Space, en route to Weyland, 10 ABY
The Chimaera hurtled through a corridor of swirling blues as it surged through the fabric of time and space. The journey had run them through a half-dozen stops and course corrections. Gideon had insisted upon the constant shifts to maintain Weyland's secrecy. Commodore Brandt had scoured the public record for mention of Weyland, and a begrudging admiration developed that Gideon had managed to maintain the planet's obscurity – a remarkable feat on its own, even by the Grand Admiral's estimation.
After checking progress on the final leg of the jump, Brandt glanced up toward the observation deck. Grand Admiral Thrawn held his customary posture, his hands behind his back as he stood in stillness and silence, gazing into the mottling of hyperspace as if it were a piece of art in itself. Thrawn, as if sensing Brandt's regard, turned his head and nodded. Brandt recognized the invitation to join him, and he climbed the staircase out of the control well to come to rest at the Grand Admiral's side.
Brandt waited, allowing the Grand Admiral to address him first. After a moment's silence, the Grand Admiral requested, "Time to arrival?"
"90 seconds, sir," Brandt confirmed.
"And Moff Gideon?" Thrawn asked.
"Moff Gideon is consulting with Lieutenant Torris about the girl," Brandt reported.
"Very good," Thrawn said. "Now, we discover what our friend has been building for us all these years."
Commodore Brandt turned toward the observation window, mirroring his superior's posture. As the hyperspace mottling spun around the hurtling ship, Brandt felt an eager excitement toward discovering the extent of the rebuilt Imperial might. Uncertainty tarnished his excitement, as he recalled Thrawn's comment about Gideon's intentions. Would Gideon see himself as an agent of Thrawn, or would it be the inverse? Tension mounted quickly whenever the two men met. Despite his excitemnt, Brandt braced himself for the confrontation.
The Ensign broke the silence as he announced the pending arrival. After a ten-second countdown, the Chimaera dropped out of hyperspace above a blue sphere swirled with clouds. Above the planet, a space station rotated, hovering above the vague sheen of a planetary shield. The shield radiated outward from a thin band of connected power plants, depots, and shield generators encircling the planet's equator. A pair of circular Star Destroyer dry docks rose from the band. Each bay contained a wedge-shaped, fully completed ship. Brandt's quick scan revealed 26 bays containing a count of 52 completed Star Destroyers. Several similar dry docks orbited the planet further away. Brandt counted at least another sixty Arquitens-class cruisers and over one hundred smaller Gozanti-class cruisers.
"It appears our friend has undersold the extent of his operation," Thrawn reflected. "Most impressive."
Brandt turned toward the Grand Admiral. He was not sure if it was his imagination or a trick of the light, but the Grand Admiral's eyes appeared to glow brighter.
"Commodore, I would like you to accompany me to the surface. Assemble a full escort and meet me at the hangar bay in five minutes time," Thrawn ordered.
"Yes, sir," Brandt affirmed. As the Grand Admiral turned, Brandt barked orders to the officers in the command wells, and the crew set to their tasks with expedient efficiency.
The Lambda -class shuttle soared across a vast forest carpeting rolling hillsides. Several deep valleys incised by rumbling channels of white water cut through the forest. Ahead, a cluster of pyramidal peaks loomed, shrouded by mists. The shuttle soared toward the central peak, flanked on both sides by TIE fighters. The shrieking engines roared above the forests, sending animals scurrying through the understory. The shuttle slowed on its approach to the broad hangar bay cut into the side of the mountain, and Commodore Brandt observed legions of stormtroopers in white-and-black armor standing in formation, awaiting their arrival. Brandt did not recognize the armor or the troop designation, and he leaned forward to access the shuttle's computer.
"There's no need, Commodore," Moff Gideon said.
Brandt turned back to see Gideon beaming. Brandt frowned, replying, "I beg your pardon?"
"I beg your pardon, Moff," Gideon corrected. Brandt glanced at Gideon's imperious expression, then toward Thrawn.
"Explain," Thrawn said. Gideon glared at him, resenting Thrawn's neglect for honorifics.
