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Three weeks later
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Temple of the Unveiled Force, Confederate Center, Earth
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While in the Lotus position, Finnigan Incite focused on taking in the mile-high air slowly through his nostrils. Through years of focused practice he could hold his exhalation, almost preternaturally, for up to eight minutes before he had to release it.
The wide, floor-to-ceiling, window in front of him revealed a westward view of the towering Rockies. Even now in September they were already topped with the year's first snowfall, revealing the progress the Baffin Island Project had accomplished in restoring the climate damage the Empire had inflicted upon the Earth twenty years ago. During the immediate post-war years it had taken several years for it to finally stop snowing.
Truth be told, Finnigan had no recollection of the antebellum Earth. He was delivered several weeks after the Empire had left the planet and retreated to their fortress on Mars. He had been raised in the post-war world that had led to almost a billion more Earthlings dying of starvation and their injuries following the war.
Those dark times had been an ally to the Empire as the Earth struggled to rebuild and most importantly, rearm. Finnigan was born into it, molded by it. He didn't see the light until he was already a man, by then it was nothing to him but blinding.
Allegedly, he was birthed the bastard child of an unwanted mother and a passing Stormtrooper, who Finnigan imagined raped her in an Imperial pleasure house behind their lines. He had been born inside what had once been called Camp Olympia during an outbreak of the Martian Fester which had taken the lives of thousands within that refugee center, including his mother's.
Before he could even speak, he had been gathered with other children discarded and shunned by the rest of the camp's population for their Imperial heritage by the newly formed Guardians of the Whills sect. Newly returned from witnessing the miracle of the Force on Mars, the new religious sect had swept the Earth in religious fervor following the war. Despite their rising popularity, they weren't yet the powerhouse they were today. When the military came for the half-breeds there was little the Guardians could do to stop them.
Finnigan had been too young to remember any of it.
No. His first memories were of a sterile underground military base in Nevada. It wasn't until his release that he learned the place's name was Groom Lake.
Not knowing their parentage, like billions of other war refugees the children there were isolated and cut off from any connection they previously had with the outside world. They were each given new names from whatever had been slapped upon them at birth. Finnigan never knew his birth name. Their last names, for all one thousand one hundred and thirty eight of the children, was the same; Incite.
Doctor Incite was their god, their savior, their teacher and, most importantly, he was their father. What he truly was, Finnigan realized over the years, was their warden. He was a scientist and he saw his children as experimental lab rats.
To Finnigan, his pseudo-father was his torturer. A man more interested in testing Finnigan's physical and mental limits rather than forming any sort of bond with the children raised by his government run experiment. And Finnigan had been his star pupil.
At least that's how Finnigan remembered it. Over the years the teams of scientists had paid more and more attention to Finnigan. Singling him out for special studies while ignoring his brothers and sisters. Eventually Finnigan realized he was special. And he needed to protect that.
His memories drifted back to those underground testing facilities. He remembered the scientists hiding images on the backs of cards and having him identify them. Finnigan could sense the images as light images pulsating from the testers' minds. Whenever he wanted to he could name the objects on the cards. He did so several times over the years, but more often than not he misidentified them to confuse the researchers. The tests were always done under the unfeeling gaze of his father, Dr. Incite.
And no emotion ever came off his father.
The Doctor had been the only man to scare Finnigan. He had gotten accustomed over the years as a child of reading the feelings of his guards and overseers. He could tell when they were happy or sad, or worried about their families or money. Dr. Incite once asked Finnigan if he was reading his mind. When Finnigan replied that he didn't know what the doctor was talking about, the doctor just stared at him silently for several minutes.
"The Force can have a strong influence on the weak-minded." Incite had told him.
The next night they came for Finnigan. They bound and drugged him, transported him across the country and dumped him in a dorm room in Princeton University. Where, much to Finnigan's surprise he, was already enrolled. He never saw his father or another one of his siblings ever again.
His father had been right. The Force did have a strong pull on the simple minded and within a year he had convinced the administration to grant him a diploma in Divinity Studies, followed three months later with an expedited Masters in Theology. He was eighteen years old when he walked across that Princeton stage. That had been two years ago.
To be fair, Finnigan didn't understand the mysteries of the Force any more than his father had. He knew it was something Imperials and nearly every type of alien race out there could have, but it had been denied to Earthlings throughout their existence. Well, unless you believed a few outliers such as Houdini, Rasputin or even Jesus to have possessed the Force during their lives.
Was it some sort of metaphysical and ubiquitous energy field that could only be wielded by a select few? Was it some sort of telekinetically charged plasma field used by millions in the Empire in the form of these rumored laser-swords they supposedly carried? Was it some kind of gateway to the afterlife for its chosen disciples? Was it just the warm and fuzzy feeling you get when you know nothing can stop you from getting what you want? Finnigan had no idea.
The one thing he did figure out on his own was the more you focused on the Force the more powerful you became. He tried everything from martial arts and yoga to tantric sex and sensory deprivation tanks to deepen his focus on the Force. He quickly ruled out recreational drugs from Cannabis to Dimethyltryptamine, as they merely got him buzzed while unfortunately weakening his connection with the Force.
The only ones who seemed to have any idea was the global, up-and-coming, cult of the Guardians of the Whills.
