A stun grenade had detonated against Fluun's squad, and he had taken the brunt of the blast.

Sitting at a table, Fluun let the day's stress flow from him. He ordered a drink with light alcohol content. All alcoholic drinks available in the cantina were light in nature, and nobody was allowed more than their ration, which was strictly monitored. Even so, the moderate amount of the alcohol in Fluun's drink served to take off some of the edge. He allowed his gaze to drift to the other occupants of the cantina. Many of the occupants were in small groups, talking among themselves. Some played Sabbac, while others played holo-games or watched one of the several holo-vids playing. He turned to study other occupants, and then he froze.

Seated at one of the nearby tables were three of the brown-skinned natives of Sol in whose land he had recently been stationed. They sat together in relative silence, and Fluun strained his ears to listen. It did no good, since they were speaking the gibberish of their native land. Fluun had heard enough of it to recognize it for what it was. They were not playing Sabbac, nor did they appear interested in any other available entertainment. Studying their clothing, Fluun decided they were off-duty troopers. While he knew they were troopers like him, he still felt uneasy at their presence all the same.

One of the men facing in the direction of Fluun locked eyes with him. Fluun felt an involuntary shudder. He nodded and turned his attention back to his drink. The alcohol no longer calmed him. Taking another drink, Fluun stood and left the cantina, his drink only half finished.

…

"Within the Death Star itself?"

"Yes sir."

Greg felt it was an unconscionable breach of security. He was still reeling from the shock that the battle station had obliterated a planet recently, and now this? Reports told of an unlikely insurgent rescue attempt on the battle station. They had brought aboard a wizard with them, but Lord Vader had destroyed him. Still, it was a small team.

"And the ship escaped, you say?"

"Yes sir."

"That's not possible. That battle station has multiple fighter squadrons that would have shot that freighter out of space quickly. Moreover, its multiple turbolaser batteries would have made short work of that ship anyway, without fighters."

"Yes sir."

"They were let go."

"Sir?"

"The insurgents were allowed to escape. I just can't see why."

Greg engaged his terminal again. He rifled through some of the reports he had been gathering. Initially, reporting from that battle station had been sparse. Greg had worked with several other officers to rectify that though over the past month. General Voss would not tolerate a lack of reporting, Sith Lord or Grand Moff aboard it notwithstanding. The reports he received from the enormous battle station were limited to just a few intelligence sections, and Greg was reasonably certain it was contained within the intelligence apparatus. He logged off his computer and left the room.

Greg was one of the few junior officers who had a direct line to General Voss. Not that Greg could walk directly into the general's office, but he did have ready access to his aide, who in turn had direct access to the general. Greg used his rank cylinder to open the door to the aide's office, and a colonel looked up from his desk at him in mild annoyance. Greg did not recognize the officer.

"What do you want, captain?"

"Sir, I need to discuss a matter of some importance with General Voss."

"Really? What matter is that?"

"Sir, it has to do with the recent escape of the Millennium Falcon from the Death Star."

"I have no knowledge of that event."

"Even so, sir, I am certain the general is tracking the event, and I need to discuss details with him as soon as possible."

The colonel looked at his console and then back at Greg.

"The general will be free tomorrow around 1300. I can fit you in then."

"Sir, it is a matter of some urgency. If you could just …"

"I said, I can fit you in at 1300 tomorrow," said the colonel stonily, "now, if there is nothing else, captain."

"Yes sir," said Greg with resignation. He spun on his heel and walked quickly toward his own work area. He returned to his terminal and logged in. He had not sent any high-priority messages to the general before, but this was important. If what he thought was happening was actually taking place, then they were in very real trouble. His message screen appeared, and Greg paused. A message was blinking yellow. That was not surprising, as he often dealt with medium-priority messages. This one though was different. Tentatively, he opened the message.

