Galaxies Apart
Eighteen
"How much?!"
"Three hundredweight," Han repeated. "And let me tell you, that much corrosite doesn't just drop into your lap. Which is just as well, because it would blow a hole in whatever continent you were on at the time if it did..."
He took a long draught of something relaxing and considerably intoxicating and relaxed. After the Rancor and Jabba, sitting in the Falcon's communal area with some re-imagined mynock tranquiliser solution was feeling scandalously good.
His Jedi friend didn't seem to be enjoying himself so much. He was ignoring the rules of Han's Happy Hour by ingratiatingly engaging Solo in conversation every few minutes.
Not that there wasn't a few thousand questions Han would have liked to ask the youth himself - but his every attempt at subtle interrogation had been sidestepped so neatly Han was starting to suspect the young man had training in politics.
The Jedi whistled. "I thought you were bluffing at Jabba's...!"
"I never bluff," Han lied.
"Master Solo, sir!"
Han sank back a little into his seat. "Great," he said softly.
The droid bustled in a few moments later. Threepio was acting the part of thrilled housekeeper. To be fair, it had been years since they'd had anything approaching a guest on the ship.
"Can I get either of you anything?" Threepio gushed, "We appear to have copious amounts of Sullustan brandy in storage..."
Han skewered the droid with one look. "If you touch," he began, slowly and dangerously, "the Sullustan brandy I will disassemble you and rewire you in the shape of my choosing. Do you understand?"
The droid's stiffened. This time the movement had nothing to do with mechanical failures. "Well I never...of all the rude..." he huffed, and stormed off as fast as his servo motors would allow.
As he left Han noticed that the Jedi was scowling at him. Seemingly Han's dismissal of Threepio hadn't gone down well.
"I didn't think there was any need for that."
"Last time Goldenrod took the notion to serve me drinks he broke three bottles of before we stopped him. Stuff ain't cheap."
"Threepio broke three bottles?"
Weird. To hear the Jedi talk you'd think he knew the droid personally. Han briefly went over how they'd had to re-create Threepio from Artoo's counterpart files, how they'd managed to 'obtain' a blank unit.
Apart from occasional, short questions - the answers to which lay outside Han's knowledge about droids - the young man just sat there, taking it in. Han abruptly tired of talking about Threepio. He wanted answers.
"Where do you want me to let you off?"
That got a reaction. "I suppose you're wondering who the hell I am."
"You suppose right. I'm not accustomed to strangers I've never laid eyes on risking their hides for me."
Though there's something maddeningly familiar about you…
The Jedi sighed, seeming to realise that the time had come. Han felt himself tense. Just what he was going to hear here? Just who was this?
As always, Chewie seemed to read his mind. The Wookiee came striding in from the cockpit and sat down between Han and the Jedi, growling low and softly. You didn't have to speak Wookiee to get the message.
"Before I tell you what I'm going to tell you, promise me you'll hear me out, right to the end, before you ask questions. No-" the Jedi interrupted, seeing Han about to respond, "listen, Han, please. Because I guarantee you that you're not going to believe me, whatever you say now."
Han spread his hands. "You risked your hide for me. That buys you at the very least some listening time. I'll shut up for as long as you keep talking."
He sat back.
The Jedi began his tale.
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Dagobah had been a home to Yoda for many, many years and home to Luke Skywalker for much, much too long.
He was, to put it mildly, glad to finally be seeing the back of it. The Privateer felt more like home than the muddy, murky swamps had for the duration of his stay. He was looking forward to training with the seeker balls again, rather than the more…unorthodox methods Yoda had been so fond of.
Running with the little alien strapped to his back he could get used to, along with most of the physical trials. Yoda had been pleased with his progress in these, insofar as Luke could tell.
But the psychological teaching...the philosophy...Luke had tried, he had really tried, to get his head around the Jedi lore Yoda was trying to impart upon him. From what he could discern, it seemed that the Jedi worked incredibly hard to maintain powers that under almost all circumstances they were completely forbidden from using.
And then there had been the cave...
He had emerged from that pit of blackness pale, ashen, convinced he'd been gone for days. Only ten minutes had passed outside. Yoda had said nothing, asked nothing, only taken him back to the hut and made him soup which he had gulped down, grateful to have anything warm inside him.
They had never spoken of what Luke might have seen within, and if Luke had his way they never would.