The Guardians had been founded almost immediately at the end of the Earth-Empire War by returned prisoners-of-war that had been held by the Empire. While on Mars a vast multitude had escaped in what had become known as the Second Exodus and fought their way nearly to the gates of the old Imperial capital at Amidala City. It was there that they had come face to face with their greatest obstacle. And she had saved their lives.
The Ashla, as the forces under General Boston had come to call her, was what was known as a Jedi; a religious sect, or military unit of Force-users that allegedly could do things well beyond the scope of what Finnigan had been able to accomplish so far. The Ashla had arrested an energy shell in mid-air and held it in place for six hours over the heads of General Boston's army like some sort of Sword of Damocles.
The Ashla had aggravatingly declined to meet with any of the prisoners after the fighting, leaving them to fill in the gaps as to what she was all about. They had heard whispers of the Force, watched the Jedi utilize its immense power in front of their faces and then been thrust back unto the Force vacuum that was Earth. It was no wonder the Guardians of the Whills had been left to creatively make up their religion around an idea they knew little about until it resembled a turn of the century mega-church. Finnigan didn't feel as though he could criticize them, as whatever they had accomplished in their blind grasping at straws had led to their acquisition of nearly three hundred million worshipers around the globe.
The leader of the Guardians was a man named Tony Stoen, now known the world over as Grand Master Panda. The self-attributed strange moniker was a holdover of Panda's pre-war wrestling days. The Grand Master had served alongside General Boston during the Second Exodus. Though General Boston's own reputation was tarnished when he defected or vanished, no one was ever really sure, during a diplomatic mission to Mars, Panda was able to weather the scandal unscathed. Panda himself attributed his good fortune to actually being touched by The Ashla herself during the climactic Battle of the Crater.
Finnigan didn't think Panda had been touched by The Ashla so much as he had been throttled by a Force choke and had his bell rung. Finnigan had attempted the trick himself several times once he had learned of it. The best he had accomplished so far was inducing a coughing fit in a Confederate census taker.
He had made contact with one of the Guardians' missions early in his college career with his interest in expanding his hidden Force powers. The Guardians of the Whills took to young Finnigan like water to a sponge. He could see the way the winds were blowing in the capital. The Confederate Senate thought they had an up and coming religious whirlwind on their hands and sought to control it from the inside, not knowing how it would seep into every government ministry and pull every glass ceiling down with a thunderous crash. With the minimum of efforts he bent the lower members of the church to his will and skyrocketed through the upper echelons of the Temple until he was the worldwide Guardian Youth Movement Leader, and a member of the Grand Master's inner circle.
In three years after being released into the world by his father, Finnigan had propelled himself into the upper echelons of Confederate society. The Guardians of the Whills held a power in Confederate Center that was akin to the Scientologists hold on pre-war Hollywood. It had weaved itself into nearly every CEN Ministry from Information to Transportation and Education and held a stranglehold in the Confederate Senate.
Finnigan shook himself out of his meditation. Remembering his own past was a distraction and not the purpose of the exercise this morning. He stood up and stretched, his tank top and exercise gear pulling on his taught muscles.
He looked around the vast office that took up nearly an entire floor of the Guardians of the Whills's headquarters temple in Confederate Center. One wall of his office was covered in life sized photographs of Finnigan meeting with the Pope, the Dalai Lama,and the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem and Indonesia. Along the other wall was a sprawling mural of his historic speech last year in Vatican City, with his electrifying call for unity that had rocketed his level of fame into the upper stratosphere.
He whispered the words of his famous mantra to himself without reading them, "I am one with the Force and the Force is with me."
That simple mantra followed Finnigan throughout his life now. He started every speech with it. Crowds screamed it at rallies. And when he wanted and took a woman he was often amused when she uttered it during the height of passion.
He entered his executive washroom and stripped out of his clothes. Sometimes a hot shower was just the thing to help his mind focus but he was pressed for time today. Instead he climbed into the newest feature in his washroom. The sonic shower had been recently imported from New Mandalore and had quickly become a status symbol of the Confederate elite. The waves of ultrasonic energy vibrated the sweat and grime from his body in a matter of milliseconds, leaving him clean and slightly more refreshed.
He donned a black Desmond Merrion Supreme Bespoke made of rare vicuna and qivuik wool. Each of the buttons of the suit were 18 karat gold and the suit was so expensive it had to be delivered in an armored car. The coat covered a yellow, Gucci silk shirt which matched the color his eyes mysteriously turned when he felt most attune with the Force.
He walked back out into the center of his office and stared back out at the distant mountain range. His thoughts of his past had distracted and frustrated his concentration.
For the past week something hadn't felt right with the Force. It had always been a low background hum in the deep parts of his brain, but for days now it had felt different. He didn't understand why but the Force had always seemed to recoil from his fellow Earthlings and rush to swamp him like a tidal wave. It hadn't fled from his brothers and sisters like it did other Earthlings but it also didn't seem to flow in any sort of excitable manner like it did in his own presence. Now it seemed as if something on the planet was exciting the Force in a way that Finnigan had never encountered before. A new power had caused a great disturbance in the Force.
Finnigan's biggest worry was that The Ashla had arrived. He was not prepared to face her yet. He was afraid she would sense his connection with the Force and out him as a Force-user. He could see the Confederate military arresting him and submitting him back into his father's intrusive experimentation once again. His body emitted a cold shudder at the thought.
