Galaxies Apart
Thirty Four
Coruscant from orbit never failed to stir pride in him. It truly was the jewel in the Imperial crown. Which made what they were about to do all the more breathtaking.
"Our orders have arrived, Admiral," Pellaeon spoke quietly. "We're to take point with the Death Star."
Admiral Thrawn nodded. "An act of good faith from Tarkin."
Pellaeon kept his thoughts to himself, but as ever all Thrawn needed was a look to see exactly what was going through his mind. "Tarkin no longer sees me as a threat to him, Captain. So long as that persists, he will prove to be an excellent ally. Now…bring us in, Captain, if you please."
Falling back into comforting parade-ground efficiency, Pellaeon barked orders at the helmsman. The Chimaera, newly minted from Sluis Van and presented to its new CO in secret mere days earlier, obeyed his commands by adopting an approach path that would synchronise it with the Death Star.
Pellaeon regarded his tactical readouts. The resident system defence fleet at Coruscant was spreading out, to accommodate the new arrivals. Events were proceeding precisely to schedule.
"Comms," Thrawn broke into his thoughts, his voice icily calm. "Get me Grand Moff Tarkin. Priority channel."
Pellaeon frowned across at the Grand Admiral. Tarkin had specifically requested that Thrawn maintained radio silence until the signal for action was given; hearing the unmistakable tones of the Emperor's personally deposed persona non grata over the Imperial network would be a red flag to Coruscant listeners that something was not quite right.
"Captain," Thrawn continued, bringing his gaze to bear directly upon him as the Comms officer scurried to comply with his earlier request, "raise the shields."
Every head on the bridge turned to stare.
"Sir?" Pellaeon said numbly.
For the first time since he'd met him, Thrawn's eyes contained a hint of menace. "Raise the shields, Captain. Now."
Feeling slightly light-headed, Pellaeon complied.
"I have Grand Moff Tarkin, sir," the Comms officer said a heartbeat later. Surprise surprise, Pellaeon thought grimly. Thrawn had just ruined any hope of surprise this attack ever had. Tarkin would be apoplectic with rage.
"Thrawn!" Tarkin's voice thundered. "What in blazes do you think you're-"
"Surprise is no longer a factor, Grand Moff," Thrawn cut him off calmly. "Coruscant's system fleet has been encircling us since we arrived."
Pellaeon stared out the transparisteel windows of the Chimaera's bridge in disbelief, before finally confirming what he was seeing with a glance at his tactical readout of the system's Imperial forces. He'd seen no-
The bridge shuddered. Green turbolaser fire peppered the shields. Pellaeon absorbed the horrifyingly fascinating sight of the Star Destroyer Relentless moving broadside to their position, its turbolaser batteries pumping destruction unerringly in their direction.
"We have been betrayed," Thrawn continued, tonelessly.
Given the short length of time from the Chimaera raising shields, there was no way that the Relentless would have taken this course of action - had it not always been the intention.
Tarkin was no fool. "All ships, all captains - to battle!" he called. "Shields up! Drive for Coruscant! We make planetfall within the hour!"
The stirring speech would have to wait for some other time. Tarkin watched his bridge crew go to work, opening up the Death Star's considerable firepower upon his own former comrades. There was the small matter of victory.
His fingers curled into his chair.
And of finding a traitor.
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"They have anticipated your ambush," Ben pointed out mildly.
Palpatine's mood was not improved by this observation. He felt the darkness radiating out from the Emperor's throne. Those yellowed eyes regarded him coolly. "A small matter," Palpatine told him, before flicking comm switches disguised into the armrest.
Ben had no doubt that every single significant player in the Imperial network was hardwired into that throne's comms array. A sense of grandeur with a keen respect for practicality.
A holo flickered into existence.
"Commodore Hierro," Palpatine greeted the man's visage.
Even through the imperfections of his holo-image, Hierro was clearly feeling the pressure of talking to the most powerful man in the galaxy for the first - and the thought was no doubt crossing his mind, possibly the final - time. "Yes, my Lord?"
"Raise the planetary shield. Our Fleet are seeking to make planetfall."
