Galaxies Apart
Forty
The Alliance knew him as Bluescale. His own people called him Fleetlord Sh'tk'ith, in the Ssi-ruuvi language of clicks and whistles that outsiders – humans in particular – found so impenetrable.
Humans. He felt revulsion at the very thought of them. A disgusting, fragile race of beings; it remained to the Ssi-ruuk an unfathomable mystery how they had managed to seed themselves throughout this galaxy with such lamentable success. And yet, ironically, of all of the life energies the entechment process had been tested on, it was humans who lasted longest.
The planet below held more humans than the Ssi-ruuk could ever need. Trillions of them. An instant, endless source of energy and power for his entire civilisation. He felt his scent tongues extend from his nostrils of their own accord, as if they could taste the potential on the air for that kind of resource.
It had been so easy to fool the Alliance into believing that entechment was an Imperial myth. Reduced to a few pathetic Cruisers and tiny cells on unimportant worlds, the Alliance had practically tumbled with their enthusiasm for an ally with the military strength of the Ssi-ruuk. For their part, Sh'tk'ith's superiors had not been slow in recognising the benefits to having a legitimate front for their invasion force. And when the Empire had been defeated, the Alliance weaklings could be quietly disposed of, and their marvellous Death Star transferred to a race with the convictions to use it.
It had been so easy. Until now.
"Death Star charging its main weapon!" Bluescale's tactical officer shouted. His bridge was in chaos. The Alliance snubfighters had scattered amongst his capital ships and were proving ruthlessly efficient at disabling shield generators, allowing the main guns on the Empire's Star Destroyers to blow them apart, piece by piece.
"Which one?" he demanded.
His tactical officer turned, looked him in the eyes. Normally this would be an unthinkable breach of protocol, since he belonged to a lower caste of Ssi-ruuvi society; clearly at this point the tactical officer didn't much care.
"Both of them."
He had met with the vile alien who called himself Ackbar personally, had heard Ackbar's voice tremble with hatred when he talked of the Empire and its treatment of free races. All lies, it seemed. Now both were working together, against the Ssi-ruuk Imperium. What were the odds on such a happening?
He could only watch as the superlaser from the Alliance's Death Star lanced out. It wasn't a full strength planet-killing beam, that much was clear. Nonetheless, it had more than enough lethal energy to scythe through one of the large Ssi-ruuvi cruisers, shields and all, like it didn't exist. A few seconds later, apart from a rapidly expanding debris field, it really didn't.
Before he could begin to gather his thoughts, another cruiser went up in flames. The Empire's Death Star had just proved that, dwarfed though it was by the Alliance's version, it still packed a devastating punch.
They had a large fleet. But against the power of those Death Stars, no fleet could prevail. There was only one option left open to him.
"Send the order to all ships," he hissed, every word he spoke burning in his throat, "make the jump to hyperspace. We are retreating."
His crew obeyed, and he felt the ship begin to come about as it sought a reliable hyperspace escape vector. He had time to look out of the viewscreen, to see both Death Stars. Someday, he promised himself, the Ssi-ruuk would return to revenge themselves on the humans and their allies for this defeat and the betrayal that had caused it.
Sooner than they dreamed possible.
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"Looks like they're leaving."
Wedge glanced at his instruments. Rogue Three was right. "Get clear," he instructed his Squadron, though he knew they'd already be giving the Ssi-ruuk a wide berth. Getting caught in a ship's hyperspace slipstream was one of the surer methods of suicide, not to mention one of the messiest.
He watched as first one, then several, then all of the Ssi-ruuk ships vanished, leaving behind only the crippled and dead hulks of the cruisers taken apart by the Star Destroyers; those hit by the Death Stars, he noted with a chill down his spine, hadn't left behind any debris larger than an engine manifold.
Laserfire streaked across his ventral shields. He let loose a stream of curses, jinking his ship to the left. The Imperials – had they broken the truce already?
