The Emperor and the Jedi
Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet.
From this far out, the world with a thousand names looked no different than any other desert planet in the galaxy, and she knew there were a lot of them. The same way there were jungle worlds, ice worlds, forest worlds, worlds of endless seas, the nature of planetary formation tended to favour single-biome ecosystems. Planets which featured more than one were few and far between, and all the more coveted for it.
(Or blown up, in Alderaan's case.)
But even in the scope of desert planets, Arrakis looked no different to her eyes. A desert world with nary a cloud to be seen in its sky, not even ice found at its poles, which remained as arid as the rest of the world. Between both of them were endless seas of sand punctuated by mountains and outcrops, populated by indigenous creatures evolved to suit Arrakis's barren wastes, and humans who had adapted to do so likewise.
Some moreso than others, she noted, as she brought the Millennium Falcon in closer to the third planet of the Canopus system. What she understood of the history of Arrakis, this desolate world in Wild Space, was that wave upon wave of invaders had shown up to extract spice, only for new invaders to throw out the old invaders, be invaded in turn, and continue the cycle of revenge. The latest change of the guard had involved Arrakis's people throwing out their overlords rather than being 'saved' from above, but even then, that made little difference.
Arrakis. Jakku. Korriban. Tatooine. More desert worlds than she cared to count. What she did care to count were the gigantic ships that hung in the planet's orbit. Like cocoons ready to give birth to moths. Moths that would sail out into the galaxy and bring salvation or damnation – maybe both.
Heighliners, she reflected. Large enough to fit a dozen Star Destroyers within their hulls. Larger than anything the Republic or Empire had ever produced save the Death Stars. They were gigantic transports that would utilize some form of FTL travel, and spread…well, that she wasn't sure of. But despite having grown up mostly illiterate in the wastes of Jakku, she knew much of the ways of war.
A fleet of dozens of ships, each able to carry tens of thousands of passengers…at best, an exodus was being made from Arrakis. At worst…
She tried not to think about the worst possible outcome. Every time she thought she'd seen the worst the galaxy could offer her, fate had a way of adding to the horror. Thankfully, the incoming transmission provided her a means to escape the potential horrors of the future, and deal with the potential horrors of the present instead.
"Unidentified vessel, identify yourself."
Well, least they haven't shot me down yet. She leant forward. "This is Rey Skywalker, pilot of the Millennium Falcon. Here to meet with Emperor Paul Atreides."
"Muad'Dib," the radio operator replied.
"Um, yes, him. He's expecting me."
There was silence on the other end of the line.
"Contact him if you like."
"…please hold."
She leant back in her chair. Tried not to imagine the polar defence batteries targeting their lascannons on her. If just one of them hit the Falcon without its shields, it would destroy it instantly. If it hit it with its shields, it would do the same, plus generate a miniaturized atomic detonation. That the emperor had agreed to meet with her was no reason to suspect that there wasn't at least one of these weapons tracking her flying rustbucket.
"YT-1300 light freighter Millennium Falcon, please submit to bio-scan."
"It's just me," Rey murmured.
"Repeat, YT-1300 light freighter Millennium Falcon, submit to bio-scan under order of-"
"Fine. Go for it." She leant back in her chair and let the technology run its course. There was no-one else on the Millennium Falcon. Nothing living, not even a droid. At the absolute minimum, the ship was meant to be flown by a pilot and co-pilot. Factor in the gun turrets, the cargo, the thousand working parts of a ship that should have long been retired, and, well, Rey had felt the absence of a crew more than once. It was hard enough to evade space pirates or overzealous fighter jockeys, it was harder still when you couldn't fire back and had to do all the navigation herself.
"YT-1300 freighter Millennium Falcon, clearance is granted. Head for Arrakeen Starport on transmitted vector. Any deviation from vector will be regarded as a hostile action."
It's just me in one ship, what possible damage could I do? Rey felt like asking. Instead, she took note of the approach vector, punched in the coordinates, and let the Falcon do its magic.