Emotions fought for dominance over Hierro's face, not least of which was self-preservation. "Sir..." he said, his throat dry, "...several of our Star Destroyers are passing through the boundary now. In a few moments-"
"In a few moments, we may be overrun with traitors at the gates of the Palace. Raise shields, Commodore. I will not ask again."
Those last four words were said so politely, so matter-of-factly, that the cold certainty of murderous intent behind them was somehow all the more stark. Ben watched, rapt, as Hierro weighed his own life against the life of tens of thousands of Imperial troops aboard those doomed Star Destroyers, oblivious to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
"Yes, my Lord," Hierro said eventually. His holo vanished.
Palpatine brought those eyes to bear upon Ben. "True power, my young Apprentice, " he said with obvious relish "lies not in a superlaser blast, but in the moulding of the hearts and minds of those who serve you. Remember that."
Ben nodded. "I will...my Master."
Palpatine sat back, satisfied for the moment. "Come to me, Vader," he said softly. "Come...if you dare."
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The last three seconds of Lieutenant Barron's life - along with the thirty-four thousand other troops stationed aboard his and the other four Star Destroyers flying through the space usually occupied by the planetary shield - began with the thought: where's all the blue coming from?
It was surrounding everything. He had time, just enough time, to stare at himself in a reflection of a transparisteel bulkhead emitting a coronal glow like some sort of azure angel, just enough time to wonder if this was some sort of new maneouvre his CO had neglected to inform him about, before his skin began to boil.
Actually there wasn't enough time for his skin to begin to do anything. The fringes of the planetary energy shield materialising around him, through him and the entire section of the Star Destroyer he was in, a shield capable of withstanding turbolaser assault from most of the Imperial fleet, a shield backed by Coruscant's truly leviathan power generators meant that Lieutenant Jarak Barron, once of Sluis Van, went from person to disassociated group of protons and electrons in an eyeblink.
Sliced in half, bisected by the energy shield, his Star Destroyer erupted in flame. The top half detonated uselessly against the newly-formed planetary shield, its enormous grid easily coping with the re-distribution of the energy burst.
Its bottom half, though mostly destroyed by fire and explosion, nonetheless retained enough of its bulk to begin to be claimed by Coruscant's gravity well.
On the surface of the ecumenopolis, shadows began to form. Coruscant's population density was nothing short of legendary. The untold millions of its citizens who found themselves within those gigantic, growing shadows had longer than Lieutenant Barron to deduce their fates, as the carcasses of shattered Star Destroyers hurtled from low orbit to smash catastrophically into the surface of Coruscant.
That extra time did not do them any good.
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"Can you feel it?" Palpatine hissed, his eyes closed, his face rapt.
Ben could. A wave of the Dark Side pulsed from the epicentre of each explosion, as millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror and were silenced in fire and death, a wave that throbbed through every fibre of his being. A Jedi would have been debilitated, close to incapacitated perhaps upon experiencing such a phenomenon.
For a Sith, it was nothing short of ecstasy.
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Along with the entire Imperial fleet, Pellaeon watched the impact fireballs erupt on the surface of the planet below. A cry of anguish from the pit crew told him that at least one crewmember had friends or family in those residential areas. The man began to rant and rave as Thrawn tried to issue orders.
"Rukh," Thrawn said. "Calm him."
Pellaeon had quite forgotten about Thrawn's personal bodyguard - no mean feat, considering the impression the Noghri had made on him when they'd first met. But the alien had melted so completely into the shadows on the bridge that it came as a shock when he covered the distance between himself and the grief-crazed crewmember in seconds.
His arm moved. The man went down nervelessly.
"He will live," Rukh growled, answering every crewman's unspoken question. Pellaeon let out a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
"I must have calm," Thrawn said, addressing them all. "There will be a time for redress, I swear to you all, but we must have victory first."
The crew's stunned stupor abated. Thrawn delivered his next set of orders and they were carried out with rigorous efficiency. Pellaeon moved closer to his Admiral while the Chimaera came about, the better to draw an advantage over the three loyalist Star Destroyers attempting to bottleneck them and drive them into the planetary shield below.
"Would Tarkin do it?" he asked. He had to.
