Chapter 6: To End the Wars

Through the dark night Tyron walked; hands behind his back. There was no moon out, as it was the new moon. But, the hovering lanterns of the Amdarian Gardens cast light onto the scene, as did many of the plants here. This had been a favorite spot for him back during the height of the Empire, and not even lovers he had been with had ever been with him there. This was his spot. His place to go and think.

Unlike the Imperial Gardens, the Amdarian Gardens were much smaller, only about five acres in all. But, this was unique in the fact that these were all rare plants. He had seen Thorngarian trees that were all but extinct on Him Lick V. There were patches of grass here that changed color as heat came and went.

As he walked, he came across a flower. It was a new addition to the garden and he bent low to look at it. It was a Rodarian Sunflower. Only twelve were known to exist, and how there was one here was beyond his reckoning. They soaked rays of the sun and every night a different color was shown in the leaves, illuminating in the dark.

"Why hello there," he said, gently touching it. It was considered extremely good luck to find one and luck would follow all the remaining days of one's life. He wasn't given to superstition, but he liked that story.

"Does this mean I get luck the rest of my life?" he asked, chuckling at the idea.

"I wouldn't count on that," came a snarl and he looked up to see five figures approaching him.

He couldn't see their races, as the dark surrounded them. But that mattered not. He had been one of those children that had been bullied a ton, and he more than once had come home with a broken nose or cracked rib to his childhood home on the planet Er'Kit in the disputed territories. It had given him an internal alarm system which would sound at the sign of impending danger and it was blaring now as loudly as klaxons on a bridge during battle.

But, he slowly stood and brushing of his clothing smiled at them. There was no need to put these gentlemen on any edge. "Evening," he called out, "Come to enjoy the Gardens? This is actually my favorite place on Coruscant."

"We really don't care what you like or not," an Ithorian spoke. He knew it was an Ithorian because of the guttural pattern in his speech. That and the shape of the shadow that his presence cast in the dark.

"I see you have a Basic translator device installed in your throat," he said, appearing as calm as he could. His many years of politicking had allowed him to gain composure few seldom had. "I hope it wasn't too painful. I have heard the process can be excruciating."

He heard the throats of the Ithorian open and close; a sure sign of intense agitation. His alarms were going off every more than usual. How he wished that he had some loyal wookies around right now! No, there was no need to want aliens to protect him.

"Thank your Empire for that!" the Ithorain snapped, the air from his windpipes gusting forth as he spoke every word in anger, "I was forced into the Kessel Mines. The overseer there didn't like anyone not being able to speak Basic. The 'surgery' performed still gives me infections."

"And let me guess?" he smirked in the dark, "I am the target for your disgust and hatred. I'm sorry, but you must understand, not every Imperial is guilty for every crimes of the Empire. Not is every crime linked to the Empire."

"But the whole empire isn't here," another one pointed out, "But you are."

The figures continued moving forward threateningly. He could now see that at least one had a board in his hands. He slowly stepped back. The one thing you never do with predators is run from them. It only encourages them. But, you also don't want to appear confrontational. It was a catch twenty-two of the most dire proportions.

"I warn you," Tyron said calmly, refusing to give any provocation to these barbarians, "I am the head of a government. Gives me diplomatic immunity. Which, in your layman's terms, is you can't touch me."

The group chuckled at him. He was getting a very bad feeling about this. Why did people always have to chuckle before they decide to start the beating up?

"We ain't no diplomats," the first spoke again, "And we plan on having fun tonight. Sorry, you seem like a nice enough gent."

"Thanks, I guess," he replied, and moved his hand towards his side blaster he always carried with him. Only to find…he didn't have it on him. How did this happen?

"Figures," he muttered to himself.

A blaster rang out in the night and he turned to see a Commando stepping forward, his cloak dropping. He was pointing his blaster rifle at the group. A mixture of relief and annoyance swept through Tyron. He was annoyed that Pealleon had failed to follow his orders, but he had to admit, he was glad that he had.

"Alright now!" the helmet modulated voice ordered, "Just back away and no one gets hurt. This is your only warning. Aaagh!"

He screamed as a blade pierced through his back. An arm grabbed the top of his helmet, yanked it back, and a long curved blade slid across, slicing through his throat. As the trooper dropped to the ground, dead, in his place stood a figure not much taller than the average human, but with a very skinny frame but bulbous head. The lantern flickered for a second as power fluctuated.

"A blood carver?" he growled, alarmed more than ever, "Now this makes perfect sense. Your kinds violence tendencies are absorbed by those around you. That's why the Empire banished your kind."

"And now the fine for that crime must be paid," the Blood Carver said, his voice sounding as if spoken through a pipe.