Dear Greg,

We heard that you have been doing quite well, and we are all so proud of you. Pensacola just isn't the same without you here with us! You may be interested to know that your uncle is going to the big game, and he is excited since it looks like his team will have a really good chance of winning. He keeps pestering us all about the new head coach, complaining that he's afraid the coach might make some bone-headed calls and blow the game. Well, you know your uncle! Come back to visit us when you get a chance.

Love,

Ms. Elliott

Greg quickly closed the message and deleted it. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, but his men were all engaged in their own work and paid him no attention. The intent of the message was clear: They knew what he knew. They knew he knew it, and they didn't want him sharing such knowledge with his superiors. Well, he had intended to tell the general what he suspected, but that idiot aide of his had rebuffed him.

Greg's finger hovered over the terminal, ready to activate a high-priority message to General Voss. He closed his eyes. Hundreds of thousands of Imperial personnel were aboard that battle station. In the unlikely event it was destroyed, and Greg did not provide warning …then again, that battle station had recently annihilated an entire planet along with its population. But was that the fault of the men stationed aboard? Where was it headed now? Greg did not know, but he was fairly certain that the small freighter that had escaped it was being tracked, perhaps to the elusive insurgent base of operations. If they could wipe out the nest of insurgents in one swift stroke, then all this could come to an end, and peace could be restored at last.

Peace? An internal voice mocked him. What peace is that? Were planets to be wiped out at a whim to achieve such … peace? Then he recalled the recent death of his former boss, the very man who had set Greg on this course in the first place. Suddenly a piercing alarm wailed, and Greg was yanked from his reverie.

"What is that?" shouted Greg above the din.

"I don't know, sir. Let me check," replied Lieutenant Lacks as he delved into his terminal.

The alarm reminded Greg of a collision alert he had heard aboard the Imperial ship on which he had served. General Quarters drills were common aboard ship, so such an alarm was familiar to him – but he had never experienced such a drill here, nor had an alarm of any kind ever sounded here.

"Sir, come with us," said a stormtrooper who had entered the room and stepped next to Greg.

He looked to his other side and noticed that another trooper was waiting there. Greg was escorted through the halls, which were now jammed with officers, soldiers, and stormtroopers. He was hurried into the waiting room of General Voss' office. The aide was no longer at his desk. Once in the general's office, the troopers maneuvered to the far side of the room and opened the door to the general's private quarters. At the far end of that room, another door opened and Greg was ushered inside. It was an elevator. One of the troopers stepped in and activated a control with what appeared to be a rank cylinder.

"Sir, this will take you to safety."

"Safety?"

The trooper did not answer but quickly stepped out. The door closed, and Greg felt the elevator begin a rapid descent.

…

A giant Golan weapons platform spat turbolaser bolts and proton missiles at its target, the shields of the target deflecting them or absorbing their energy. Even so, it was too late to stop it. A 1600-meter wedge-shaped star ship hurtled toward the surface of Imperial Center, the atmosphere already dragging on the vessel and creating an impressive light show for anyone below who watched. Fighters swarmed about the Imperial star destroyer, pelting it ineffectually with laser cannons.

On the bridge of the mile-long ship, a stormtrooper stood with his helmet under his arm at the triangular viewing ports, gazing impassively at the swiftly approaching planet. At his feet was an Imperial officer, sprawled in death. His team had worked quickly, and they had rehearsed every last detail, including multiple branches and sequels. Nobody had expected the assault by their own stormtroopers, and his men had provided no reaction time.

The man turned to face one of the blast doors to the bridge. It was glowing in places now. The troopers on the other side were desperately cutting through the doors, but they would not be in time. He momentarily closed his eyes and then reopened them. He could feel the massive ship shuddering slightly from atmospheric drag and the relentless pounding it was taking from weapon systems intent on destroying it.

Scattered throughout the bridge were other dead Imperial officers, crewmen and stormtroopers, blast marks on various parts of their bodies. They had been caught by surprise, and so they had died quickly. Other stormtroopers – his troopers now stood at various stations, most with their helmets removed. The same was true for other critical areas throughout the ship, where control of the vessel might have otherwise been restored to the enemy. The man turned his gaze back to the view ports. His target on the surface of the planet grew quickly.