But the cave wasn't the problem. He'd come to Dagobah to train under Yoda, achieve the rank of Jedi Knight. And yes, so the planet and Yoda for that matter hadn't been what he'd expected. But he had trained nonetheless.
Until yesterday. Until her.
For some reason, Yoda had been more excited at her mere presence than he'd shown since Luke had dropped from orbit. He had listened to her pre-prepared speech from Palpatine about going back to him and had accepted, which had surprised her and Luke in equal measure.
Accepted on one condition. That he was allowed to make a journey first. Jade had 'consulted' alone for an hour or so and then assented, on her own condition that she was allowed to come along. Yoda accepted. And that was that - without so much as a request, Luke had been shanghaied into ferrying the Jedi Master and the Emperor's Hand on this mysterious errand.
Luke had prodded for clues; after all, he reasoned, if they were using his ship he had a right to know where they were headed. Yoda had told him nothing.
Visually inspecting the Privateer's hull prior to takeoff, Luke's senses sang.
She was watching him.
He'd never felt a mind like hers, never encountered such a coiled and alert personality. He got the feeling she didn't like him, but treated this as an honour; most people, he suspected, didn't even register to her enough for her to form an opinion of them.
It would be an interesting trip.
"I will need to store my vessel in your cargo hold," she said, before lapsing back into expectant silence.
"No problem. Once we're in orbit you can dock."
"Very well."
She walked away. Luke sagged in relief without fully realising he was doing so.
An hour later, two engine trails condensed in the sun. Luke piloted the Privateer into orbit, troubled even as Yoda sat beside him, as placidly beatific as ever.
Before this trip was over, he vowed, he'd find out why Yoda was so reluctant to give answers.
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"Endor," said the Emperor.
Ston frowned, his perma-smile cracking a little under the strain. His white fingers gripped the official aide book a little tighter. Ston had been the Emperor's most trusted assistant for a long time.
A record time, in fact.
"Ahm…I'm really not sure if Endor is on any of the Imperial lists, sir," he ventured, trembling slightly, "normally protocol dictates that Victory Day takes place on a world in the Core…"
Palpatine ignored him. He liked that. Being ignored by the Emperor was much more preferable than having his full and complete attention. "Endor…is significant," the Emperor said eventually. "It will be Endor."
"The Grand Admirals have voted unanimously for Imperial Prime in the Core sectors. However the expansionist unions have been making some serious waves for holding it outside the Core; in fact they want it held right here in Coruseeerrrpp-"
He couldn't breathe. He was forced to stare into those terrible yellow eyes. "Endor," Palpatine repeated.
Ston hurried from the room. Palpatine had forgotten he existed even before he had picked himself up from the floor. Mara Jade's latest data was giving him a lot to think about.
Yoda had no sooner heard of the Emperor's fears than he was rushing off to some secret sanctum of the Force. If that was the case, why had he allowed Mara to accompany him on the trip?
It was only too tempting to underestimate Yoda, but it would be fatal to do so. He would sense Mara was in contact with her master through the Dark Side, and yet he was happy to have her come along with him. Did that mean this place wasn't so important after all?
After all, the Empire had been systematically hunting down all such places for a very long time - surely it was unlikely they'd missed anything of great significance.
Mara would do her job, like she always did. What unsettled him much more was the unexpected presence of Skywalker. Since the destruction of Yavin IV, Palpatine had been visited with nightmares, usually with Luke Skywalker in a starring role.
Destiny swirled around him, just as it had done with his father. Yavin IV shouldn't have happened; Palpatine knew that. What made matters considerably worse, though, was that the Force knew it too.
Unless he was wrong, the Force would adapt to the new scenario created by the time discrepancy, and would fight to reassert the correct order of things. The Force would be with the Rebel Alliance. As powerful as he was, even he could not stand against the power of the Force.
Or could he?
Could one man oppose the will of the Force and win? The Jedi lore said no. But the Force had been bypassed by a new concept - time travel. It could rewrite the events that the Force set in motion. And there was always the Dark Side; that half of the Force which longed to bring chaos.
Endor, now. Endor was important. His prophecies of old, before the blackout three years ago, had spoken of a great and final confrontation at Endor, with the fate of the galaxy in the balance.
He'd seen the second Death Star there too; seen himself residing within. Glimpsed the Rebels, Skywalker and Solo among them. The dead princess too.
If his plan was to work, he'd have to adhere to parallel events in the original timeline as closely as possible.