"Millenium Falcon, approach vector confirmed," said the radio operator. "Ya hya shuhada."
Rey frowned, as a translation appeared on a screen in front of her. "Long live the fighters," it said, and in her experience, fighters didn't tend to live long. Fighters had come and gone in the galaxy, and with no shortage of war, there was no shortage of men and women of all species to fight and die for one cause or another. Five years ago, she'd dared hope that the bloodshed might have found its end, but…
Well, she reflected, as she passed through the atmosphere of Dune, hope was a fool's luxury.
And for all her sins, she was not a fool.
Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet.
Looking out over the endless wastes, Rey could see how the planet had earned its namesake. But as she approached the city of Arrakeen, she reflected that none of the world's names reflected the carnage that it had recently endured.
Granted, conflict was no stranger to Arrakis. Out here, in Wild Space, civilizations had been free to take the world as their own. The spice melange, far from being a narcotic used by the rich and desperate, was used to enable navigators to sail the hazardous hyperspace routes of the galactic fringe. The galaxy had navicomputers, yes, but this section of the galaxy had been isolated for tens of thousands of years, ruled by the Imperium. In the entire duration of the Clone Wars to the Galactic Civil War and beyond, Dune had been ruled by House Harkonnen. In the war between the First Order and the rest of the galaxy, a years-long insurgency had been waged by the remnants of House Atreides and the Fremen – humans who had made Arrakis their home before the coming of any outside power. Now, Arrakis was the capital of the Imperium, and based on what she'd seen in orbit above her, it wasn't about to stay put.
Or rather, Emperor Paul Atreides wasn't willing, Rey reflected. An empire moved at the behest of its emperor, and she had little love for them, even when they weren't trying to kill her. But he'd agreed to see her, and as she guided the Falcon to the Arrakeen Spaceport, she was free to look at the sands below.
A great battle had been fought here, she noticed. One powerful enough to cause a section of the mountain range south of the city to collapse. As if something had taken a giant bite out of the stone itself, though the Falcon's scanner indicated that given the residual radiation, some kind of nuclear weapon had been used.
To the range's south and north were the ruins of atmospheric craft – like dragonflies, given the design of their bodies and wings. No bodies (not that she was expecting any), but while she hoped that the fallen had been taken for whatever rites were due to them, she more suspected that they had been swallowed by the sands. Perhaps even devoured by the planet's legendary sandworms, though such was their reported size, she doubted even a thousand bodies could have fed them.
But more than anything else, as she passed over the sands of the dead, was the feeling. The Dark Side writhed and twisted in the very air. Enough for her to take one hand off the ship's control console, and grip her lightsaber in a vain effort to keep the perversion at bay. Palpatine was dead, his empire gone, his successors fractured, but the pall of the Dark Side had not lifted from the galaxy. If anything, things were even worse now. And while she had seen the heighliners in orbit, she hoped that-
No. Don't hope, a voice told her. Hope has let you down so often.
On the other hand, had she not come here on a whim and a hope?
She had no answer. Not as she flew the craft over the sands, nor as she flew it over Arrakeen. One of the largest cities on Arrakis, and its current capital. A sprawling network of sandstone structures, built above and below ground, some even carved into an adjacent cliff face. Looking down, she could see the signs of conflict – buildings showing telltale signs of laser scarring, or the scattered rubble that came from explosive weapons. Most of the damage had been repaired, but Rey was well used to seeing the scars of war.
Wounds healed, but scars remained.
The Falcon landed at one of the landing pads of the spaceport – a complex barely worthy of the name, she reflected. Small shuttle-type craft were present, either on the ground or taking off, but the Falcon was easily the largest craft here.
Having grown up on Jakku, she'd long imagined taking to the stars. To escape the sand, scrap, and the knowledge that her life was in the thick, meaty hands of Unkar Plutt. Many in Niima spent their entire lives scrounging in the desert sands, dreaming of bartering their way offworld, or being taken as a shipman by one of the occasional vessels that set down in its sands. Those who found their way to the stars never returned, and much as Rey had envied them, nor could she have blamed them. Especially since her presence on Jakku had been, at least in part, due to her own volition.