"You chose a bunch of misfits from the dregs of society to help you carry out your summary judgment against me?" Tyron bellowed in laughter, slapping his knee, "You are simply too much."

With that he turned and began to run. But, he hadn't gotten more than ten steps when a roaring bellow was followed by a massive wave of supersonic waves of air. He heard plants being torn from the ground before he was hit hard by the blast and feeling like a giant hand had swatted him was thrown hard into a Tiberian Thorn tree. He collapsed on his back, the thorns having punctured his skin in many places. The thorns weren't long enough to be lethal, but they still hurt a ton.

He grunted and tried to push himself up. He wasn't stunned (well, not a ton) and he knew he had to get moving. It was the only way he'd survive.

But before he could push himself up, a board was slamming down on his chest. A couple ribs broke from the impact of wood against bone. He grunted but snatched the board and tried to pull himself up and the man (who he now saw was a human) tried to pull back for another swing. Once he had been lifted slightly, he rammed his head into the man's gut.

The human doubled over and he swung his fist, punching him in the kidney. The man bent over further, coughing up blood. But a fist caught him in the nose, and he stumbled backwards as an unusually small Kamonian charging him to punch him again. But he kicked hard at the Kaminoan's knee and she bent over. But the other three jumped him.

Grabbing his arms, they yanked them behind him and the Ithorian proceeded to punch him continuously in the stomach. He tried to pull his legs up to kick him, but the human slammed his board into the legs as they began to rise.

"Move back," commanded the Blood Carver and with a scowl the Ithorian moved aside. The Blood Carver walked forward, rubbing the blades against each other. The sound was what the Blood Carvers called the 'Music of Blood'. It was famous for the fact few lived to speak of it.

He stepped up, his feet high and pressed the blades against his throat. The touch of steel was sharp, and the very touch split the flesh. He could feel tiny droplets of flood leaking down the neck.

"Nothing personal," he said, "But you must die."

Just then, a snap-hiss was heard and a bar of green light swept the head off the Blood Carver. As he collapsed, the green lightsaber slashed the hands off the Ithorian and cut the board the human had in half. With a pull of the Force, the Grand Moff was pulled from the hands of his captured and moved to the side, where he was left to roll across the ground and settle into the ground, collapsed from his injuries.

"I am a Jedi Knight," the voice of the wielder said, the voice commanding and seeming to be endowed with power and he lifted a single hand, "And in the name of the Living Force I serve, I command you. AWAY!"

The five living attackers were pushed back and flew backwards. Further they flew, and with screams they soared over the low wall and into the street beyond. There was the sound of them crashing and then howling in pain and terror they fled. Tyron blearily looked up at the figure who remained standing like a sentinel. Finally, the lightsaber shut down.

"Sky-Skywalker?" Tyron asked, bent over and coughing blood.

"Lie still," the Jedi said, moving to kneel by him. He placed a hand on his shoulder and with a gasp of pain; the Moff could feel his bones knitting together and the pain decreasing from his injuries. Soon, there was no pain at all.

"Thanks," Tyron said, gingerly feeling his ribs, "You have done the Empire a great service."

"No," Skywalker shook his head, "I have done peace a great service. Your life has great value for the future, if you will walk with me."

He looked up at Skywalker's eyes and saw great power there. Greater than he had seen before. He had seen similar power in the eyes of Palpatine, but that had been filled with great anger and hate. Skywalker had a peace that was becoming.

"Do I have a choice?" he asked.

"None, Your Excellency," Skywalker smiled.

"Then by all, means," Tyron held out his hand and Luke taking it pulled him up, "Lead the way."

Skywalker turned and liked a specter walked with evenly measured strides through the garden. Tyron followed him, wondering where the security on Coruscant was. Surely the violence would have been picked up. Had this attack happened back during the Emperor's reign, someone would have paid a heavy price for the violence. But, that was then. A more civilized time.

They continued to walk, heading near the north-eastern corner of the garden were a pond was located. A wall of Melgok hedges surrounded it from three sides, but the pond was large enough that a small walkway lead to a small water-house that stood above the center. Over the walkway they walked and they entered the porch, the young lovers that had been there before them leaving upon seeing them.

They leaned against the railing, and looked out at the pond. The sounds of the traffic from the hovercraft lanes could be heard, but only as a dim backdrop to what they were doing. And what were they doing? Tyron looked over at Skywalker. He wanted to talk, but the Jedi Master was simply leaning against the railing.

"What is on your mind?" he finally asked, tired of waiting for him to speak.

"Who poisoned Moff Dray?"

Tyron frowned. "Come again?" he asked.