Thrawn didn't have to inquire as to what he meant. "I don't know, Captain," he said quietly. Only later, much later, would Pellaeon reflect that it was the only time he ever heard the man utter those words.
"There are over nine hundred trillion people on that planet," Pellaeon croaked, his throat dry even at the thought. "To destroy it, to kill one man..."
"Tarkin means to make planetfall."
I remember Alderaan, was what he was thinking.
"The shield can't be breached," he said aloud.
Thrawn smiled. "Nothing is impossible in battle, Captain," and he gazed down at the surface of the world below, his eyes glowing with intent, "Palpatine will discover that, sooner than he thinks."
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On the bridge of the Executor, Vader felt the waves of death from the massive explosions below pass through him, rippling up from the surface of the planet below. Ordinarily, he would have savoured the Dark Side energies; but there was something...something was wrong with this entire situation.
A memory jumped, unbidden, to his mind. I sense something...a presence I've not felt since...
Since what? Since when?
Come to me, Vader...come if you dare...
Palpatine's Force presence was reaching out to him, taunting him. His Coruscant fleet was outmatched, that he must know, but it would inflict serious damage upon the...Vader flinched a little, inwardly...the rebel Imperial forces before it could be destroyed.
With Coruscant's shield intact, Palpatine was free to hold his position and wait - wait for the Empire to schism itself down the middle, as it almost certainly would. Unfit for rule or not, there were large portions of the Imperial Navy who would never so much as dream of opposing Palpatine for fear of his lethal long-distance reprisals; the threat of Force, Vader knew only too well, was a much greater tool than Force itself.
Precisely why Tarkin had gambled on a lightning assault; with surprise and speed on their side, he had hoped to land troops on Coruscant's surface - and get Vader to the Imperial Palace. Only the Dark Lord of the Sith, Tarkin knew, stood a chance of removing the Emperor from office...permanently.
But still that itch, that irritation in his mind buzzed at him. So familiar and yet askew somehow.
I am coming, he sent back. Of that, Master, you can be certain.
He reached out with the Force. Once, a Jedi Master had told him that size mattered not. He was about to put that to the test as never before.
Beneath that all-encompassing shield, only one large fragment of Star Destroyer had still to impact. Its downward trajectory had been slowed by a desperate effort from sub-orbital defence platforms, a concerted tractor beam pull that had come within a whisker of arresting the descent of half a million tons of starship. It had not been enough, however, and slowly, inevitably, that piece of Imperial hardware was beginning its final plummet to ground.
Several hundred miles away, one of Coruscant's gargantuan power generating stations sat, contentedly pumping energy into the planet it served - energy that had been diverted to the massive planetary shield erected around the entire world moments earlier.
Vader's mind wrapped itself around that piece of Star Destroyer, and with everything he had, with every single iota of hatred, anger, grief, despair and self-loathing he possessed...he pushed.
Falling from sub-orbital heights, that push was all it took.
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Tarkin felt like leaping into a fighter and getting out there himself, as he'd done as a cadet so long ago. The battle was going well - the system fleet were outmatched, especially with the Death Star and the Executor opposing them - but with that damned shield up...
Another fireball erupted on the planet's surface.
"Hole in the planetary shield, sir!" his tactical officer blurted out, hardly able to believe what he was saying. "It's huge!"
Tarkin leapt from his chair. "Prep the assault shuttles! Tarkin to the Fleet: get everything you can through that hole before it closes!"
Affirmations sounded back to him. Already he could see the Star Destroyers loyal to his cause making for the gap; invisible to the naked eye, it would nonetheless be a shining beacon to every navicomputer the Fleet possessed.
"Lord Vader-"
Vader's voice came over the comms network. Strangely, even that mechanical facsimile carried a hint of strain within it. "I am aware of it, Grand Moff. Prepare your shuttle. We will go through together."
Tarkin blinked. "Together?"
"You will be protected. Prepare your shuttle."
The transmission ended. Tarkin inhaled sharply, aware the attention of his bridge crew was fixed upon him. To shirk Vader's invitation might not be the wisest move for a man who fancied himself the next Emperor.