"Alla'hu Ackbar," he said softly.

…

The Emperor felt the threat before the report reached him.

"Fools!" he spat in contempt.

Did they really think this desperate gamble of theirs would work? Why did so many underestimate the Dark Side of the Force? He reached out through the Force to seize control of the men controlling the ship, and … nothing! His smile was replaced by a grimace. He activated a control in the armrest of his chair.

"Yes, my Lord?" came a voice over the speaker.

"An Imperial capital ship is attempting to ram this facility from space. Destroy it."

"Uh … yes … my lord!"

The intercom cut out. What those on that ship could not know was that the Emperor's palace was protected by a powerful energy shield. Their efforts would prove futile. Still, it would be best if they were destroyed.

"My lord!" cried a voice from the speaker.

"What is it?"

"We need to evacuate you immediately!"

"Do not be a fool, commander. They cannot penetrate our shield."

"My lord! The shield … it's not active!"

"What do you mean?"

"The shield is down, and we cannot activate it!"

The Emperor wasted no time. He quickly arose and headed to his elevator. Two Imperial guardsmen robed in red fell in at his side. He would deal with this treachery soon enough.

…

A massive spherical space station dropped out of hyperspace.

"Sir, we have entered the Yavin system."

"Very good," replied the officer. He turned to report to Grand Moff Tarkin.

"Sir!"

The officer stopped and turned to face another crewman, who had shouted.

"What?"

"We have received a coded dispatch from Imperial Center."

"Well?"

…

The Rebel Alliance had waited long for this day. All events were falling into place, even though this was an awful gamble. If they failed, then the Rebel Alliance would be destroyed, and the Empire would be strengthened. The plans for the Death Star had revealed a weakness that could be exploited to destroy the mammoth space station, but it would rely on small star fighters and very good targeting.

Throughout the Rebel base, men at various consoles tracked the movement of the giant armored space station as it maneuvered toward the planet of Yavin at sublight speed.

Other Rebel officers crowded around a table and transparent wall charts, busily creating notations and entering data into terminals. The pilots had been briefed and were ready for their mission. Most of them knew it was a desperate mission, and they knew the odds of survival were slim. Even so, while many of them were extraordinarily nervous, they were in high spirits. They would soon launch.

"Sir!"

An Alliance officer turned to face the young man peering into a console.

"Yes?"

"The Death Star … it has turned away from us. It's going into hyperspace."

"What? Why?" He suddenly felt foolish for asking the question, since the young man would be as clueless as he. The officer hurried through the command center to report to the general.

"Why would they do this?" asked a puzzled Leia. The rest of the command staff looked about, but each face revealed only puzzlement.

"Surely, they tracked the Falcon to our location, and their scans would have quickly revealed what was here," replied the base commander.

"We need to find out what happened," said Leia needlessly.

"I agree, your Highness. But even though that Death Star has departed the system, we can be certain they have reported our position to the rest of the Imperial fleet. I believe we will soon get a great number of unwanted visitors."

"Of course you're right, Commander. Prepare for evacuation."

In the pilot ready room, the announcement was made, and the sense of relief among the Rebel pilots was almost palpable. While many had been itching for the upcoming fight, the pilots also had a good idea of the odds they were to face. They stood up and milled about, as the room steadily emptied. Luke Skywalker spotted Biggs Darklighter.

"Well, it looks like we'll have a chance to catch up on old times after all."

"Yeah, looks like we do."

Elsewhere in the ruins of the ancient temple, a small Corellian freighter was preparing to depart. Han Solo collected the credits awarded him for rescuing the princess, and now he felt a great sense of relief. He recalled the conflict he had felt within at leaving these foolish people to their fate. Well, fate it seemed had a different plan, and they would live to see another day. Meanwhile, he had a debt to pay.

"Ready to go, Chewie?"

The Wookiee growled the affirmative.