He had recently decided to extend his grasp of the Force into every aspect of the mind he could conjure. Through intense study into psychic abilities he had quickly ruled out retrocognition, apportation and mediumship as parlor tricks utilized by spiritual hucksters. He had some luck with telepathy and mind reading, at least in the form of detecting emotions and mind control through what he called Force persuasion. He was improving on a quasi-sense of remote viewing of distant objects and he had always excelled at divination, psychometry, auto-writing and dowsing. So much so that he had had to hide such abilities from his father's goons growing up.
He had advanced his pryokenisis to the point where he could light a candle at a hundred meters and he sensed he had some untapped ability to channel electricity that he hadn't fully explored.
His current focus during his recent unease over the fresh disturbance had been improving his telekinetic abilities, particularly when it came to levitation. He turned to the desk at the head of the office. It was a six hundred thousand Confederate dollar piece made of Russian walnut and stainless steel, topping out at just over a metric ton.
He held out his right hand towards the heavy piece of furniture.
"The Force over matter . . . and my mind over both." He chanted to himself.
The desk moved. Well it quivered for several seconds. Several objects from pens to his laptop vibrated atop the desk's surface. Slowly the desk lifted from the floor. First the left side of the desk and then the right until no point of contact was left with the ground.
Finnigan strained as he focused on lifting it higher and higher. His muscles in his arm ached. He didn't know why that should be since they weren't doing the actual lifting themselves. His temple throbbed. That made more sense as his mind focused like a knife's edge on the desk.
The desk had risen about half a meter above the floor when the intercom buzzer chirped atop the desk. The sudden noise broke his concentration, causing the desk to smack back into the plush carpeting of the office with a dull, yet quite audible thud. The windows in the office reverberated from the impact.
Finnigan walked to the intercom and activated it with a wave of his hand. "Yes, what is it?"
"Are you ok, sir? I heard a crash." His executive assistant inquired.
"I'm fine. I'm all fine here now, thank you. How are you?" Finnigan replied as he resisted the urge to cringe. He was not yet ready to reveal all that he was capable of, and he had just drawn unneeded attention to himself in the most awkward of manners.
"Sir, Griffon Harris is here to see you."
"Excellent. Send him in." Finnigan ordered before walking around and sitting behind the now settled desk.
A moment later, dressed in equally expensive clothes, the son of President Jonathon Harris entered Finnigan's domain. The Youth Leader had fostered a friendship with both of President Harris's children over the past few years. After all Harris couldn't live forever and the Confederate constitution allowed for familial transfer of office. Griffon was five years Finnigan's senior while his older brother Cameron was another two years older than his sibling.
Both of the Harris brothers were nearly worshiped by the lower ranks of the Guardians of the Whills. They, along with their mother, First Lady Jill Harris, had been abducted by Imperial forces during the war and held hostage in the Royal Palace on Mars, first by the late Emperor Yos and then by the present Empress Phasma. It was there that they had come into contact with The Ashla. Their first-hand testimonies of the Jedi's abilities had written volumes of scripture for Grand Master Panda and his temple, and their public support for the Guardians had helped to legitimize the alien inspired faith in an increasingly anti-alien Confederacy.
If the sons of the President hadn't publicly voiced their belief in the Force and their support of the Guardians, Finnigan imagined that Grand Master Panda and his followers would have ended up persecuted worse than the Jews in Czarist Russia.
With such proximity to the movers and shakers in the Guardians of the Whills, as well as an enticing opening into the world of Confederate politics and the world's most powerful family, it was no wonder Finnigan strove to keep the Harris brothers as close as possible.
Finnigan made a show of rising up from his desk and walking around it to great his guest. The two young men smiled at one another. Finnigan clutched Griffon's right hand and brought him in for a hug with his left, patting the President's son on the back as he did so. "Griff, my man. How are you doing, you son of a bitch?"
Griffon Harris laughed. "Doing well. Just got back from the European Light Side Festival in Copenhagen. Everyone was sad you couldn't make it this year. Especially some of the more devoted female Guardians I might add."
"Ah. What can I say? The Force willed that I was needed here. I'm sure you were able to console their broken hearts." Finnigan laughed with his friend.
"I did what I could." Griffon admitted with a lecherous grin.
"And your brother? Is Cam here as well?" Finnigan asked.
"I'm afraid Space-Force needed him more. His ship, the Yangtze, is on patrol just outside Mars. So close he says he can almost spot Amidala City with his naked eye." Griffon explained.
"Almost. Rumor has it they're grooming him for command of one of the Europe-class Frigates."
"I've heard that tidbit as well. You know how Space-Force wants to stay in my father's good graces. The next frigate off the line in Tokyo will be the Greenland. They've finally ran out of continents to name them after."
"I've heard they expect to send a manned expedition back to Greenland in about five years. The place will have finally cooled down enough from those Imperial super-bombs that melted all the ice up there." Finnigan said. He was disappointed Cameron wasn't attending the day's events, but that didn't mean he was slipping away from Finnigan's control. He would have to contact the elder Harris brother soon.