Suddenly, the thought of jumping into the midst of the action didn't seem quite so appealing.
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Blue fire arced itself around Palpatine's body, earthing into the area around his throne, causing the surface of his throne room to warp and bend as it tried and failed to absorb the dark energies.
The Emperor was not in a good mood.
"Commodore Hierro..." he hissed at the wretched man's holo, "repair that breach in the planetary shield. Now."
"It's not that easy, my Lord," Hierro replied. "The sheer amount of power needed to generate the shield in the first place - losing one of our primary generators like that... it's going to take us at least an hour t-"
He never got any further than that.
Ever.
The Emperor deactivated the holo of the man's broken body with a stray thought. His attention turned to Ben. "It seems, my young apprentice, that you will soon have ample opportunity to prove your worth."
Ben bowed. "It will be an honour to serve you, my Master."
Palpatine smiled. "You shall begin...by killing Darth Vader."
Now it was Ben's turn to smile, this time in anticipation. He hefted his lightsaber as he bowed again. "As you command...Master."
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Tarkin's shuttle, that which he had refused at the battle of Yavin (and rightfully so) gleamed as he strode purposefully toward it. Vader was right. It was his rightful place to be on the surface, leading the troops that would storm the Imperial Palace, sweep away the last remnants of Palpatine's failed Empire and usher in a new era.
His.
TIE fighter pilots were scrambling to their ships all around him. He would go, but naturally he would not go unprotected. Twenty-six TIE squadrons in total would be escorting him all the way - not to mention the protection that Vader had personally promised him. He smiled tightly. No, there would be no escape for Palpatine.
"Grand Moff!"
He paused, at the entrance to his shuttle's passenger bay. A familiar lithe figure was sprinting across the hangar toward him, waving a small item in her beautifully manicured hands.
"Toranne?"
She stopped before him, quite breathless. "You're going to the surface?" she said. His eyes flicked to her hands. She was holding a datapad.
He had to suppress a smile. Toranne, his personal assistant, secretary, occasional bodyguard and speechwriter these past eleven years, acted as though he were a precious stone that should never be exposed to light, let alone dropped into the middle of a civil war battlefield. This must be nothing short of torture for her.
"I'll be quite safe. Great things lie ahead for all of us," he told her, and turned to go.
"Wait," she said. When he turned back, she pressed the datapad into his hands. "A speech," she said, answering his querying look, "your victory speech."
Light as a feather, she leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, before dismounting the shuttle's gangplank with the grace he'd come to admire over the years.
Thank you, he told her with a single glance. The shuttle's ramp closed. Within moments he and his escort were making for the gap in Coruscant's shield, leaving her alone in the hangar bay.
"Be safe..." she whispered, to no-one in particular.
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Palpatine's monitors showed the tide of battle as it unfolded. The shield had been closed some moments ago, neatly scything apart seven assault shuttles, but in the time the breach had existed, over seventy shuttles had managed to get through and make planetfall. Those that had been able to land undamaged had aimed squarely for the Imperial Palace.
Outside these walls, Ben knew, thousands of stormtroopers on both sides were fighting street to street, building to building. His hands itched compulsively.
"Patience," Palpatine said instantly. Ben marvelled anew at the Sith Lord's ability to sense the inner emotions of those around him. "Your battle lies within these walls, not without."
But it was all Ben could do not to stare at the camfeeds. For like an angel of death, a black-suited figure was cutting through the loyalist stormtrooper ranks like they didn't exist, his lightsaber dancing through air effortlessly, here deflecting blaster bolts with lethal accuracy, there slicing bone from bone and head from body with terrifying efficiency, all the while his entire body, his whole Force presence, focussed on one destination.
Straight for them.
"He's coming home," Palpatine hissed.
"You seem calm, Master."
Palpatine cackled. "The Sith anticipate all outcomes, my young Apprentice. I have planned for this day."
Perhaps it was the adrenaline of imminent battle coursing through his veins. Whatever it was, Ben felt almost reckless. "And your Navy rebelling?" he continued. "Your own Death Star being used against you. You anticipated that, too?"
At this, Palpatine merely smiled.
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The fight was going well.
