Hey Folks, Grubkiller here.
This is the latest chapter of this story.
Hope that you enjoy.
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ISD Exactor, Murkhana system.
The Star Destroyer Exactor, second in a line of newly minted Imperator-class naval vessels, emerged from hyperspace and inserted into orbit, its spiked bow aimed at the former Separatist world of Murkhana. At sixteen hundred meters in length, the Exactor, unlike its Venator-class predecessors, was a product of Kuat Drive Yards, and featured gaping ventral launching bays rather than a dorsal flight deck.
Moved by gravity rather than by their ion drives, the carcasses of Banking Clan and Commerce Guild warships were grim reminders of the Republic invasion that had been launched in the concluding weeks of the war. Murkhana, however, had fared far better than some contested worlds, and the Corporate Alliance elite had decamped for remote systems in the galaxy's Tingel Arm, taking much of the planet's wealth with it.
In his quarters aboard the capital ship now under his personal command, Darth Vader, gloved and artificial right hand clamped on the hilt of his new lightsaber, knelt before a larger-than-life hologram of Emperor Palpatine. Only four standard weeks had elapsed since the war had ended and Palpatine had proclaimed himself Emperor of the former Republic, to the adulation of the leaders of countless worlds that had been drawn into the protracted conflict, and to the sustained acclaim of nearly the entire Senate.
Palpatine wore a voluminous embroidered robe of rich weave, the cowl of which was raised, concealing in shadow the scars he had suffered at the hands of the four treasonous Jedi Masters who had attempted to arrest him in his chambers in the Senate Office Building, as well as other deformations resulting from his fierce battle with Master Yoda in the Rotunda of the Senate itself.
"This is an important time for you, Lord Vader," Palpatine was saying.
"You are finally free to make full use of your powers. If not for us, the galaxy would never have been restored to order. Now you must embrace the sacrifices you made to bring this about, and revel in the fact that you have fulfilled your destiny. It can all be yours, my young apprentice, anything you wish. You need only have the determination to take it, at whatever cost to those who stand in your way."
Palpatine's disfigurements were really nothing new; nor was his deliberate, vaguely contemptuous voice. The Emperor had used the same voice to procure his first apprentice; to ensnare Trade Federation Viceroy Nute Gunray in facilitating his dark designs; to persuade Count Dooku to unleash a war; and finally to seduce Vader-former Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker-to the dark side, with the promise that he could keep Anakin's wife from dying.
Few among the galaxy's trillions were aware that Palpatine was also a Sith Lord, known by the title Darth Sidious, or that he had manipulated the war in order to bring down the Republic, crush the Jedi, and place the entire galaxy under his full control. Fewer still knew of the crucial role Sidious's current apprentice had played in those events, having helped Sidious defend himself against the Jedi who had sought his arrest; having led the assault on the Jedi Temple on Coruscant; having killed in cold blood the half dozen members of the Separatist Council in their hidden fortress on volcanic Mustafar.
And who there had suffered even more gravely than Palpatine.
Down on one knee, his black-masked face raised to the hologram, tall, fearsome Vader was wearing the bodysuit and armor, helmet, boots, and cloak that both camouflaged the evidence of his transformation and sustained his life.
Without revealing his distress at being unable to maintain the kneeling posture, Vader said: "What are your orders, Master?"
And asked himself: Is this poorly designed suit the source of my distress, or is something else at work?
"Do you recall what I told you about the relationship between power and understanding, Lord Vader?"
"Yes, Master. Where the Jedi gained power through understanding, the Sith gain understanding through power."
Palpatine smiled faintly. "This will become clearer to you as you continue your training, Lord Vader. And to that end I will provide you with the means to increase your power, and broaden your understanding. In due time, power will fill the vacuum created by the decisions you made, the acts you carried out. Married to the order of the Sith, you will need no other companion than the dark side of the Force..."
The remark stirred something within Vader, but he was unable to make full sense of the feelings that washed through him: a commingling of anger and disappointment, of grief and regret...
The events of Anakin Skywalker's life might have occurred a lifetime ago, or to someone else entirely, and yet some residue of Anakin continued to plague Vader, like pain from a phantom limb.