Gideon slipped back into his self-satisfied smile as the shuttle settled onto the landing deck. As the TIE escort soared off into the clouds, Gideon rose from his chair and bowed toward the Grand Admiral. "With pleasure. Follow me."
Brandt and Thrawn rose from their seats, leaving the pilot behind. They followed Gideon through the shuttle's hold and down the boarding ramp through a hiss of dissipating steam. The air was cold and crisp, and Brandt noticed flurries of snow tumbling through the air on a frigid breeze. As a snowflake landed on his nose, Brandt entertained a fleeting hope that they could reposition themselves here. He would not be sorry to leave the searing deserts of Honoghr behind.
Gideon strode forward, with Grand Admiral Thrawn following close behind. As they walked, Gideon commenced a monologue, gesturing to the soldiers surrounding them. "Following your disappearance, Grand Admiral, the Empire fell into disorganization and chaos. At least, that's how the Republic has seen it. Yes, we had to leave several factions out to dry. A tragedy. But as the Empire's glorious fruits withered away, its roots grew stronger."
The assembled soldiers turned as Gideon passed, and Brandt had a sense of their loyalty and dedication. The armor remained impossible to place, and Brandt concluded that it was a newer design, albeit composed of a higher quality material.
"For instance," Gideon said, pausing before one such soldier. "In the past, the Empire relied on inexpensive materials at bulk cost." Gideon smiled, running a finger across the soldier's breastplate. The soldier remained motionless, giving the impression of stoic discipline. "But after the purge of Mandalore, we carried out our work while the Mandalorians believed their planet was cursed. We pooled their resources and consolidated their gifts. Now, over a dozen legions of dark troopers await our command, protected by the finest armor in the galaxy."
"Beskar?" Thrawn asked, stepping toward the soldier for a closer examination.
"Of the highest quality," Gideon explained. "We reclaimed some of it from dead Mandalorians. The rest we mined."
Gideon stepped away from the soldier and gestured toward a smaller formation of guards in red, shining armor. "And here," Gideon said as he approached the formation. "I know you favor your Noghri, noble savages though they are. But, as a token of my good will, please allow me to offer the services of our Praetorian guard."
Thrawn examined the collected soldiers, saying, "Beskar as well, I assume?"
"With weapons proven to deflect lightsabers," Gideon beamed.
"And training?" Thrawn asked.
"The Emperor spared several Jedi from the purges, bending them to his will. Some remain, and they have overseen training. I am quite confident that these guards will be able to handle even the most determined attack by the most seasoned Jedi," Gideon said. His smile faded into a grim hardness, and he muttered, "Even Skywalker."
"Impressive, Moff Gideon," Thrawn said, turning away from the guards to face the Moff. "And could you provide an accounting of the forces we observed in the sky. Likewise, how you plan to staff those forces?"
"Ah, yes," Gideon said, brightening again. "Fifty-two new Star Destroyers and another two dozen reclaimed Destroyers. 107 Arquitens-class cruisers, 132 Gozanti-class cruisers, and several hundreds of TIE fighters, interceptors, bombers. And," Gideon paused, holding a holoprojector device into the air, "The Emperor even saved your TIE-Defender designs. We've constructed four dozen of the craft so far."
Brandt noticed Thrawn's focus shift inward as he considered the hologram of the TIE-Defender rotating before him. Thrawn snapped out of the reverie, then said, "And the crew?"
"Ah," Gideon chuckled. "Please, follow me."
Gideon turned away, pocketing the holoprojector as he strode toward the entrances of the Mount Tantiss facility. Brandt watched watch an approaching Lieutenant Torris accompanying a floating stretcher. A quartet of death troopers escorted them. As the Lieutenant neared, Gideon added, "Perhaps Lieutenant Torris ought to see this as well."
Thrawn nodded toward Lieutenant Torris, who stepped away from the stretcher. Brandt glanced at the child on the stretcher, a girl aged-8, with delicate features and structure. He sequestered the wave of unease at seeing the child. Gideon, unconcerned to see a child strapped to a floating stretcher, issued an order. "Bring the girl to the 12th level. Full examination and blood panel. I want the assessment by this evening."
Gideon turned toward Thrawn and conveyed an affected gesture of welcome, saying, "Shall we?"