"Maybe I will lead it. Force only knows the family doesn't get its name in the press enough." Griffon joked. It helped that his father had basically controlled every aspect of the Confederate media since the end of the war. "But that's for another day. I assume you've been invited to my father's shindig tonight."
"Of course. I couldn't refuse a Presidential invitation." Finnigan replied.
"Well you could do it once. Doing it twice is a much harder feat." Griffon gibed. People who refused President Harris anything had a lot of difficulty doing it a second time with a bullet in the back of their skull.
"Going to be a virtual who's who of the 1st class." Finnigan assumed. He had heard rumors of several others in the capital invited to the President's gathering.
"That's what I've heard. Military has been buzzing for some time now, but everything got spooky quiet about two weeks ago. My dad's recalled nearly every general and admiral he has, as well as the heads of all the ministries for top secret conferences all week. I haven't even been able to get a hold of him and I've barely got two words out of my mother." Griffon revealed.
"Your mother with him?"
"She hardly leaves his side these days. She's probably the reason the whole world hasn't been conscripted and thrown at Mars in the past twenty years."
"We need the 3rd and 4th classes to run the factories and build the roads. Without them we all starve."
"It wouldn't be that bad without the 4th. Bunch of useless mouths anyways." Griffon shrugged. His elitist opinion had grown common among the upper tier of the artificial caste system created in the Confederacy of Earth Nations since the end of the war. The strong would make all the decisions. It was believed to be more efficient and stream-lined that way. The Earth's leaders would do whatever it took to not be as weak as they were the first time the Empire came to their world.
Finnigan, despite reaping the privileges of the elite 1st class, thought of the whole caste system as a bunch of nonsense. He knew the Force cared nothing for it. He could sense it in every human he came across that they were all the same in the Force. What he did fear was one day the top classes would push the larger lower classes into revolt and they would swallow the 1st and 2nd class whole. The fear of the Empire's return was the only thing preventing that today.
President Harris knew that as well and did everything he could to keep the people of Earth afraid of what was out there, beyond the stars.
"Do you want to ride along with me? The temple has several limousines in its motor pool. Though I figure you could get us through the checkpoints quicker." Finnigan asked.
"That may be, but I think I will tag along with you for simple comfort. If my father had his way I'd be driven around in an armored walker everywhere I went." Griffon admitted.
Finnigan held out his hand towards the door. "After you then, my friend."
The two young men quickly made their way down to the Temple's motor pool where a chauffeur was waiting for them at the open door to a hovering Mercedes-Maybach S-900 Pullman Guard. The luxury vehicle was flanked by two security teams in Presidential armored Cadillac limousines. As soon as the two VIPs were settled into their seats the convoy departed and headed into the heart of the Confederacy.
The streets of Confederate Center, built over a metropolis once known as Denver, were unremarkably empty. Less than five percent of the world's population could afford a car. And the vast majority of post war vehicle production went into military hardware. Public transportation, such as Confederate Center's vast subway system performed the lion's share of moving people around cities these days. A personal vehicle was seen as taking away from the rest of the Earth and weakened the Confederacy for the next fight.
Finnigan sipped on a glass of 2047 Cheval Blanc that had been stocked inside the vehicle's mini-fridge as the Limousine slipped silently through the evening streets. He noticed the few people walking on the sidewalks. Most of them were 2nd class citizens, as 1st class citizens required too much security to be seen on the streets. The lower classes were generally banned from the capital, meaning that menial labor was done by the latest generation of Chappie robots to prevent the need for working class suburbs emerging around the capital.
Tanks and armored vehicles could be found at nearly every intersection. Quick police motorcycles, called Akiras, raced up and down the streets propped up on imported repulsars. Military police officers directed traffic eliminating the need for colorful lights to distract from the cold sterile aesthetic of the capital. Finnigan wondered if the city planners of the place had purposely designed it to mimic the gloominess of last century's North Korea or the Soviet Union.
People here looked to at least be well-fed. Finnigan had visited the countryside in many countries around the Earth. He had seen the gaunt bodies of 4th class citizens working in the fields and factories around the planet. He wondered if they felt kicking the Empire off of Earth was truly a victory or not.
The limousine turned into a long line of similarly luxurious vehicles in front of Earth House, the sprawling Presidential Palace that had replaced the destroyed White House and served as President Harris's residence. Heavily armored Space-Force Marines lined both sides of the grand drive leading up to the entrance.
Valets rushed to open the door for Griffon and Finnigan when they arrived. They saluted the President's son as he stepped out of the vehicle.
There was no official greeter along the drive. Instead the two young men were separated and ushered into a security clearance area. Finnigan knew what to expect as he had been to the Earth House before and knew how seriously they took security here.
A man in scrubs took a small sample of blood from his finger and shined a scanner into Finnigan's eyes causing him to squint. It had been twenty years since a Clawdite had been seen on Earth but President Harris's paranoia remained strong.
As soon as the medic was done, two armored Legionnaires and a Secret Service agent stepped forward. The HALO-suited soldiers were fiercely loyal to President Harris and took their duty extremely seriously as they pointed their weapons in Finnigan's face. A simple scan with the Force convinced him they were both simpletons which was his common assessment of their breed.