He'd have to contact Sluis Van, and give Fleet Admiral Thrawn on his…the Emperor smirked…new command. It should be entertaining.
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"My Lord," Thrawn said. Behind him Commodore Jurstt and Captain Pellaeon stood to attention.
The huge holographic representation of Palpatine's skeletal features flickered. "Fleet Admiral. The time has come to congratulate you on your official assumption of command of the Empire's finest-"
"My Lord, the Death Star has been stolen." Thrawn interrupted.
For several seconds the only sounds were the minute fzz of data transmission and one human shaking.
Palpatine's face was terrifying to behold. "The explanation for this, Fleet Admiral, had better be phenomenally good."
Thrawn remained almost supernaturally placid. "If you seek to assign blame, then it must be placed on my shoulders alone. I was responsible for the safety of the Palpatine as soon as I accepted the post. As for how it was accomplished, it was a combination of excellent tactics and carefully orchestrated infiltration of the Imperial operation. Executed with perfect synchronisation by Admiral Ackbar."
The cowl of the Emperor's hood failed to hide the pure rage contained in those scarred, pale features. "Am I to understand you allowed a notorious Rebel commander and histroops aboard my flagship? You admit to this freely? Were you so blind as to allow the miserable, pathetic Alliance to outthink you, with the resources of an entire shipyard at your beck and call!"
Pellaeon made to step forward to his superior's defence, ready to speak up on behalf of an officer who had come interminably close to destroying the Death Star.
Commodore Jurstt did it first. The fat man was sweating profusely and most probably scared out of his wits, but he was prepared to stand behind Thrawn when it mattered. Pellaeon nodded in approval. A glorified shift boss, but perhaps a good man after all.
"Master," he gasped, terror the catalyst for every word, "you don't know the full story. Fleet Admiral Thrawn could have done nothing about the theft. But he came within a whisker of destroying the Death Star and crushing the Alliance. His improvised tactics were nothing short of stunning, sir. In my opinion, this man is the best hope we have of neutralising this new…Rebellion threat…."
His speech tailed off.
There was a horrifying silence.
Pellaeon felt a pit open in his stomach as he watched those huge holographic silhouettes of pupils slide slowly over to where Jurstt stood. He saw Thrawn's shoulders slump for the first time.
Jurstt merely blinked furiously, uncomprehending.
No, Pellaeon thought desperately, please. Don't shatter my illusions about the Empire. He didn't mean any disrespect - can't you see that? He's a decent officer, damn you.
"Commodore Jurstt," the Emperor said.
"Yes, Master?"
"I don't believe I asked for your opinion."
And there was a snap.
Jurstt's body seemed to take an eternity to hit the floor. Even from six feet away Pellaeon could see how violently the neck had been broken. Shattered on a whim from a man thousands of light-years distant. Cold-blooded murder, nothing more. He closed his eyes, and felt something inside him die too.
"I do choose to blame you, Commander Thrawn. You are hereby demoted and reassigned. I will personally see to it that you never see command again. Consider yourself fortunate that I choose not to go further."
The transmission ended.
Pellaeon was frozen to the spot. Thrawn was not. He moved to Jurstt and rearranged the man's body into something resembling human. Pellaeon watched him do it.
Thrawn had just been demoted to such a level that Pellaeon was now by far his superior officer. To hell with that, he thought.
"Sir?" he said at last.
Thrawn turned. Pellaeon's heart chilled; whatever expression of rage the Emperor had just assumed, it couldn't hold a candle next to Thrawn's white-hot fury. The man seemed about to explode.
The mask of madness vanished. "Relax, Captain," Thrawn assured him. "You have nothing to fear from me. It would seem that you also have no reason to refer to me as sir."
Still in shock, Pellaeon found he could not tear his eyes from Jurstt's broken body. "Why?" he asked.
"Never forget what you have seen here today," Thrawn replied. "My career is now over; yours, however, will go onwards."
"Of course," Pellaeon said softly.
Thrawn shook his head. "How could I have been so blind? How could I have thought his motives were anything other than they have always been?"
"Sir?" Pellaeon asked.
"Captain, there is no need for-"
"Yes there is," Pellaeon cut him off.
"I may need your help," Thrawn told him.
As Imperial officers raced to them, having finally seen the body of Commodore Jurstt, Pellaeon nodded without hesitation.
"You'll have it," he said.