"It's a Ssi-ruuk snubfighter," Jansen broke into his thoughts and dismissed his initial suspicions with one statement. "A few of them have been left behind. They don't seem to be surrendering."
"I got it, Rogue Leader," Rogue Seven, and was as good as his word; Wedge's pursuer was so much space dust a few moments later.
"Thanks, Dack."
"No problem," Dack's easygoing voice replied. "So, anyone have the faintest idea what do we do now?"
"First off, we get the hell clear of these Star Destroyers," Wedge replied instantly, turning his X-Wing back toward the reassuring bulk of the Alderaan.
"Sounds good to me," Jansen replied. His sentiments were echoed by the rest of Rogue Squadron. Their X-Wings turned to follow Wedge's flight path. They hadn't lost a single ship during the Ssi-ruuk engagement, Wedge noted with equal measures of pride and relief.
His external comm channel buzzed for attention. "Rogue Leader, this is Base One," Crix Madine's voice sounded. Wedge grinned. He had been right about Madine's trustworthiness.
"Copy, Base One. Scratch some soul-suckers off your radar."
"We saw that. Nice work," Madine was brisk and Wedge sensed something was up. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, as they always did when something unexpected or dangerous reared its head.
He didn't have to wait long. "We have a new mission for you."
"Rogues are ready and waiting, Base One."
"You're to escort Admiral Ackbar and a security detail in his personal shuttle."
Wedge asked the question he already knew the answer to. "Destination?"
"The Imperial Death Star."
Low whistles and murmuring sounded in Wedge's ear. The rest of Rogue Squadron had not been able to contain their reaction to that mission. He was finding it hard to keep a lid on his own emotions, come to that. The last time he'd approached that monster, it had been a last-ditch attempt to save the Rebel Alliance; an attempt that had been a spectacular failure, had cost more than a few of his close friends their lives, not to mention cost the existence of Yavin IV itself.
"Thrawn wants to hold talks with us," Madine's voice growled. Wedge had the distinct impression the man was talking softly so as to avoid being overheard by the rest of the Alderaan's bridge crew, most likely Ackbar in particular. "Personally I think it's a trap, but he's convinced Ackbar that if massive bloodshed and loss of life is to be avoided, this is the only way."
"Hold up – Thrawn wants to hold talks?" Wedge repeated. "I thought rumour had it Thrawn was busted down in rank for losing the Alderaan to us at Sluis Van?"
"Trust me when I tell you, if even half of what Thrawn's claiming has happened is true, you're not gonna believe it."
They were less than twenty thousand miles from the Alderaan now. Wedge saw a faint speck against that massive bulk pull away from the equatorial ring of hangar bays. Ackbar's shuttle.
"Rogue Leader," a new voice broke in, "this is Captain York aboard shuttle Polerian. Your squadron to flank and provide cover for us and the Admiral from here to the Death Star…their Death Star. Do you copy?"
"Good luck, guys. Stay alert," Madine whispered, and cut transmission.
"We copy, Polerian," Wedge replied, taking point ahead of the shuttle as the rest of Rogue Squadron flanked the craft on all sides. He and his pilots would do their job, that much he knew. What use they would be if the Imperials – if Thrawn – decided to go back on his word…that, he was less sure of.
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Five years previously, he had stood in this very room and choked an insolent Imperial officer to within a gasp of his life for daring to question his devotion to the Force. He had stopped at Tarkin's request, but both he and Tarkin knew full well that had Vader wished to snap the man's neck, bar being rather put out at the loss of one of his officers, there wouldn't have been a thing in hell Tarkin could have done about it.
With his black uniform and his swirling cape, Vader didn't just look like a storybook version of the personification of Death itself; for almost twenty years within the Imperial Navy, he had been Death. He had silenced rooms upon entry. He had killed men for failures not of their own making, left them gibbering wrecks with the merest hint of a threat. The fear he inspired in those around him had been like a warming flame to him, a constant source of nourishment for the Dark Side energies that ebbed and flowed through every fibre of his being.