"Word has reached me," Palpatine was saying, "that a group of clone troopers on Murkhana may have deliberately refused to comply with Order Sixty-Six."
Vader tightened his hold on the lightsaber. "I had not heard, Master."
He knew that Order Sixty-Six had not been hardwired into the clones by the Kaminoans who had grown them. Rather, the troopers-the commanders, especially-had been programmed to demonstrate unfailing loyalty to the Supreme Chancellor, in his role as Commander in Chief of the Grand Army of the Republic. And so when the Jedi had revealed their seditious plans, they had become a threat to Palpatine, and had been sentenced to death.
On myriad worlds Order 66 had been executed without misfortune-on Mygeeto, Saleucami, Felucia, and many others. Taken by surprise, thousands of Jedi had been assassinated by troopers who had for three years answered almost exclusively to them. A few Jedi were known to have escaped death by dint of superior skill or accident. But on Murkhana, apparently unique events had played out; events that were potentially more dangerous to the Empire than the few Jedi who had survived.
"What was the cause of the troopers' insubordination, Master?" Vader asked.
"Contagion." Palpatine sneered. "Contagion brought about by fighting alongside the Jedi for so many years. Clone or otherwise, there is only so much a being can be programmed to do. Sooner or later even a lowly trooper will become the sum of his experiences."
Light-years distant in his inner sanctum, Palpatine leaned toward the holotransceiver's cam.
"But you will demonstrate to them the peril of independent thinking, Lord Vader, the refusal to obey orders."
"To obey you, Master."
"To obey us, my apprentice. Remember that."
"Yes, my Master." Vader paused with purpose. "It's possible, then, that some Jedi may have survived?"
Palpatine adopted a look of consummate displeasure. "I am not worried about your pathetic former friends, Lord Vader. I want those clone troopers punished, as a reminder to all of them that for the rest of their abbreviated lives they would do well to understand whom they truly serve." Retracting his face into the hood of his robe, he said in a seething tone: "It is time that you were revealed as my authority. I leave it to you to drive the point home."
"And the escaped Jedi, Master?"
Palpatine fell silent for a moment, as if choosing his words carefully.
"The escaped Jedi... yes. You may kill any you come across during the course of your mission."
Vader didn't rise until the Emperor's holoimage had derezzed entirely.
Then he stood for a long moment with his sheathed arms dangling at his sides, his head mournfully bowed. Finally he turned and moved for the hatch that opened onto the Exactor's ready room.
To the galaxy at large, Jedi Knight Anakin Sky walker-posterboy for the war effort, the "Hero with No Fear," the Chosen One-had died on Coruscant during the siege of the Jedi Temple.
And to some extent that was true.
Anakin is dead, Vader told himself.
And yet, if not for events on Mustafar, Anakin would sit now on the Coruscant throne, his wife by his side, their child in her arms...
Instead, Palpatine's plan could not have been more flawlessly executed.
He had won it all: the war, the Republic, the fealty of the one Jedi Knight in whom the entire Jedi order had placed its hope. The revenge of the self-exiled Sith had been complete, and Darth Vader was merely a minion, an errand boy, allegedly an apprentice, the public face of the dark side of the Force.
While he retained his knowledge of the Jedi arts, he felt uncertain about his place in the Force; and while he had taken his first steps toward awakening the power of the dark side, he felt uncertain about his ability to sustain that power. How far he might have been now had fate not intervened to strip him of almost everything he possessed, as a means of remaking him!
Or of humbling him, as Darths Maul and Tyranus had been humbled before him; as indeed the Jedi order itself had been humbled.
Where Darth Sidious had gained everything, Vader had lost everything, including-for the moment, at least-the self-confidence and unbridled skill he had demonstrated as Anakin Skywalker.
Vader turned and moved for the hatch.
But this is not walking, he thought.
Long accustomed to building and rebuilding droids, supercharging the engines of landspeeders and starfighters, upgrading the mechanisms that controlled the first of his artificial limbs, he was dismayed by the incompetence of the medical droids responsible for his resurrection in Sidious's lofty laboratory on Coruscant.