His troops having forged a safe beachhead, Tarkin barked orders to his squad commanders. Vader was ploughing the road to the Palace, faster almost than the stormtroopers trailing in his wake could follow, but following they were. With the assault shuttles having dropped off their troop cargo, they had risen back into the air and were busying themselves establishing air superiority over the battlefield, peppering the loyalist positions with aerial fire.
Moreover, word had reached him that several divisions of Palace stormtroopers had surrendered themselves. Those with families in the areas wiped out by the falling Star Destroyers appeared, for some reason, particularly keen to switch sides. Tarkin allowed himself another smile.
This time tomorrow, he would personally oversee his investitude as Emperor.
Beep. Bee-Beep.
He frowned at the noise, coming from his pocket. It was the datapad Toranne had given him, flashing that he had an urgent communication. Comms between his ground troops and the orbital forces had been jammed since planetfall. Toranne must have found a way around it...
"Grand Moff," she greeted him, as he pressed the activate control to bring the datapad to life. "This is a recorded message," she continued, neatly cutting off his attempt to reply to her and rubbishing his earlier theory.
Beep. Bee-Beep. The damn datapad was still making noises.
"A few items of note, Grand Moff," Toranne's beautiful face continued, as she smiled her broad and gentle smile, "firstly - I am not from Corellia, as you previously thought. My name is not Toranne. I am, in point of fact, what some people call the Emperor's Hand."
He stared at the datapad in disbelief. He had heard of the Hands...the Emperor's innermost circle, his agents throughout the galaxy, capable of hearing and heeding his call anywhere, anytime. But Toranne...? No...no, she couldn't be...? And if she were...
Beep. Bee-Beep.
His blood chilled.
"I am responsible for the Emperor's foreknowledge of your futile rebellion," Toranne was saying. Tarkin could hardly process it, so loud was his blood thundering in his ears. He was dimly aware of his squad commanders trying to attract his attention.
"Consider it a small repayment for what you did to Alderaan - my true homeworld. Know this also, Grand Moff - your precious Death Star is fitted with enough hidden explosives to annihilate it utterly at the Emperor's command. Savour this knowledge in your last few moments. Toranne...out."
Beep. Bee-Be-
The datapad, packed with the most powerful explosive in the galaxy, finally reached detonation.
Grand Moff Tarkin, the man who would be Emperor, blew apart.
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With a gurgling sigh, the last remaining stormtrooper between him and his destionation died on the point of his lightsaber.
Vader raised his free hand and gestured. The doors to the Throne Room flew open, revealing the long path to its occupants. The figure sitting like a spider at the apex of its web he recognised instantly.
"Palpatine," he said. The word was both accusation and statement of intent.
"Vader," his former master replied. He did not rise.
Vader walked into the Throne Room. The man standing beside the Emperor was cowled, and Vader knew now that he was the source of the strange Force presence he had been picking up since orbit.
"This is my new Apprentice," Palpatine drawled lazily, raising a hand to gesture to the cowled figure. "Darth Shada."
Shada threw back the cowl. Darth Vader stared into the face he had sought these long years, the boy he had thought lost.
"Luke..."
"Father."
Snap-hiss. Luke ignited his lightsaber, vaulted easily down from Palpatine's side, and raised the blade, standing directly between Vader and the Emperor. He moved like a Jedi Knight, with purpose, with skill. Vader saw in him the athleticism that had once been his hallmark, as Anakin Skywalker.
But how?
Vader lowered his saber. "I will not fight you."
Luke walked closer. Vader saw lines on his son's face, lines that should not exist on the face of a boy barely beyond twenty. His son looked like he had been through a lifetime of hurt. There was murderous intent in those eyes. Luke's soul burned with the fires of the Dark Side.
That brief contact Vader had shared with his son - in the Trench of the Death Star, above Yavin (though he had little suspected it was Luke) - his son's presence in the Force had been young, innocent, full of hope.
This...
"Who are you?"
"Your true son," the man before him answered. He lunged with his lightsaber, forcing Vader to leap backwards and bring his blade up in defence.
They began their duel over the sound of Palpatine's delighted laughter.