Even if the Force had been with him at this present moment, Vader suspected he would find little of that former fear in those around him. In binders, being led like a captive animal through the corridors of the Death Star, he had come to the conclusion that Thrawn had deliberately arranged his transit route to take him past as many public places as possible. Stunned silence had surrounded them in such places, for the most part. Vader knew word would spread irrevocably throughout the Empire – Vader had been broken by Thrawn.
His one crumb of comfort was that, if he felt shame and humiliation that it had come to this, he could not even begin to imagine what it felt like for his former master, the much-vaunted Darth Sidious himself.
The Emperor (if even, indeed, he still was) had given up ranting and raving some time ago. He had allowed his hands to be placed in binders and had walked alongside Vader and Ben to this conference room, not saying a word.
Upon crossing one extremely public plaza, with upwards of three thousand silent crewmembers present, Vader had been astonished when first sporadic, then muted, then thunderous applause had snowballed until every stormtrooper, every technician was cheering the sight of their former undisputed leader being led in chains to his execution.
He had looked at Palpatine, curious to see his reaction, half-expecting the man to make some attempt to break his binders and leap for the ysalamiri-bearing guards flanking them to each side, a last desperate attempt to regain the Force and deliver merciless vengeance to the Empire's finest who dared to cheer that he had been overthrown.
But Palpatine had continued to walk, his expression neutral. Most would have genuinely believed that he was unaffected by what was going on around him. Vader had spent the best part of 20 years in this man's servitude, however, and he knew better. He had allowed himself the luxury of a flash of fear at the thought of Palpatine ever being out of range of ysalamiri again. The result, he was sure, would make Alderaan's demise look like a charity fundraiser.
In fact the only futile attempts at escape had come from their young companion in crime, Ben Skywalker. Vader ached slightly to see him in such denial that this fate could have befallen him. Three times on the march here he had tried valiantly to break free, to run clear or lash out at his guards. It was hopeless. Thrawn had proven again and again that he was not a moron. Ten of the finest stormtroopers the Empire possessed had strode alongside them in tight formation, each equipped with a ysalamiri backpack and nutrient branch. Flanking them was a backup squad outfitted with the same. The chances of finding a way out of the Force-free bubble the animals projected was zero.
So here they stood. The Empire's past and its would-be future, in chains. The man who fancied himself to represent its present entered the conference room by the east door, the faithful Captain Pellaeon and the ever-vigilant Rukh a half-step behind on each side. Thrawn's glittering crimson eyes settled on each of the three prisoners in turn.
They lingered longest on Palpatine, who returned the stare silently but with such intensity that Vader was amazed the air in the room failed to shimmer in the heat.
"Slight change in plans, gentlemen," Thrawn announced calmly, taking the seat at the head of the table Tarkin would normally have occupied. "Your executions have been postponed. We have visitors to greet, and I will find your presence here as prisoners an excellent demonstration of our…new philosophies."
Palpatine's silence remained complete. Vader found himself mildly curious, but still afflicted by the apathy that had been creeping over him these past few days. His system readouts had told him only a few minutes ago that he had 200 minutes of life left in him. So it was left to Ben to reply.
"Visitors?"
"The Rebel Alliance."
"You've captured some of their leaders."
"No. We're negotiating with them."
"Negotiating?" Ben repeated, dumbfounded. "With the Alliance? For their surrender, I assume?"
Thrawn smiled mirthlessly. "Surrender? With a Death Star easily capable of outmatching this one at their disposal? Hardly likely. At any rate not unless there was, oh I don't know, hidden explosives dotted all over the ship as a failsafe…?"
The question was directed at Palpatine. He made no reply.
Thrawn shrugged. "Little matter. I am well aware nothing of the sort exists. And for that reason alone, it is prudent to negotiate. Not least because with the Death Star at their disposal, the Alliance could remove a fatally high percentage of our Fleet in an extremely short time, and reasonably expect to take Coruscant once support for their movement grows."
"Where are the others?" Ben asked.
"Others?"