She wondered if the people of Arrakis felt the same way. Stepping out of the Falcon into the raw, dry heat, bombarding her skin with the force of a raging star, she imagined so. Or perhaps not, given that the Fremen had fought for their world for generations. That had to breed some attachment.
Rey squinted through the glare – despite being clad in the same clothing she'd used on Jakku, she hadn't fully prepared for the heat. For the blinding light of Canopus. The air was so dry, it burnt her throat, but there was a smell carried on the breeze. A faint, cinnamon like tang upon her skin and tongue. Pleasant, even.
Spice, she told herself. She instead turned her gaze to the entourage – a quintet of Fremen (or what she assumed to be Fremen) clad in gear similar to her own, but ones that completely encapsulated their bodies, and were a deep black rather than her white. Every inch of their bodies was covered, and even their faces were covered through a mix of cloth and some kind of rebreather apparatus that covered their nostrils.
It was an esoteric comparison, but she was reminded of the tuskens of Tatooine. Creatures she had heard a lot about, none of it good, but information that made clear that Tatooine was a home to the tuskens in a way it never could be for any extraterrestrial species. The Fremen might not have been native to Arrakis, but seeing their attire, Rey suspected it might as well have been.
One of them stepped forward and removed his cloth, if not for the nosepieces or goggles. "Rey of the Resistance?"
"Once, yes," she murmured, glad to simply be "Rey" and not 'Rey Skywalker,' or worse, 'Rey Palpatine.'
"Stilgar," the man said. "I am here to guide you to Emperor Muad'Dib."
"Um, thanks," she murmured – she knew she had no reason to fear Stilgar (she was a Jedi, her lightsaber was at her belt), but the way he carried himself, the way the other Fremen clutched their blades…
"Will I need one of those suits?" she asked.
"No. You will not be on Arrakis long enough."
Rey frowned, but her lips opened into a gasp as Stilgar took off the goggles. His eyes were a shining blue. Bluer than even the deepest sea. Shining, even, to the point that she could barely make out his pupils. In a world of browns and yellows, with Arakeen being much the same, it was striking.
Terrifying as well.
"Come, Rey Skywalker. The emperor awaits you."
Taking a breath, feeling the spice assault her nostrils, Rey followed.
She preferred to be Rey of Nowhere.
And despite being a desert world on the fringes of the galaxy, Dune was clearly no such thing.
Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet.
The trip to the palace wasn't what Rey had expected.
A vehicle that appeared to be a mix of bus and chariot took her, Stilgar, and the Fremen through the streets of Arakeen. It didn't take Rey long to realize that private transport simply didn't exist in Arakeen, and only slightly longer to realize that it would have been impractical. The streets were narrow, the buildings short – every piece of living space was used for living (however simple), or to get from one living space to another.
It was, in a word, primitive. Rey knew there were many scholars and anthropologists who detested using the word, especially when the Empire had justified the "primitiveness" of species to enslave them, but it was like stepping back into some kind of galactic dark age. If not for the heighliners hanging in the sky, or the spaceport she had emerged from, Rey would have had no reason to suspect that Arrakis even had spaceflight. Heck, flight, period.
But in so doing, there was a charm as well. Men, women, and children made their way through the streets. All of them clad in gear similar to Stilgar and his Fremen, if not to the same extent. Men bartered, women gossiped, children played and laughed as only children could. Not that Rey had much idea how children were meant to function at that age, but even knowing nothing beyond the sands of Jakku for much of her life, she'd come to realize that climbing through the innards of Star Destroyers looking for scraps wasn't what one might call a normal childhood.
However primitive they seemed, the Fremen were free. And that, Rey reflected, was worth more than even the most advanced hyperdrive.
"Your eyes are wide," Stilgar said.
"Sorry?"
"In wonder, I think. Odd for one who has travelled the stars."
Rey didn't know why he was making conversation now – her sense of Stilgar and his entourage so far was that they wanted little to do with her.