Grand Admiral Thrawn passed through the door, followed by Gideon and Torris. As Brandt entered after them, he felt a powerful wave of nostalgia at the pristine, gray familiarty of the facility's aesthetic. Officers bustled about as MSE-6 repair droids scuttled over the smooth, mirror-black surfaces of the corridor. The quiet, rigid discipline of Imperial soldiers fill his heart with joy.
Gideon forged ahead, entering a lift, into which Thrawn, Brandt, and Torris filed. The four men descended the lift in silence, descending dozens of floors into the guts of the mountain. Brandt felt the pressure shift in his ears, and he yawned to rebalance the equilibrium.
The lift descended toward the bottom floor and stopped. The doors opened, and a wave of blue-white light washed over them. The light overpowered Brandt at first. He noticed his fingernails glowing, and he recognized that part of the light was ultraviolet. He looked up and surveyed a towering colosseum of ascending, circular rows of chambers filled with a glowing blue liquid. Within each one of the chambers sat. . .
"Clones!" Lieutenant Torris exclaimed breathlessly.
Brandt felt a rustle of movement, and he turned to see several slender, lilting Kaminoans approaching.
"Welcome home, Moff Gideon," the lead Kaminoan scientist said.
Gideon gestured toward the thousands of cloning cylinders extending into the heights of the cloning chamber. "For decades, the Emperor funneled money and the best minds into his research here. The goal was to advance and to perfect the noble sciences of warfare and cloning," Gideon declared theatrically. "Now, you might ask, didn't we learn our lessons of the limitations on cloning following the Clone Wars? Is it not foolish to model an entire army after a single individual? To which I say – absolutely!"
Gideon nodded to the lead Kaminoan. In a serene, detached voice, the Kaminoan explained, "Thanks to the Emperor's generous funding, we relocated a sizable contingency of Kaminoan scientists to Weyland. We have applied strandcasting to many of the flaws inherent in a singular design. We've introduced variability based off of specific needs. Do you require engineers? We can adjust the genetic sequences to reflect the right balance of mathematical intelligence and spatial recognition. Do you require soldiers? We can engineer their physique, their mental toughness, their obedience – any qualities you desire."
"Made to order clones," Torris said, nodding appreciatively. "We dreamed it. . ."
"And we willed it," Gideon said. "But that's not all."
Gideon turned toward a console and entered a code. After entering the code, he turned back toward Thrawn, Brandt, and Torris, a satisfied smile gracing his face. The Kaminoans had already backed away from the center of the floor, and the other three men followed suit. A hiss of steam ejected a cloud of cold vapor into the chamber, and Brandt shivered. A cylinder several meters wide rose from the center of the floor. Within, a grotesque, humanoid figure floated in a bubbling, pale pink liquid. The being was connected to dozens of tubes, his human features distorted. A gaping hole in the left cheek marred the creature's disfigured face. Through the hole, Brandt could see the being's teeth. His head was hairless, and his skin had a pallid, sickly complexion, and the skin appeared to hang loosely over his frame.
"Now, I know what you're thinking," Gideon chuckled. "He doesn't look like much. However. . ."
Gideon gestured to the lead Kaminoan scientist, who began explaining at the cue. "For years, the Emperor sought to solve the riddle of cloning a Force-sensitive being. The science has always been clear that the midichlorians in a Force-sensitive's body will reject duplication. Moreover, those who did survive often succumbed. More spiritual thinkers believed that the Force itself rejected the duplicates. But the truth is more subtle. . . and more interesting. A clean clone of a Force-sensitive being will always fail, as each Force-sensitive being is unique. They cannot replicate. But with the right combination of transfusions from young, Force-sensitive donors, a carefully cultivated source of ideal genetic strands, we have. . ."
"Snoke," Gideon interjected.
"Forgive me," Thrawn whispered. "But he looks quite frail."
"Ah, Grand Admiral," Gideon laughed. "Perhaps you are familiar with the Jedi death rites?"
"Quite," Thrawn said.
"Luminous beings are we. Not this crude matter," Gideon recited. "A hymn composed by the former Grand Master of the Jedi, himself, if I am not mistaken." Gideon stepped forward, placing his hand upon the glass cylinder. His eyes glowed with reverence.