"The other high-ranking Imperials. Judging by your insignia, you're an Admiral. Shouldn't a Grand Moff or Grand Admiral be conducting these negotiations?"
Thrawn nodded magnanimously. "After discussions with my peers in the Imperial Navy, I am pleased to say I have assumed overall command of the Empire."
Vader couldn't help himself. Tarkin had been the favourite, obviously, and with his death naturally there would have been a rush to fill the power vacuum, but for Thrawn to have won that battle, and so quickly? It beggared belief.
"You?" he said. "Petarki…Piett…Lursa…Zsinj…Isard…the rest, they all agreed to elect a non-human as Emperor?"
"Firstly," Thrawn held up a finger to correct him, "I am not, nor shall I ever be, Emperor. The term will shortly be…obsolete," he settled for, unable to resist sending a challenging look in Palpatine's direction, "and secondly…" his eyes glittered, "…I do not recall saying that the decision was arrived at through election. Other methods," and here he gave a meaningful look towards the compact, lethal frame of Rukh standing behind him, "proved more appropriate to the circumstances."
A memory flashed through Vader's mind; after the battle of Endor, where Thrawn's performance had almost proven decisive and cemented his position as Tarkin's favourite new pet, Thrawn had loudly trumpeted the benefits of a Noghri bodyguard or two to the Navy's hierarchy…
Vader wondered at what moment Thrawn had activated those Noghri. When the Coruscant shield had been breached and victory had been within reach? Had that been the signal for his pet assassins to strike and make their master the heir apparent?
"You're a fool, Thrawn."
Palpatine had broken his silence. The words had been softly spoken, but no less filled with hatred for that. Thrawn raised an eyebrow and leaned back in his seat, for all the world a man enjoying a carefree moment of contemplative relaxation.
"I've been called a fool many times," he replied. "But never by a man who thought it amusing to attempt destroy my career and my life less than four days ago, and who now finds himself at my mercy and his Empire at my feet. Forgive me, my Lord, if I don't seem overly concerned by your assessment. Your time has passed. You, Vader, and the elusive Luke Skywalker," he inclined his head to Ben, who said nothing, "you are remnants of an archaic past. A bygone age where arbitrary distribution of microparticles within a body was somehow thought to bestow wisdom to govern. Your religion has been the cause of too much woe to this galaxy. No longer."
Palpatine merely laughed in response. Disconnected from the Force though he was, Ben Skywalker suddenly felt a strong sense of déjà vu at the sound of that laugh. The last time he'd heard it was in the Throne Room, when Palpatine had been so confident of his plan to wipe the Death Star from the galaxy and ravage the surface of Coruscant. When he'd been certain he had one last, decisive ace up his sleeve.
This laugh was of the same ilk.
Thrawn looked about to respond when the table communicator buzzed for attention. "Admiral Thrawn," the adjutant's voice came through, "they're here."
"Show them in," Thrawn replied. He shot a meaningful glance at Palpatine as he did, one that clearly said this isn't over yet.
The doors slid open, and those inside beheld the improbable sight of Admiral Ackbar, greatest military mind of the Rebel Alliance, entering the heart of enemy territory not as a slave or a prisoner, but an equal – and equality in this case apparently encompassed the right for him to bring along a sizeable security detail. Twelve Alliance troopers, clad in the trademark semi-camouflage colours stormtroopers were so fond of sneering at. All armed to the teeth.
It's going to get crowded in here, Vader observed.
Thrawn rose from his seat, all professionalism. He walked to Admiral Ackbar directly and extended his hand. Ackbar looked at it as if it were a grenade.
"Welcome aboard, Admiral."
The hand hovered in mid-air a moment longer. Ackbar seemed to be weighing up the situation; if what Vader had heard of the man's ponderous character was accurate, that process could take some considerable time.
Ackbar's eyes settled on the sight of Palpatine and Vader, under guard and restrained. His large aquatic eyes seemed to bulge to even greater proportions. An instant later, he had returned Thrawn's handshake; it was brief and not remotely friendly, but it was returned.
