Galaxies Apart
Thirty Nine
System readout:
Life support systems at 67 percent of normal.
Projection:
At current rate of degradation, total life support failure in 320 minutes.
Reason for failure:
Unknown.
But Vader knew all too well.
The Death Star's detention cells were not renowned for their home comforts. A simple bench against one wall comprised the entire furniture inventory. That bench was currently occupied by the unconscious body of Ben Skywalker.
He discarded the system readouts from his optical sensors with a mental command, and called up thermal vision instead. The cold grey bulkhead of the detention cell door was replaced by blue, and outside, he could discern the yellows and reds of two stormtrooper guards, each with a protrusion growing from their backs generating its own unmistakable biological signature.
Further down the corridor outside, two more guards with identical heat signatures stood outside the adjoining cell.
"What…where are we?"
He turned, switching from thermal to regular vision instantly. Ben Skywalker sprang into focus, trying with some visible to sit upright. He rubbed his hands against his temple. Vader had long ago learned such gestures for him were fairly useless; not least because his headaches were continuous.
"In a detention cell," Vader informed the younger man. The black humour he found in his present situation would not be transmitted in that facsimile of a voice the suit produced. He doubted Ben would have been in any mood to hear it anyway. "Aboard Admiral Thrawn's Death Star."
Ben slumped even more, if that were possible. "Weren't you on his side in this little rebellion?"
"He hates the Force," Vader replied tonelessly. It was a simple statement of fact; despite only having met Thrawn a handful of times in his life, it had not been especially difficult to glean this from the man's mind. "He despises the very concept of it. Jedi and Sith included."
"Palpatine?"
Vader gestured to the wall. "He neighbours us."
"Judging by the vibroblades plunging themselves into my forehead and spine, I'm guessing we don't have the Force?"
"The guards outside are carrying ysalamiri."
"Perfect," Ben sighed. He stood and stretched aching limbs. Lightsaber duels pushed the human body far beyond its normal physical limits. Only Force meditation rituals afterward enabled recovery, and without the Force, Ben's arms and legs were making him re-live every spectacular leap and jump.
"It may surprise you to learn that this didn't go exactly how I planned it."
"I had guessed."
"What are they going to do with us?" Ben asked. His voice was casual, but Vader had heard enough men beg for their lives to recognise a man masking his own fear.
"Execution."
He spoke the word and wondered at his own detachment from its implications. Yes, he was without the Force; but that alone did not explain his ambivalence at the prospect of his fate. He felt tired. Had felt tired for a long time now, without even realising it.
It was in a cell like this, exactly like this, that he had ordered and overseen Leia's interrogation. He could see in seven different visual spectra at the flick of a mental switch, but the one that kept flashing before his eyes wasn't contained in his schematics. It was a view of the past. And it hurt like nothing he'd ever known.
Ben's eyes widened. "Well, what are we going to do?" he said, forsaking his aching limbs and beginning to walk around the confined space of the cell, the nervous energy borne of fear powering him.
When the lava on Mustafar had claimed him, seared into his flesh and bone, the machinery the Emperor had bonded to him had stabilised his condition, kept him from slipping into a coma from which he never would have emerged. They had replaced his legs, his arm, given him mobility. More machine now than man.
But they were not enough. They had never been enough.
The injuries sustained on Mustafar were fatal. Would have been fatal to anyone bar those in tune with the Force and its healing properties. Since that day, Vader had kept himself alive through sheer force of will, his strength in the Force drawing the power he needed to make the charred husk he once called his human body perform the simple functions it needed to for his survival. He had not slept, in the true sense of the word, for twenty-four years.
Without the Force, his systems were slowly losing the battle to keep his body alive. If he wanted to live, Ben was right – he needed to do something, think of a plan to try and escape as soon as possible.
Vader sat on the bench.
"We wait," he said.
"Wait!" Ben exploded. "Wait for what? If we don't do something, who do you think is gonna come to our rescue?"
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"Dropping to sublight," the helmsman announced.
The Alderaan and its Ssi-Ruuk vanguard re-entered the realms of the pedestrian universe. Proximity alarms began blaring. They had dropped right in front of the Imperial Fleet.