His alloy lower legs were bulked by strips of armor similar to those that filled and gave form to the long glove Anakin had worn over his right-arm prosthesis. What remained of his real limbs ended in bulbs of grafted flesh, inserted into machines that triggered movement through the use of modules that interfaced with his damaged nerve endings. But instead of using durasteel, the medical droids had substituted an inferior alloy, and had failed to inspect the strips that protected the electromotive lines. As a result, the inner lining of the pressurized bodysuit was continually snagging on places where the strips were anchored to knee and ankle joints.
The tall boots were a poor fit for his artificial feet, whose claw-like toes lacked the electrostatic sensitivity of his equally false fingertips. Raised in the heel, the cumbersome footgear canted him slightly forward, forcing him to move with exaggerated caution lest he stumble or topple over. Worse, they were so heavy that he often felt rooted to the ground, or as if he were moving in high gravity.
What good was motion of this sort, if he was going to have to call on the Force even to walk from place to place! He may as well have resigned himself to using a repulsor chair and abandoned any hope of movement.
The defects in his prosthetic arms mirrored those of his legs.
Only the right one felt natural to him-though it, too, was artificial-and the pneumatic mechanisms that supplied articulation and support were sometimes slow to respond. The weighty cloak and pectoral plating so restricted his movement that he could scarcely lift his arms over his head, and he had already been forced to adapt his lightsaber technique to compensate.
He could probably adjust the servodrivers and pistons in his forearms to provide his hands with strength enough to crush the hilt of his new lightsaber. With the power of his arms alone, he had the ability to lift an adult being off the ground. But the Force had always given him the ability to do that, especially in moments of rage, as he had demonstrated on Tatooine and elsewhere. What's more, the sleeves of the bodysuit didn't hug the prostheses as they should, and the elbow-length gloves sagged and bunched at his wrists.
Gazing at the gloves now, he thought: This is not seeing.
The pressurized mask was goggle-eyed, fish-mouthed, short-snouted, and needlessly angular over the cheekbones. Coupled with a flaring dome of helmet, the mask gave him the forbidding appearance of an ancient Sith war droid. The dark hemispheres that covered his eyes filtered out light that might have caused further injury to his damaged corneas and retinas, but in enhanced mode the half globes reddened the light and prevented him from being able to see the toes of his boots without inclining his head almost ninety degrees.
Listening to the servomotors that drove his limbs, he thought: This is not hearing.
The med droids rebuilt the cartilage of his outer ears, but his eardrums, having melted in Mustafar's heat, had been beyond repair. Sound waves now had to be transmitted directly to implants in his inner ear, and sounds registered as if issuing from underwater. Worse, the implanted sensors lacked sufficient discrimination, so that too many ambient sounds were picked up, and their distance and direction were difficult to determine.
Sometimes the sensors needled him with feedback, or attached echo or vibrato effects to even the faintest noise.
Allowing his lungs to fill with air, he thought: This is not breathing.
Here the med droids had truly failed him.
From a control box he wore strapped to his chest, a thick cable entered his torso, linked to a breathing apparatus and heartbeat regulator. The ventilator was implanted in his hideously scarred chest, along with tubes that ran directly into his damaged lungs, and others that entered his throat, so that should the chest plate or belt control panels develop a glitch, he could breathe unassisted fir a limited time.
But the monitoring panel beeped frequently and for no reason, and the constellation of lights served only as steady reminders of his vulnerability.
The incessant rasp of his breathing interfered with his ability to rest, let alone sleep. And sleep, in the rare moments it came to him, was a nightmarish jumble of twisted, recurrent memories that unfolded to excruciating sounds.
The med droids had at least inserted the redundant breathing tubes low enough so that, with the aid of an enunciator, his scorched vocal cords could still form sounds and words. But absent the enunciator, which imparted a synthetic bass tone, his own voice was little more than a whisper.
He could take food through his mouth, as well, but only when he was inside a hyperbaric chamber, since he had to remove the triangular respiratory vent that was the mask's prominent feature. So it was easier to receive nourishment through liquids, intravenous and otherwise, and to rely on catheters, collection pouches, and recyclers to deal with liquid and solid waste.