The guards meanwhile had fanned out, obviously to prearranged specifications. Two stood alongside Ackbar at all times, two by the door they had entered through; the remaining eight spread themselves throughout the room, standing as conspicuously as possible beside their Imperial counterparts. Some stared with unabashed curiosity at the bulging backpacks select stormtroopers sported.
Ackbar sat down, a few seats down from his opposite number at the negotiating table. "I'm here," he stated. "Against the recommendation of my leaders, and most of my peers, I'm here. You must realise how hollow promises from the Empire sound, Admiral."
"Yet you're here," Thrawn observed mildly.
Ackbar gestured to the illustrious prisoners. "I'm willing to accept that things do seem to be undergoing a process of change," he said dryly.
"The entire galaxy is undergoing change, Admiral," Thrawn said eagerly. "Thanks to your…opportunistic manoeuvres at Sluis Van, the Alliance finds itself in a position of strength. Once, this would have led to an inevitable confrontation between us; one that would have cost millions, perhaps billions of lives. Death Stars are not noted for precision strikes."
"Once," Ackbar echoed. "You're suggesting we have another option?"
"You broke from the Empire for reasons I can understand. But I ask you, if the Empire was willing to change; a change process you yourself have seen the beginning of…what reason is there for rebellion? This war can end, Admiral, without one more innocent life extinguished needlessly."
"What exactly are you proposing?"
"That we extend the truce," Thrawn said. "We fought together to rid ourselves of the Ssi-ruuk. Let us fight together to rid ourselves of the need to fight. The Alderaan stays in orbit. We do likewise. We begin the process of re-integration. Your leaders granted amnesty to emerge from hiding and reassume positions of power in a reformed government."
"Are you insane?" Ben spat. "You would purposefully bring back the weakness of the Old Republic?"
Ackbar looked at him again. Despite their large eyes, Mon Calamari were not renowned for their above-water vision; as instantly recognisable as his fellow prisoners were, clearly Ackbar needed to look again to identify the third.
"Luke?" he said, his voice tinged with sadness. "Luke, what are you doing here?"
That was when Palpatine began to laugh once again. It built slowly, from a chuckle to a hearty roar of amusement, each syllable dripping with malice. Some men would have snapped in the face of it and ordered him silenced. Thrawn merely waited for the laughter to abate.
"Quite finished?"
"You're a fool," Palpatine smiled.
"So you've mentioned."
"You're so proud of this brave new galaxy you're creating!" the Emperor cackled. "So pleased at your own cleverness! It's almost tragic that you have no idea…"
Thrawn was tiring of this game. "No idea of what?"
"Of how, in an instant, every single thing you've done here is going to vanish. All of the little plans and schemes you've dreamt up – soof – gone," he went on, expanding his fist to indicate nothingness, "and there's not a single thing you can do about it."
Ben's eyes widened. So this was Palpatine's last ace. And it was more devastating than any amount of boobytrapped Death Stars…
"Don't waste my time," Thrawn sighed. "You're powerless, your Highness. If you could circumvent the ysalamiri, you'd have done so long ago."
Palpatine gave another throaty chuckle at this, his expression almost one of pity. Ben could see every last trace of bemusement vanish from Thrawn's face and be replaced with pronounced irritation. Palpatine was playing a dangerous game. As usual, he was playing it expertly.
"I do not refer to me," he said mockingly. "Half a galaxy away, a pitiful little band of do-gooders are even now working to undo all your supposed accomplishments – and when they succeed, it'll be as if none of this ever was."
"How?" Thrawn demanded.
"Time travel."
"Impossible."
"As you wish," Palpatine shrugged. "In a few hours, it will be immaterial. They will succeed in going back through time, and the galaxy will cease to be as it now is. All of your work will be for nothing," he concluded, speaking to Ben.
All eyes turned to him.
"Your work?"
Ben didn't know whether to play dumb or start talking. The fairly reasonable point occurred to him, though, that if he played dumb on this, he was scheduled to be executed sometime in the next few hours. Alternative ways to spend the rest of his day seemed quite attractive in comparison.