"All fighters: launch," Ackbar ordered. "Go after the shield generators on those Star Destroyers."
Madine watched squadron after squadron streak away from the Alderaan's massive bulk. Antilles and his wingmates would be amongst them, he knew. He wished them well.
"Chamber Master?" Ackbar thundered. He had not recovered from the disappointment of Endor as yet.
"Charging, Admiral," the Chamber Master assured him. "The pre-ignition warm-up in hyperspace worked. Less than two minutes until we can fire."
The Imperial's Death Star loomed large in the viewscreen. There was no way the old boat could match that charging time, Madine knew, especially not from a cold start. Things were proceeding according to plan. In fact-
"Why aren't they firing?" he murmured.
"Admiral Ackbar?" the comms officer said, his voice betraying his amazment. "Uh…you're being hailed, sir. By Admiral Thrawn."
"Hailed?" Ackbar repeated. Hailing the enemy commander to officially request their surrender was commonplace. Hailing them when you've just been caught cold in an ambush and should be scrambling your Fleet to avoid complete destruction was rather less common. If Sluis Van had hammered one lesson home, however, it was that Thrawn could not be underestimated.
"Hailed," the comms officer echoed. "He…wishes to open negotations. He requests that you power down the Alderaan's superlaser and call off the Ssi-ruuk attack."
"Does he, now?" Ackbar's gravelly voice dripped with sardonic amusement. "And does he supply any particular reason why we should do this?"
"…he, uh…" the comms officer's voice had grown quiet, reflective, "…he points out that destroying something the mass of the Death Star in high orbit over Coruscant will almost certainly kill upwards of a hundred billion surface inhabitants."
A ripple of silence spread out over the bridge. Madine could see the Ssi-ruuk advance ships reaching the first of their Imperial targets. They began to take apart the Empire's forces. And still, damn them, they didn't fire back.
What was going on? What the hell had happened here?
Ackbar paused for a long moment before sighing out a rasping breath. "Chamber Master, power down primary ignition. But-" he stabbed a finger in the direction of the hapless man, "keep all sensor banks pointed at that Death Star. The instant it smells like they're getting ready to fire, I want us primed and ready. Now…open a channel."
"Admiral Ackbar," Thrawn's voice sounded immediately. He was as icily calm as ever. "You seem to have caught us at an inopportune moment."
"My deepest sympathies," Ackbar growled. "I thought that was rather the point in war, Admiral."
"Normally I would agree," Thrawn's words coincided with the first of the Empire's Star Destroyers being blown apart by the Ssi-ruuk ships. And still no returning fire. "For a war to restore peace and justice to the galaxy, you seem to have chosen odd allies."
"We have common interests."
"Oh I doubt that, Admiral," Thrawn's voice was silky smooth now. "You yourself were once a slave, were you not?"
You could have heard a pin drop on the bridge. Madine saw Ackbar's hands tighten into fists. "You know the answer to that," the Mon Calamarian replied darkly.
"And yet you seek aid from those who enslave not only the body, but the very soul of those they conquer?"
"There is no proof-"
"Then allow me to provide it."
"We're receiving holo transmissions," the comms officer interrupted, glancing at Ackbar for direction. "Imperial frequency. Unencrypted."
"Display."
They watched as one. The holo feed was not of the highest quality, but it was clear enough. It had been captured during a Ssi-ruuk attack by an R2 unit; the data streams were instantly familiar to anyone who had ever owned an astromech. They watched as the lizard-like aliens swarmed over the small settlement. The droid was ignored – presumably it was a civilian model, without armaments.
The feed changed. They witnessed in silence the entechment of prisoner after prisoner, as they were strapped to the horrific machinery and their life force forcibly extracted, to act as a sentient pilot and energy source rolled into one for their snubfighters. They had all heard the rumours. But here, in front of their eyes, was the proof.
The holo ended.
"The Force forgive me," Ackbar croaked, his amphibious throat dry, his body shaking with shock and rage.
"Forgiveness is not my concern," Thrawn's voice crept into the stunned silence. Madine felt himself clinging to the certainty in that voice, because suddenly he wasn't certain of anything anymore. They had been so desperate to overthrow the Empire…but at what cost? At the cost of alliances with monsters like the Ssi-ruuk? "My Fleet, however, is."