Brandt gazed at the grotesque creature floating in the solution, fighting back his horrified revulsion. Brandt jumped as the creature's eyes flew open, then fought back a wave of embarrassment. Torris had not noticed, and Thrawn appeared indifferent. Torris turned away from the creature and said to Thrawn, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Grand Admiral?"
"I expect so, Lieutenant," Thrawn affirmed.
Gideon turned away, suspicious. The Kaminoan lead scientist tilted his head.
Thrawn turned to Gideon and explained. "Through the course of our sojourn, we discovered and accumulated a fascinating substance called Zelphinium. Zelphinium has the unique capacity to create a vacuum in the fabric of the Force."
"As if the Force was not there?" Gideon asked breathlessly. Brandt noticed tendrils of greed spreading.
"In a sense," Thrawn affirmed. "When paired with a substance of my own engineering that accomplishes the opposite, Zelphinium has led to many useful discoveries."
"I would be quite interested in reviewing this science," the Kaminoan said, his voice purring with intrigue. "Perhaps it might resolve some of the issues that hinder our progress."
Lieutenant Torris grinned at Thrawn. Brandt felt a wave of scorn at the break of decorum; the Lieutenant appeared giddy like a schoolboy.
"As you were, Lieutenant," Thrawn dismissed. Lieutenant Torris bounced along after the Kaminoans as they filed through a door leading to the central laboratories.
"Kala Tse," Moff Gideon called out. The lead Kaminoan scientist paused at the door and turned back toward Gideon. Gideon stepped away from the tank and said, "Please prepare Snoke for travel. Full protocol with every available holocron, and pack his suit. I want the installation process complete by the time we reach Honoghr."
"You intend to return to Honoghr?" Thrawn asked, his right eyebrow cocked.
"The preparation and work on this specimen has been a decade in the making. There is nothing here on Weyland that can test whether he is ready."
Gideon turned to face the Grand Admiral. "The Emperor's resources – well, let's just say they don't have the requisite fight that I'm looking for."
"And what exists on Honoghr that can do what cannot be done here?" Thrawn asked.
"Your prisoner – the Emperor's Hand," Gideon smiled.
"I am unsure whether that is the best use of this particular resource," Thrawn reiterated.
"I'm not requesting, Grand Admiral," Moff Gideon warned.
"Such a command exceeds the protocol, Moff Gideon," Grand Admiral Thrawn countered.
"You spent a decade lost in space, Grand Admiral," Gideon warned. "You overestimate the weight that your conclusions carry."
Brandt noticed a subtle, calculating shift in the Grand Admiral's bearing. Gideon, who had not spent the last decade with Thrawn, missed the cue. "Very well, then, Moff Gideon. But be warned. The Republic holds a Noghri captive, and it is possible that Leia Organa may be close to ascertaining the location of Honoghr."
Gideon blanched in a flash of a moment, but the emotion passed, replaced by supreme confidence. "All the better. I will bring several companies of the latest generation of Dark Troopers and a detachment of the Praetorian guard. I welcome the chance to meet Leia Organa face to face."
Gideon turned away from Thrawn, leaving the Grand Admiral and Brandt behind. Brandt turned and saw the monstruous creature floating in the tank, its eyes half-open. He turned back facing the monstruous creature floating in the tank. He turned away, finding that he and Thrawn were alone.
"Sir, does this not constitute insubordination?" Commodore Brandt asked as soon as Gideon was out of earshot.
"Technically, no," Grand Admiral Thrawn said. "Military command structures and governance command structures did not overlap. But let us not assume that a power struggle with Moff Gideon is our real battle."
"Then does that mean. . ." Brandt began, but he was unsure of how to interpret the ramifications.
"Moff Gideon deems himself in command – the heir to the Emperor's authority," Thrawn explained. "His recent history demonstrates otherwise. He has borrowed and begged, creating his own Imperial facsimile. But without the Shadow Council, what is he really?"