And so he began talking. He told them everything about his trip back through time using the mysterious artefact known only as Site Zero to change history at Yavin IV. He told them the history of the galaxy that should have been, including the destruction of the second Death Star at Endor along with Vader, Palpatine and the Executor (Thrawn winced at the latter) the subsequent establishment of the New Republic under Mon Mothma, Leia Organa Solo and Admiral Ackbar and, some years later, the resurgence of the Empire under Thrawn himself until…
"…until your assassination," he finished, not wanting to specify the details. Rukh's impassive gaze was like a beacon of hostile intent.
"A fabulous story," Thrawn said. "I am amazed at the speed with which you were able to concoct it. Perhaps the walls between detention cells are not as soundproof as I was assured."
Ben returned Thrawn's scepticism with a shrug. "Believe what you want," he said casually, "but if what I'm saying is a lie, then how do you explain me? I am not Luke Skywalker. I am his clone. Created on Wayland by Joruus C'boath-" he saw Thrawn's reaction to that name, "five years from now."
"Examine his DNA," Palpatine crowed triumphantly. "My cloning facilities implant a marker deep within each clone's DNA giving the date of creation. You'll see."
In short order a medical scanner was produced. All interested parties seemed frozen to their seats whilst a medic ran it over Ben's body. Eventually, he nodded. "He's a clone alright. Except this scanner must be busted…it's giving the date of creation wrong."
"Five years from now?"
The medic grinned nervously at Thrawn. "Damndest thing, huh? I'll get another-"
"No need. How easy would that marker be to forge?"
The medic whistled. "I suppose you could do it," he said slowly, "but you'd need to do it right at the initial growth stage. And…" he ran the scanner over Ben once again, "…there's something else that's odd here. From what my scanner is telling me, this clone was grown in a fraction of the normal time. And yet he seems fine. That's impossible."
"It's not impossible," Ben said. "Quickly-grown clones develop a morphic Force resonance with the original person that drives them insane," he stared at Thrawn, "except someone figured – figures – a way around that."
"My ysalamiri," Thrawn breathed, the implications of what he was witnessing sinking in. His blue skin seemed to lighten a shade. "It's all true."
"Luke Skywalker and his friends will soon render your victories meaningless," Palpatine gloated.
"Where?" Thrawn demanded. "Where is this Site Zero?"
"I can take you there," Palpatine replied.
"So can I," Ben spoke up.
The two men glared at one another with mutual loathing. This was it, Ben realised. Palpatine had played his final card – somehow he knew the location of Site Zero, and had gambled everything on using it as a bargaining chip. The only question would be which of them convinced Thrawn to make a deal-
"No-one is going anywhere."
Even Thrawn seemed taken aback. Ponderous Admiral Ackbar, the old man of the Rebellion, had produced a blaster from somewhere within his Admiral's uniform. "If this is true," he said, "then the defeats for the Alliance for the last five years can be reversed in an instant. Do you really think I'd allow that chance to slip away?"
His Alliance guards produced their sidearms in one smooth motion. Ragtag uniforms or not, they were a well-trained outfit. Suddenly the integration of stormtrooper and Alliance guard splintered as the stormtroopers separated themselves, drawing their own blaster rifles in readiness.
Thrawn's eyes narrowed. "Stand aside, Admiral. The situation has changed."
"The entire galaxy is undergoing change, Admiral," Ackbar shot back, echoing Thrawn's grand proclamations from earlier on in proceedings. "Seems to me it's about to change back to its rightful path."
No-one moved. No-one breathed. Blasters hovered in midair, poised and ready.
"It was nice…while it lasted," Thrawn said, a tinge of sadness evident in his voice.
Ben felt the electric charge in the air, an instinct he'd developed completely separately from his Jedi training. He managed to wrest himself free of the stormtrooper holding him in place and throw himself to the deck just as the conference room above him erupted in laserfire.
The truce at Coruscant was well and truly over.