That must have been the signal. The Imperial fleet burst open, capital ships and snubfighters erupting into action against their Ssi-ruuk opponents. Madine braced himself for the assault, but nothing came. They remained ignored.
"We have much to discuss, Admiral," Thrawn said softly. "But now is not the time. Now, I propose to you that we combine our forces to rid the galaxy of the Ssi-ruuk abomination."
"A truce?"
"A truce," Thrawn confirmed. "Now if you'll excuse me, Admiral, I have a battle to run. Your next actions will determine much. Make your choice wisely, for the sake of us all."
The transmission ended. No-one spoke. They watched the silent, balletic rage of battle wheel and turn across the Coruscant system, as the Empire and the Ssi-ruuk fleets engaged each other. Death Star aside, the two forces were evenly matched. Simply waiting this one out would put the Alliance in an unrivalled position to pick the bones of the winner.
But nothing was simple any more, was it?
"Hail received from the Ssi-ruuk flagship," the comms officer said, numbly. "They want to know what's holding us back from joining the battle."
"Our snubfighters are approaching the battle zone, Admiral," Madine reported. "What orders should I give them?"
Ackbar snapped into life. "Order them to stand down previous targets. Repeat, stand down Imperial targets. Do not fire on the Empire. Go for the Ssi-ruuk ships."
Just like that, the rest of the bridge crew awakened from their own mini-slumber. Backs straightened. Hearts pounded. Battle rituals were begun. The targets had changed. The sense of purpose was no lessened for it.
Madine nodded. "With pleasure, sir."
"Chamber Master?"
"Yes, Admiral?"
"Fire her up. 20 power beams. I want those Ssi-ruuk cruisers targeted. And…" Ackbar paused, "…keep an eye on the Imperials."
Madine grinned. It was comforting even in these head-spinning times of shades of gray to know that some things never changed.
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"They want us to what?"
"You heard, Wedge," Madine's voice came back loud and clear and, if Wedge wasn't imagining things, thirsty for blood, "we're gunning for the Ssi-ruuk."
In less than fifteen seconds they'd be broadside to a cluster of Star Destroyers. A well-constructed strafing run would have caused immense damage to the Imps left flank. His fingers itched to do exactly that. And now he was being asked to hold fire? Open up without warning on their allies? Sure they weren't exactly to his taste, but what the hell had changed…?
His Squadron were keyed into the transmission. "This for real, Commander?" Jansen's sceptical tones echoed his own thoughts. "Our source OK?"
Meaning Madine. Crix wasn't blind to the implication. "I haven't switched sides," the former Imperial commando said urgently. "We have proof of entechment technology. It's real. Ackbar's agreed to a truce so we can wipe these scaly bastards from the face of the galaxy. You're gonna have to trust me!"
The commencement point for the strafing run was imminent. Wedge saw his choice laid out before him. If he hadn't talked to Madine a few days ago man to man, hadn't had the chance to look into his eyes and see the kind of man that could rise so high within the Empire before his crisis of conscience, he might have considered abandoning the order and following Jansen's unspoken suggestion.
But he trusted his instincts. And that meant he trusted Madine.
"Break off the approach," he told his Squadron. "Same plan, different targets. Pick a big one. Don't die."
The Rogues scattered like the peerless pilots they were. He and his nearest three wingmates made straight for a nearby large Ssi-ruuk cruiser and the sweet spot it held on its dorsal side; a semicircular outcropping that housed the shield generating bussard collectors.
Ssi-ruuk snubfighters began to spew forth from the hangar bays of their mother ships. He'd fought alongside them on a few occasions now. The hierarchy claimed they told their pilots to maintain total radio silence. Or maybe, just maybe, there are no pilots to make any transmissions, he thought darkly.
One such ship landed square in his sights. He had the shot. If the rumours really were true, could what he was about to do be considered an act of mercy?
He squeezed the trigger. The snubfighter flared and was gone, and just like that, the eerily inert battlefield around him descended into a far more familiar landscape of laserfire, explosions and death.
, he thought, the image of Winter flashing through his mind before he allowed his reflexes to take over completely.The truce at Coruscant had begun.