Brandt glanced at the door through which Gideon departed. Thrawn did not allow time for Brandt to contemplate the ramifications as he said. "Come, Commodore. I believe our benefactor, Mr. Myntal would like to discover the fruits of his investment. I've order a full inventory of the Emperor's treasures. And, you owe me a report on movements of Black Sun and Crymorrah task forces."
Thrawn turned away from the cylinder containing Snoke, and Brandt spared a last glance, shivering in disgust at the creature. Loathe to linger, he followed his commander out of the cloning chamber and into the lift.
Esfandia, 10 ABY
Orris Bedley crouched to the ground, examining the supple foliage of the kibla greens growing in the sprawling plot on the outskirts of the village. The sun shone high overhead, baking the landscape in summer heat. Nourishing water funneled down from the mountains, collecting in vast reservoirs. Despite the heat, the rations would not be an issue this year, thanks to abundant winter rains. Bedley smiled, confident in the year's harvest, which the harvester droids would begin collecting in two weeks' time. With the proceeds, he could expand into the neighboring plot, which had lain fallow and vacant since old Wexler's death two seasons ago. He picked a corner of the soft green leaf and placed it in his mouth, savoring bitter, astringent flavor. With the right mixture of fats, acids, and salts. . .
His considerations over flavor stalled as a shadow passed overhead. He glanced up to the sky, recalling that the day's forecast did not call for rain. But no cloud above cast his plot in darkness. Instead, Orris Bedley observed a massive ship drifting overhead. The ship's fuselage comprised a pair of dagger-like structures protruding from a pyramidal superstructure. The ship's copper orange-green tinge was unlike anything he had ever seen passing through nearby Delta Outpost. The familiarity and cruelty of the ship's design left Bedley with an ominous feeling. Can't be Empire, they're dead, he thought to himself. He squinted at the ship, musing, Republic never comes this way. . .
Without warning, a line of orange energy erupted from the belly of the ship's fuselage. The ground shook as a towering fireball erupted in the distance, obscuring the jagged, swelling peaks to the east. Bedley fell backward into a bed of kibla greens. Another dozen blasts followed shortly after, and corresponding fireballs erupted in the distance. A wailing klaxon ripped through the shattered air, warning of an oncoming flood. The flood klaxons only wailed in those rare years when the rains persisted for months, leaving a massive snowpack in the mountains. The snow was not deep enough this year, leaving Bedley to wonder. . .
Before Bedley could finish his wondering, a wall of water roared through the eaves of the woods on the east end of the plot. The water washed over the kibla greens and slammed into his body. The flood carried him away, slamming his body into a harvester droid and killing him instantly.
The two dozen Z-95 Headhunters of Esfandia's regional defense force rose from the airstrip on the outskirts of Delta Outpost. The obsolete ships lumbered into the sky toward the growing shadows from the massive fleet blocking out the sun. Captain Leven Bote leaned against the railing of the control tower. Amidst rising dread he counted dozens of vast cruisers drifting down from the sky. Hundreds of smaller craft drifted from the bellies of the beasts. Bote focused his binoculars to observe their jagged shape and copper coloration. The database provided no ID, but the function of the ships became crystal clear. A hail of blaster fire swallowed the Z-95's within seconds of them reaching the stratosphere.
A blast of static erupted from the speaker in the control tower, and as the static subsided, a monotonous, robotic voice began to speak.
Citizens of the planet Esfandia. We are the Grysk. We have overwhelmed your defenses. We have destroyed a third of your water supply. We have targeted the remaining water sources and are prepared to fire, should you reject our terms. Turn over control of all infrastructure, communications, and military capacity to us immediately. Surrender your leadership for interrogation. Gather your citizens in their respective settlements and prepare for inspection. Failure to comply within 10 minutes will result in the destruction of another third of your freshwater storage capacity. We wait.
Two dozen of the jagged fighters streaked overhead, their blasters erupting as they strafed the Outpost's airstrip. A blast slammed into the base of the control tower, and Bote collapsed to the ground from the shockwave. Smoke billowed through the room, seeping out of the shattered windows. Bote pulled himself back to the feet, and the last image that passed through his mind was of the darkening sky. Hundreds of Grysk cruisers descended from space, blocking out the sun. The fighters wheeled back around, and a blast of orange light tore through the control towering, the flames consuming his body.