But all those devices made it even more difficult for him to move with ease, much less with any grace. The pectoral armor that protected the artificial lung weighed him down, as did the electrode-studded collar that supported the outsize helmet, necessary to safeguard the cybernetic devices that replaced the uppermost of his vertebrae, the delicate systems of the mask, and the ragged scars in his hairless head, which owed as much to what he had endured on Mustafar as to attempts at emergency trephination during the trip back to Coruscant aboard Sidious's shuttle.
The synthskin that substituted for what was seared from his bones itched incessantly, and his body needed to be periodically cleansed and scrubbed of necrotic flesh.
Already he had experienced moments of claustrophobia-moments of desperation to he rid of the suit, to emerge from the shell. He needed to build, or have built, a chamber in which he could feel human again...
If possible.
All in all, he thought: This is not living.
This was solitary confinement. Prison of the worst sort. Continual torture. He was nothing more than wreckage. Power without clear purpose..
A melancholy sigh escaped the mouth grille.
Collecting himself, he stepped through the hatch.
Commander Appo and Captain Rex were waiting in the ready room. The latter, a special ops officer who had led Torrent Company of the 501st Legion alongside Skywalker in many missions, along with his short-lived Padawan Ahsoka Tano...
Who was declared among the missing Jedi...
Rex had been leading the clones on a secret mission in the underworld where Ahsoka was last seen. He must have known something about that.
Commander Appo, a by-the-books officer, was in overall command of the 501st Legion, and had led the clones under Vader against the Jedi Temple.
"Your shuttle is prepared, Lord Vader," Appo said.
For reasons that went beyond the armor and helmets, the imaging systems and boots, Vader felt more at home among the troopers than he did around other flesh-and-bloods.
And Appo and the rest of Vader's cadre of stormtroopers, with the exception of Rex, who tensed up slightly for a second, seemed to be at ease with their new superior. To them it was only reasonable that Vader wore a bodysuit and armor. Some had always wondered why the Jedi left themselves exposed, as if they had had something to prove by it.
Vader looked down at Appo and nodded. "Come with me, Commander. The Emperor has business for us on Murkhana."
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Murkhana city, Imperial-controlled landing field.
Clone Commander Salvo squinted against the golden wash of Murkhana's primary star, which had just climbed from behind the thickly forested hills that walled Murkhana City to the east.
To his right crowds of prisoners were being marched out of warehouses to be placed on transports that were going to be taking them off world, guarded by clones wearing their all-white armor.
Over the course of the last month, he and his men had been hunting down the Jedi. Six were on the planet at the time of Order 66 being issued. Three were killed when Order 66 was issued.
But the rest have alluded them. They had been the ones leading an infiltration mission, with Captain Climber and Ion Squad, a unit of Clone Commandoes that were tasked with knocking out the planetary shields, opening the planet up for orbital bombardment.
Climber said that the Jedi had escaped their custody, but for some reason, not one member of Ion Squad's ten commandoes suffered any injury, which raised too many questions...
Questions which the Emperor wanted answers to.
A convoy of military speeders and big-wheeled juggernauts arrived on the scene. Some of Salvo's chief officers stepped from one of the landspeeders; from the hatch of one of the juggernauts emerged commando squad leader Climber, and the rest of Ion Team, along with a group of Separatist-aligned mercenaries that they had captured.
The commander pretended that he wasn't paying much attention to Ion Squad and the prisoners. His T-visor gaze was fixed instead on an Imperial shuttle that was descending toward the landing field.
Theta-class.
Not very common in these parts. Perhaps it was one of the Emperor's regional governors coming in for an inspection.
The shuttle had commenced its landing sequence. With ion drive powering down and repulsorlift engaged, the craft folded its long wings upward to provide access to the main hold, then settled gently to the ground. No sooner had the boarding ramp extended than a squad of elite troopers filed out, the blue markings on their armor identifying them as members of the 501st Legion.
A much taller figure followed, attired head-to-foot in black.
Salvo and his officers hastened over to the figure in black. "Welcome, Lord Vader. This is an unexpected visit, we are honored by your presence."
"You may dispense with the pleasantries, commander." Vader folded his arms across his massive chest. "Six Jedi were assigned to Murkhana, but only three were properly dealt with."
"I'm sorry to report, Lord Vader, that the other three evaded capture, "
Salvo said.