"Moff Dray was poisoned by an organic substance made to resemble the virus he was diagnosed with," Skywalker replied, not looking at him, "Who poisoned him?"

"I have no idea," Tyron shrugged, "Rendaran Syndrome. That's what he was diagnosed with and I have no reason to doubt our doctors. I have no idea where you'd get the impression he was poisoned. Why would you say that?"

The Jedi waited, seeming to weigh the information in his mind. Finally, he seemed to shake his head, casting aside the matter.

"The future," Skywalker said, changing the topic, "I have had a vision, Your Excellency. If the war continues, billions more will perish. We shall see deadly weapons the likes that will make the Death Stars seem nothing more than childs' play. Darkness shall sweep upon us afterwards. The war must be resolved."

"That's why we are here," Tyron shrugged, "Working out a treaty."

"Not soon enough I'm afraid," Skywalker shook his head, "Nor what we need. I have a proposal that if you agree to it, could end the war tomorrow."

"Tommorow, eh?" the politician chuckled, amused by such an idea. "You are either delusional or mad."

Skywalker let a small smile spread across his face. "Or something like that," he conceded. The fact that he acknowledged it intrigued him.

"Okay," Tyron said, "I'm game. What is your plan?"

Skywalker continued to look out, not turning to him. "First will be a provision that will allow each world that has a population on it to decide what side they will join. And any world within the Republic or Empire that wishes to side with the other should be allowed to without repercussions. We've already covered so far the non-populated worlds."

"Fair enough," he said, liking it so far, "That's what I was hoping for at any rate."

"Second will be the return of all prisoners," Skywalker continued, as if the Grand Moff hadn't said anything.

"That's a given."

"Third will be the opening of trade routes between our people. We must let the healing process begin immediately."

Tyron looked at him, unsure of what to say. Over ten years of constant warfare and this Luke Skywalker character thought trade was going to happen between the two powers? Surely he was joking. This wasn't a joking matter.

"Are you sure that's so wise?" Tyron asked, not convinced if that was right, "We'll end up killing each other."

"A risk at first," Skywalker conceded, "But peaceful coexistence should go along ways to easing the tensions. We need to strength the peace by all means at our disposal."

"Any more of these provisions?" the Grand Moff asked, half mocking and half serious.

"You will end the hunting of the Jedi Knights that are within Galactic Imperial space," Skywalker said, "That I must insist upon. I must also be allowed to cross your border freely to find these people."

"Again are you sure that is wise?" Tyron asked, the whole proposition seeming more and more wild by the second, "A Republic General roaming through our space freely? Jedi who caused the Clone Wars not to be tried and punished? My people will not stand for it."

"Let me deal with that," the Jedi said.

"Why this about the Jedi?" he asked, the hurriedly added, "Of course you are a Jedi and you sympathize with your brethren. But that is strictly Imperial policy and have nothing to do with the war. It's the very foundation of Imperial society."

"I disagree," he held up a hand, "It has everything to do with this war. The Jedi stood as the guardians of peace and justice for a thousand years. More disputes were ended with Jedi words than the blaster because of what they did. I plan to make a new order of Jedi. This New Order will allow us to keep the peace. Imagine it. Jedi keeping pirates at bay and helping keep the wars to a minimal."

"You really are crazy," Tyron laughed, doing his best to be polite. But entertaining a mad man was a troubling prospect.

"And last," Skywalker said, holding up a small data chip, "You will make Adol Ha emperor of the Galactic Empire. He is the only one that will keep your alliance together. While I have no love for the Empire, a strong empire is better than a quarter of the galaxy at continual war. Here is his last know coordinates."

Tyron looked at him suspiciously and took the data chip. Skywalker had been so adamant before about not giving his location. He had thwarted his attempts to get them before, even when he had used the exact same argument against him.

And now? He was no fool and didn't like things that contradicted the norm he'd seen in others. But, as he looked at Luke, he noticed the man was quiet serious.

"You really are serious," he said, "Aren't you?"

Skywalker turned to him. Immense sadness was in his eyes, the memory of so much loss and death evident in his eyes and bearing. It was impossible to gauge the Jedi's mind, but it was quiet obvious. They were both men bred for war. And that war needed to be concluded.

"I am," he said, "We must end the war, Your Excellency. Will you join me in ending it?"

Luke held out his hand. Tyron looked at it and for a second it wasn't clear if he'd take it. It was a weighty thing being propositioned. But he finally swallowed his pride and took Luke's hand. He could feel the power surging through the Jedi Knight as if it were something tangiable. Something to be felt and to be gained.

"This is so crazy it might just work, Master Jedi."