The agent had Finnigan strip to his underwear before performing an extensive and intimate search of the Youth Leader. After searching every nook and cranny on Finnigan's body from his mouth and ears to his toes and finding nothing of interest they allowed him to put his clothes back on. Once they deemed him not to be a threat the Legionnaires acted like he wasn't even in the room with them. How little did they know, Finnigan silently mused.
Griffon had already been ushered into the reception by the time Finnigan made it through security. He supposed being the President's son must have some benefits.
A military band played softly in one corner of the room, entertaining the guests as they arrived. A steward offered Finnigan a glass from the selection of wines on his tray. He pointed out the bar in case the Youth Leader desired something stronger, which Finnigan noted. He knew he would need to keep his wits about him this evening. This was a networking dream come true and Finnigan was always looking for a way to ingratiate and use the upper elite to his advantage.
Evidently, the guest list included a virtual pick of the Confederate litter. There wasn't a 2nd Class citizen in the entire gathering. Finnigan spotted dozens of Senators and CEOs from the Trade Federation mingling with each other. He noted no one had been allowed to bring their spouse or a guest, hinting at the possibility of top level secrets soon-to-be revealed.
He wasn't surprised to see the retired Admiral Akfar surrounded by several of his cronies from the military's top brass. Space-Force was well represented by the Confederacy's greatest hero, Captain Mallory of the Ragnarok, who was laughing at a joke a Hispanic Colonel of the Legionnaires was telling him at the bar. To Finnigan, Mallory was yesterday's news and he sought little influence from the military. They were a tool to be used and nothing more.
Several world leaders were in attendance as well as the heads of the Confederate News Network and the Confederate Broadcasting System. He noted ex-royalty Charlotte and Louis Windsor in attendance, probably in their brother's place. Their father had saved his family's name in his last final destructive act which had assassinated the Grand Admiral of the Empire with a pipe bomb if Finnigan remembered right. That act had cost the United Kingdom the city of London which had been glassed in an Imperial reprieve. Not that it was very united anymore with Northern Ireland returned to Ireland and Scotland an independent, yet loyal Confederate nation these days. King George had quickly renounced the monarchy afterwards and currently served as the Confederate Prime Minister of Britain.
"Finn! My boy how are you?" A large figure pushed his way through the growing crowd.
"Grand Master? I didn't know you were coming tonight. We could have driven together." Finnigan greeted the towering ex-wrestler turned religious icon.
"Bah, I've been here since this morning, kid. You know the Deputy Security Advisor is an old friend of mine. Spiz and I go all the way back to Mars together." Panda smiled that world-famous broad grin of his.
"And what have you two old fogies been getting on about?" Finnigan smiled back. He was attempting to keep his voice low to prevent undue attention but Panda always had the volume control of a stick of dynamite.
"Old? Old? I'm barely fifty. Yet I was older than you are now when I was touched by The Ashla and filled with the Light Side."
"You sure she didn't fill your head with something else, sir?" Finnigan wondered how the common people could buy into such bullshit, yet alone send the Temple their money without the influence of his Force powers.
Panda placed his large hand on Finnigan's shoulder. "I will forgive such blasphemy tonight, Finn. But you and I should meditate soon on the mysteries of the Force. After all . . ." Panda smiled again. "You are in for a mighty surprise tonight."
Panda turned and waved for the attention of the Senator from the Banking Clan. He quickly walked away before Finnigan could interrogate him further. Finnigan wondered just what sort of surprise was in store.
Sometime later, as small talk started to become excruciatingly dull and the sky outside the Earth House had grown quite dark, the official Confederacy of Earth Nations anthem blared out. Finnigan had been standing too close to one of the residence's speakers mere seconds before the song started. His connection with the Force sensed the audio device come to digital life allowing him to get away in time. The bombastic John Williams' tune started and ended nearly every citizen of the CEN's day across a multitude of government controlled media and had been a staple of Finnigan's entire life.
The President's Press Secretary made the introduction of the President as the song came to the end of its first verse. Jonathon Harris strolled confidently to a podium at the front of the reception hall.
Now in his seventies, Jonathon Harris had lost little in his step in the years since he had led the Earth to what Confederate media outlets called a victory during the war, but what most called a stalemate behind closed doors. He had more wrinkles and his hair was more salt than pepper these days but his eyes still burned with the fury that had carried the Confederacy of Earth Nations through its greatest trial.
Finnigan didn't remember the war. What he knew of it was the horrors that every survivor told. Of the massive- casualty-sucking battles in Shanghai, Los Angeles and Las Vegas and of the nightmare-inducing global bombardment that had murdered a fourth of the Earth's population in a single day. In the end it didn't matter if Finnigan recalled the war or not. The Confederacy, and more importantly Jonathon Harris, would always remember.
President Harris looked out at the crowd and smiled. It had been so long since anyone had seen the President do so that nearly everyone in the room took a step forward to better listen to their leader. Surely he was about to reveal some great secret as to why they had all been called here tonight. Something like this had been unprecedented since Finnigan had been released into the world.
"Greetings and good evening, my fellow Confederates. It is so good to see so many old familiar comrades and new loyal friends here tonight. We are still picking ourselves up from our recent past so that we can one day build our future. A future...without the Empire."
There were some hushed mummers around the room. The Confederacy had been talking about going out into space and wrestling back the rest of the solar system almost as soon as the ink on the Mercury Accords was dry. Finnigan had heard honest assessments from those who would know that the Earth wouldn't have a fleet to take back Mars for another century.