Vader nodded. "I already know that, Commander. And I haven't come halfway across the galaxy to chase them down." He drew himself erect with a haughty air. "I've come to deal with the ones who allowed them to escape."
Climber immediately stepped forward. "That would be me."
"And us," the rest of Ion Team announced in unison.
Vader stared down at the commandos. "You disobeyed a direct order from High Command."
"The order made no sense at the time," Climber answered for everyone. "We thought it might be a Separatist trick."
"What you 'thought' has no bearing on this," Vader said, pointing at Climber. "You are expected to follow orders."
"And we follow any reasonable ones. Killing our own didn't qualify."
Vader continued to point his forefinger at Climber's chest. "They weren't your allies, squad leader. They were traitors, and you sided with them."
Climber stood his ground. "Traitors how? Because a few of them tried to arrest Palpatine? I still don't see how that warrants a death penalty for the lot of them."
"I'll be sure to notify the Emperor of your concerns," Vader said.
"You do that."
"Unfortunately," Vader was saying, "you won't be alive to learn of his response."
In one swift motion he drew aside his cloak and pulled a lightsaber from his belt. Igniting with a snap-hiss, the hilt projected a crimson blade.
The ten commandos fell back, raising their weapons.
"We'll accept execution for our actions," Climber said. "But not from some lapdog of the Emperor."
Quickly Salvo and his officers stepped forward, but Vader only showed them the palm of his hand. "No, Commander. Leave this to me."
With that he moved on the commandos.
Spreading out, they fired, but not a single bolt made it past Vader's blade. Deflected bolts went straight through the helmet visors of four of the commandos, and in two furious sweeps Vader opened another pair from shoulder to hip, as if they were flimsy ration containers. Climber and the three remaining commandos took advantage of the moment to break for the nearby tree line, firing as they fled. A deflection shot from Vader caught Climber in the left leg, but the bolt didn't so much as slow him down.
Vader tracked them, then motioned to Rex and his cadre of troopers. "I want them alive, Captain."
"Yes, Lord Vader."
Rex and his men raced off in pursuit of the commandos. Not one of Salvo's officers had fired a weapon, but now all of them were regarding Vader with vigilant uncertainty, their rifles half raised.
"Don't let my weapon fool you," Vader told them, as if reading their thoughts. "I am not a Jedi."
"But I am!" Exclaimed a new voice from off to the left.
The new figure had unwound her headcloth, revealing her vestigial horns common among all zabraks, and had ignited a blue lightsaber.
Vader whirled, watching the woman, whom intelligence listed as Bol Chatak, as she began to stalk him, prisoners and troopers alike giving her wide berth.
"So much the better that one of you survived," he said, waving his lightsaber back and forth in front of him. "The commandos saved your life, and now you hope to save theirs, is that it?"
Chatak held her blue blade at shoulder height. "My only intent is to take you out of the hunt."
Vader's angled his blade to point toward the ground. "You won't be the first Jedi I've killed."
Their blades met with an explosion of light.
Rex and his men took off into the jungle, chasing after the rogue clones.
They jumped over logs, ducked under branches, and fired as they went. Blue rings of stun blasts flew back and forth. Ion team had to be taken alive, but they weren't willing to kill their brothers in return.
Noble, but futile.
Some of Rex's men went down, but there were always more to take their place.
There were only four commandoes, and one was already wounded. They had to move slow to carry their leader. That was their undoing. Rex and his boys unleashed a volley of stun blasts.
One commando was hit and went down. The one supporting a limping Captain Climber, who went down as well.
His men turned to try and help.
"Go!"
Reluctantly, they complied, and continued to run.
But Climber had one final surprise in his hand that went off that would ensure that two of his men escaped. The EC detonator unleashed its electro-energy, and electrocuted all of Rex's men, knocking them out.
It was just Rex now. He continued to charge forward after the two remaining rogues, and he chased them to the other side of the treeline, all the way up to a cliffside, which overlooked a large river and waterfall.
They were just about to reach for their ascension guns, when Rex entered the clearing.
"Hold it right there!" Rex ordered, pointing both blasters at the commandoes.
The two commandoes turned to face him. But they didn't put their weapons down. One man, Tracer, stepped forward. "This isn't right, Captain. And you know it. You should come with us."
Rex kept his blasters pointed squarely at the two commandoes. "I know. But I can't leave the Empire now. Not yet."
"Why not," The other commando, Ras, asked.
"Because, if I leave, my men will be left holding the bag, and they'll still be pawns of the Empire, and I can't allow that. And I can't allow you to abandon your men back there..." Rex said, gesturing over his shoulder, at the surviving commandoes who were left behind.
The commandoes lowered their heads just barely, possibly in shame.
"You're a good man Rex... but we'll do more outside of prison than in it." Trace said.
That's when they heard men shouting in the distance.
Rex's men were awake, and inbound hot.
"That's our queue," Ras said.
Trace looked at Rex. "Make it look good."
Rex was confused by the statement. But that's when Trace unleashed a volley of stun blasts in Rex's general direction. As Rex dove for cover, he noticed both commandoes equipping their ascension cables, and aiming for the rocky cliffs on the other side of the ravine, obscured by fog.
As They began their ascent, Rex fired more stun blasts at the last spot he saw them.
But they were already gone.
Rex took his helmet off and walked over to where they last stood, and looked down at the waterfall and the flowing river at the bottom of the valley.
That's when Lt. Jesse, Sgt. Coric, and the other men of Rex's squad entered the clearing. Some of the men had stayed behind to apprehend the other two commandoes.
Jesse and Coric walked up to Rex, wondering what he was looking at.
"Sir, what happened? Where're the others?" Jesse asked.
Rex didn't move for a few seconds. He then turned away from the cliff. "I stunned them as they were making their escape, and they fell into the river below." He said as he put his helmet on.
Jesse and Coric looked down at the river. When they couldn't see anything, they looked at each other. Coric shrugged, and they both turned back as well.
Rex may not have been telling the truth, but it would take hours for them to verify his story, if they had the proper equipment, which they didn't. And in all honesty, no one here was itching to apprehend their brothers.
They then went to go and join their squad-mates to report to Lord Vader, who was last seen squaring off with a Jedi.
Fearing that the prisoners would use the distraction to scatter, Salvo's men hurried in to form a cordon around them, the angry clashes of Vader and Chatak's blades going on behind them.
The duel was fast and furious.
Chatak was all grace and speed, working her way into her opponent's space. Her moves were broad and circular, and the lightsaber seemed an extension of her. Vader, by contrast, was clumsy, and his strikes were mostly vertical. He was, however, a full head taller than Chatak and incredibly powerful. At various times his stances and techniques mimicked those of Ataro and Soresu, but Vader appeared to lack a style of his own, and executed his moves stiffly.
With a whirling motion Chatak got far enough inside Vader's long reach to inflict a forearm wound. But Vader scarcely reacted to the hit, and instead of seeing cauterized flesh, sparks and smoke fountain through Vader's slashed glove.
A pained cry cut through the chaos, and Chatak was down on her knees in front of Vader, her sword arm amputated at the elbow. Vader had simply beaten her into submission, and now, with a flick of his bloodshine blade, he decapitated her.
Unreadable behind his mask, Vader gazed down at Chatak's slack body. He then began to scan the crowd for faces that were familiar to him from the reports given to him.
That was when a shock trooper called out.
"Lord Vader. We've captured Captain Climber and one of his men, but the other two escaped.
Vader stopped in his tracks.
"Commander, scan the area for the escapees, and see to it that the rogue clones are loaded into the transport with the other prisoners." Again, Vader scanned the crowd. "A less accommodating dungeon awaits them on Agon Nine."
That's when they heard the whine of a shuttle's engines. They looked at the landing pad, and saw the Theta-class shuttle they came in on suddenly taking off.
"Commander, who authorized our shuttle to take off?"
"No one, to my knowledge."
There was only one explanation for why that shuttle would take off: Jedi.
Vader could have ripped the shuttle out of the air. But he decided on a different course of action. "Commander... track down that shuttle, and find out where it's going."
"Right away sir..."
Vader looked at the shuttle as it disappeared into orbit.
What was better than killing Jedi?
Finding their hiding place.
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