"For too long we have been at the mercy of an unequally balanced universe. One that gives our foes weapons that far exceed what we have been able to create, despite our endless toil and perseverance. It was only with the sheer weight of our numbers that we bested our enemy during the late war, but that advantage has been frittered away by our efforts to rebuild and feed those numbers. God or the Force only knows how many millions starved to death after the war. And while we scrambled about like frantic kindergartners at an egg hunt our intelligence service, the vaunted CIA, has reported the Empire has spread out among dozens of colonies which has allowed them to triple or quadruple their population in a mere two decades."
Finnigan looked around the room to measure the officers and elites' reactions. Most of what the President spoke of was well known to them. The Earth was making slow gains to catch the Empire's level of technology, but while they did so the Empire was rapidly expanding along what was mysteriously called the Bloodstripe Run from Mars to their new capital on Palpatine Prime.
"But what we didn't know . . . was that while the Empire had ended hostilities with the CEN they had a created a new enemy of their own." The President took a minute for the gathering to contemplate the possibilities he was inferring. "A new group, only recently introduced to us, has made contact. The First Order is a faction of humans who have proven themselves to be armed with weapons in the style of, and on par with, Imperial guns and phasers. Unbeknownst to even our best spies in New Zealand and on the moon, the representatives of the First Order have informed us that they recently fought a war with the Empire on the other side of the galaxy inside what astronomers call the Sagittarius Arm of the Milky Way."
More muttering followed at this news. The Empire had been silent for years. Finnigan, like most, believed Empress Phasma was merely interested in keeping the status quo laid out in the Mercury Accords while she focused on colonization away from Earth. Had that silence been rooted in the Empire's involvement in a distant conflict? Finnigan reached out with his mind and could feel that the President certainly thought so.
"Many of you are not aware of this, but at the end of the Earth-Empire War we were able to dispatch three colonization vessels outside of our solar system. It was a top-secret plan, born in our darkest hour, which would ensure that at least some of humanity survived should the worst occur. Those three ships were to select undisclosed colony sites along the Sagittarius Arm, thought to be beyond the reach of the Empire. We were wrong."
Finnigan noticed for the first time that the wall behind the President was actually a digital projection screen. The President looked over his shoulder as the screen came to life revealing scenes of horror from half a galaxy away.
A colony on a flat world was burning with several bodies impaled on poles. Another heavily forested world showed more dead Earthlings, this time with strange, hairy creatures standing over them. The picture was labelled 'Imperial mercenaries burn Earth colony at Kazoook'. The flatter world was apparently named New Gaia from what Finnigan discerned from the labels. He watched as his fellow Earthlings recoiled at the sight of the colony leader seemingly being devoured by some sort of Imperial octopus creature.
"The Empire has been busy while we have sat here on Earth twiddling our thumbs and shaking our fists futilely at their puppets in New Zealand. I say no more. It is time we had friends of our own. Friends who have offered us gifts to allow us to climb to an equal footing with the Empire."
The crowd buzzed with excitement at the President's revelations. The screen behind him turned from scenes of atrocities to footage of new ship types, shields, warp drives, space fighters, walkers and phasers. Finnigan wasn't the only one to notice the First Order designs looked strangely related to more familiar Imperial ones.
"Without further ado, I want to introduce the representatives of the First Order who recently made clandestine contact with us at our Venus gas-mining facility. The Empire doesn't know they're here and I don't think I need to remind any of you what would happen to any fools that tell them. Let me introduce the Supreme Leader of the First Order, Vala Ren! Admiral Jethran of the 7th Fleet and General Crisis of the 23rd Legion!"
The President stepped aside and turned to a curtained off area beside his podium. The applause from the gathered elites was almost deafening. The curtain was withdrawn to reveal three stationary figures. The shock of their alien appearance quickly caused the applause to peter out.
Vala Ren, who Finnigan assumed was the person in the center of the three visitors, was dressed as something out of a medieval nightmare. He assumed she was a female but the armor she wore left that very much in question. She carried two brutal looking hand weapons on her belt. She had crossed her arms and Finnigan had no doubt she was glaring out at the gathering from behind her helmet's eye slit. The word 'ghoul' somehow popped into the back of Finnigan's brain when studying her.
Unlike the others gathered at the President's bequest, Finnigan wasn't merely shocked at Vala Ren's appearance. Instead, it was the way she felt in the Force that surprised him. She radiated in it. The Force felt alive and thriving in her rather than the slightly sickly feeling it had around Earthlings. The two other First Order individuals seemed enriched and seeped in the Force, though not at such a level as their leader. She radiated anger which seemed to warm Finnigan's skin as he reached out to probe the Force surrounding her.
Vala Ren's head turned towards him as if she was picking him out of the crowd. She stared long and hard in his direction. Finnigan had no doubt, here was another Force-User, the first he had ever come across.
The other two First Order representatives were nearly as shocking as Vala Ren. Admiral Jethran wore a white uniform and grey cape that was nearly a facsimile of the one worn by one of Earth's greatest enemies, Grand Admiral Yutu. It was of a similar cut to the Imperial style except for the white cap with erect side flaps that Jethran wore. Other than that, he bore the same Nazi fashion that officers of the Empire donned.
General Crisis almost caused several officers to reach for their weapons. Luckily those had already been removed by the Secret Service upon the officers' entry. Crisis was decked out in a gold Stormtrooper uniform with a black cape. He even carried a gold phaser in a hip holster. Finnigan looked again and judged that the armor was slightly different, almost an upgraded version of the armor worn by Imperial Stormtroopers during their invasion of Earth.
The appearance of the three started a whirlwind of questions that swirled through the gathering. Were they Imperials? Imperial off shoots? Did an Imperial civil war occur on the other side of the galaxy? Did they steal their gear from the Empire? Was it a trap?
Admiral Jethran stepped to the podium and eagerly shook hands with the President. Finnigan could see they were very familiar with one another. Could these visitors have been the cause of the disturbance Finnigan had felt the past week? Maybe not so much Jethran and Crisis, but the Force rippled and vibrated around Vala Ren. He suspected she still hadn't taken her eyes off of him.
Jethran tapped the cluster of microphones atop the podium as if he was unfamiliar with their function. "Greetings, Ladies and Gentlebeings of Earth, we bring a warm welcome from the First Order. We are here to build an alliance. We have been engaged in the distant corners of this galaxy in a five year struggle with the 2nd Galactic Empire. We have been losing that struggle. Not through any great genius or technological advantage possessed by the 2nd Empire, but, simply put, we are very few and they are many. We represent the survivors of a single fleet and a lone Legion, commanded by General Crisis here."
"Where are your ships?" Captain Mallory piped from the back of the room. "We haven't seen anything over Earth recently."
"Our ships are in retreat in the Sagittarius. We lost many valiant troopers and sailors defending your colonies at New Gaia and Kazoook from Imperial invaders. We are looking for a place to rebuild our numbers and repair our ships to continue the struggle, so through the advice of colonial leaders such as the late President Sato we sent a lone shuttle to this system in hopes of making contact with the great Confederacy of Earth Nations."
Finnigan could sense the perfidious nature in Jethran's statement. The First Order Admiral was lying about something, though Finnigan couldn't discern what exactly. He perhaps could have sensed the truth but he was distracted by a growing pulling in the back of his mind and the fact that Vala Ren was staring daggers at him.
"We come with an offer to supply and equip your armies and navy with new weapons and defenses that would allow your Confederacy to join us in driving the 2nd Galactic Empire from the Milky Way. With our technology and your armies we seek to make this galaxy free for all." Jethran announced, to great applause.
The president stepped next to Jethran and leaned close to the microphones. "I know this is a bit of the enemy of my enemy is my friend, but I am here to tell you, after what they have shown us over this past week, the First Order is legit. Only today I have written orders recalling Admiral Akfar to active duty and we are recalling all of Space Force back to Earth for a total refit of First Order upgrades. We are doubling conscription and training of Army divisions. You should all consider Earth to be back on a war footing as of today."
The cheering grew almost out of control at the President's announcement. Harris and Jethran slapped each other eagerly on the back and shook hands in congratulations. In the back of the room several people smashed their glasses by tossing them in a large empty fireplace. If the guests had been armed, Finnigan was positive some of them would have shot their guns into the air in celebration.
The President continued, "Now for those of you that are still curious the First Order has prepared a demonstration. If you would all join me on the West Lawn."
Stewards opened up the great glass doorways that led out onto the world famous West Lawn. The location was familiar to all as the site of hundreds of press conferences and Vengeance Day medal ceremonies honoring the heroes and the fallen of the Earth-Empire War. Finnigan followed the rest of the crowd outside where he was greeted by the view of a moonlit range of Mount Evans, Grays Peak and Pettingell Peak towering over the Earth House.
It was chilly outside as the winter solstice was only a few weeks away. Luckily this time of year the red light in the sky that was Mars wasn't as visible as it was in the summer months. No one liked the thought of the Empire looking down on Earth. The rings around the full moon were enough of a reminder of the lasting damage the Empire had caused by coming here. They didn't need another.
When everyone was outside and situated along the wide patio and balcony area Finnigan looked back inside the Earth House. The staff had lowered the interior lighting so that the reception area was only lit by the dim light from the three massive chandeliers inside the room.
When he looked forward again he was surprised to be facing the Supreme Leader of the First Order, Vala Ren. Her sudden appearance was such a shock that Finnigan took a step back before composing himself. He started to raise his hand to greet the visiting dignitary when he looked around at all the people around him. Not a single one seemed to have noticed Vala Ren's presence amongst them. He looked over to where Jethran and Crisis were laughing at something the President had said but even they didn't seem to notice Vala Ren's absence from their side.
Finnigan immediately felt something pressing on his brain. No it wasn't a physical sensation he realized but something was probing his mind. He had the odd thought of a giant bank vault. As he imagined his thoughts and memories as precious jewels and piles of money he visualized a giant hand coming down and slamming the vault door closed, followed by heavy locks engaging and sealing the vault door away from intruders.
Vala Ren cocked her head as if she had suddenly discovered something worthy of further study. In an icy tone the alien whispered to Finnigan. "Very interesting. Who are you?"
"My name is Finnigan Incite. I am the Worldwide Youth Leader of the Guardians of the Whills Temple . . ."
"You are no Guardian. There is no Temple on Earth. I have searched this foul world many times while we prepared to make contact. This is a world where the Force goes to die."
"Well it is true we don't really have any Force-users on Earth per se . . ."
"Are you Jedi or are you Sith?" Vala Ren demanded. Finnigan was amazed no one had taken any note of the two of them talking yet.
"I am not Jedi. I do not know what a Sith is, but I do understand the Empire employs a Jedi we call The Ashla as well as some of her disciples." Finnigan explained.
"Ah, yes. Your Grand Master has laughably tried to tell me how great she is. She is no more the Ashla than I am the Bogan. She is Jedi scum and shall be destroyed along with the Empire." Vala Ren said it like it was already a done deal.
"What are you?" Finnigan had to ask. Vala Ren was unlike anything he had ever met.
"I am what the Dark Side wills."
"The Dark Side? I only know what I've been taught second hand inside our Temple. What is it really?"
"The Dark Side of the Force is a pathway to many abilities some consider unnatural."
"Is it possible to learn this power?"
"Not from a Jedi. And certainly not from your so-called Guardians."
Vala Ren turned away from Finnigan and back to the darkened West Lawn. It was at that moment that bright arc lights came on, illuminating three figures chained to poles in the center of the lawn. They were on their knees with their arms bound behind them. Each of the three figures was clad in Imperial Stormtrooper armor and struggled against their restraints.
Admiral Jethran and the President stepped to the front of the balcony to address the gathering once more. Jethran started his spiel. "We have learned of your struggles during your own war with the Empire. How your slugthrowers had little effect against the ballistic models of Stormtrooper armor. How millions died fighting a foe they could do little against. Well we are here to show, that with First Order help, Earth's military will no longer have to struggle against a foe they cannot touch."
He pointed out at the three figures staked out on the lawn. "These three enemy troopers were captured by our forces as we fell back from your colony on New Gaia. They were in the midst of gunning down academy younglings when my forces ambushed them in a counterattack. Many of my own troopers were killed in the engagement."
Something wasn't right. Finnigan reached out with the Force. The three figures had the same sickly, strangled feeling that all Earthlings had with the Force. The few Imperials he had come across had all felt differently than this. It suddenly dawned on him that the three prisoners weren't Imperials at all.
Vala Ren held up her hand with the index finger extended. "Wait."
Finnigan froze in place. He didn't know who to warn. The President and his men all seemed to be going along with Admiral Jethran's demonstration.
The Admiral continued. "Beings of Earth, I give you the Duchess."
A large bipedal walker emerged from the murky, unlit left side of the lawn. Spotlights atop the Earth House illuminated the machine revealing a modified scout walker. It was painted in the Imperial gray with red marking around its turret. Instead of ear cannons the walker housed strange pylons that stuck out of its cockpit like small wings. A circular wheel device was housed in the lower part of the cockpit, commonly known as the chin. The menacing machine took several steps forward until it was situated between the guests and the prisoners before turning and facing the bound captives.
A hatch on the top of the machine opened up and a crewman in a black helmet emerged to salute the Admiral and the President. Admiral Jethran turned to the President. "We understand you have an issue with an upstart nation of Mandalorians on your world. The First Order has the means of dealing with their kind."
He looked up at the walker crewman, "Lieutenant, you may proceed."
The crewman ducked back inside the walker. A second later three lights powered on across both of the small turret wings. The crowd gasped as a stream of electricity arced away from the wheel device at the front of the walker's chin. Lightning shot away from the machine to make contact with the three prisoners.
Their bodies seized for several seconds, preventing them from crying out. Suddenly they fell forward. The armor collapsed is a small dust storm revealing that their bodies had been flash-fried into ash.
"As you see, the arc generator's energy pulse is drawn to their armor, superheating it and instantly vaporizing the targets. It is the first of many weapons the First Order will give the Confederacy of Earth Nations in order for us to jointly rid the galaxy of the 2nd Galactic Empire." Jethran explained to the applause of the crowd.
Finnigan leaned closer to Vala Ren and whispered. "Wow, imagine all the things the Earth and the First Order can build together."
"Technological marvels are nothing compared to the power of the Force. Finnigan Incite, do you want to learn the fullest extents of your power? I can teach you." Vala Ren offered.
This was exactly what Finnigan had always wanted. No more hiding in the shadows from Panda and the Guardians of the Whills. No more poking and prodding from his father's scientist lackeys. Vala Ren could answer the mysteries of the universe by unlocking the Force for him. Of course he wanted to learn everything he could from her. "I am yours to mold."
"Good . . . good, apprentice. You may address me as Master. It will take a year before we are ready to strike at the Empire and I have much to show you."
"Aye, Master. I am ready."
Vala Ren turned and took Finnigan by the shoulder. She spun him around to face the dimmed reception hall. Everyone else was still watching the Duchess and the settling ashes of the prisoners.
"Excellent. First we shall have no more talk of what we can build together . . ." Vala Ren waved her hand. Inside the reception hall all three chandeliers snapped away from their mountings plummeting into the floor with a massive crash. Several stewards and valets jumped out of the way barely in the nick of time. The crowd on the balcony turned at the sudden commotion behind them. Several of them, including the President, demanded to know what had happened.
Vala Ren whispered, "But only of what we can bring crashing down."
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