"A warrior too."
"I…"
"You clutch the weapon at your belt. I have been informed it shines with light the colour of sand."
All true, even if Rey had no idea how Stilgar knew such things. Though granted, over the past five years, the legend of Rey Skywalker had spread from the Core to the Fringe. The one who had struck down Emperor Palpatine, the one who had struck down the last Skywalker and taken his name as his own. A paragon who would follow in the footsteps of the Last Jedi, and bring light back to the galaxy.
Legends had a weight greater than that of the largest of stars, Rey had learnt. Small wonder that it had burdened Luke as much as the betrayal of his nephew. Small wonder that she preferred to simply be "Rey" rather than anything else, as the galaxy looked to her in desperation.
She returned her gaze to the streets. Though a moment later, Stilgar advised her to look up.
"Why?"
With nary a word, he pressed a button on a wrist unit. The ceiling of the vehicle opened up, revealing a plexiglass barrier. Before her, above her, was the Imperial Palace.
"By the stars," Rey whispered.
"Greater than them, even," Stilgar said. "Though in time, the stars will know the tread of jihad."
Rey had no idea what that meant. Part of her brain didn't like the sound of that, but the greater part, the part linked to her eyes, was caught in the view.
It was huge. Enormous. Larger than even the mountains the city was built against. Perhaps larger even than the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. Obsidian and gold were its edifice. It was clearly built from a different material than the rest of Arakeen – a different style of architecture as well. Like a hive above a colony of ants. Had the palace been built first and then the city? Or had the city always been here, and the palace come later?
They exited the vehicle and Rey looked upwards. Out here, in the scorching heat, it was even more impressive. Yet also more foreboding. Here ruled Paul Muad'Dib Atreides. The padishah emperor. In a galaxy with no shortage of empires, ruling one world did not an emperor make, but Rey had seen the ships in orbit. Saw the guard at the base of the thousand stairs that led to the entrance proper. Each of them Fremen, each of them carrying spears, each of them with a lasgun strapped along their back. Each of them wearing chest armour that spoke of an origin different to their own.
"The emperor's legion," Stilgar said. "Anointed by the blood of the Sardaukar, they now stand in guard of the prophet who will spread the word throughout the stars."
"A Sardaukar?" Rey asked. "I have not heard of that species."
"Not a species. Men." Stilgar bid her to follow, and she did. "Men who may as well be of a different species. Men who served the emperor of old. Men who were born in blood, trained in the pits of Salusa Secundus, to the point where they were men no longer."
"…oh," Rey said, trying to hide her unease.
"Peace, Rey Skywalker, they will bring no harm to you. Not unless you intend it."
Unease that she'd clearly failed to hide. Nevertheless, Stilgar said something to what she assumed was the head guard, who stood aside, and let the pair of them ascend the stairs.
Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet.
Rey stood in the antechamber to the throne room. Stilgar had gone ahead, leaving her alone I the palace interior, in front of a mirror that looked out over Arakeen and the sands beyond.
That had been half an hour ago. It had left her plenty of time to memorize the view (blue sky, yellow sands, brown city), and after that, take note of the palace's staff.
The palace's interior was cooler than the outside, much to her relief. Servants went to and fro. Many of them cast her suspicious glances, said suspicion shining from their eyes as surely as the blue glow that emanated from them. Most of them were dressed in cloth tunics – simple, well suited to the environs of their world, humble enough to remind them of their station. Here and there however, walked officers – men and women (mostly men) wearing prim, proper black uniforms with gold buttons. An officer class, maybe? Or the remnants of House Atreides? Those who had survived the slaughter by the Harkonens, had reunited with Paul Atreides, and now found themselves serving not just a lord, but an emperor?
Poor form as it was, Rey stretched out with the Force, trying to gauge their minds. No ill will was detected, but indeed, nothing was detected, period. Single-minded loyalty and determination drove the people around her.
To them, she was a passing interest. An outsider. Nothing more, nothing less.
The doors to the throne room opened. Stilgar bid her to step first, but not before insisting that she hand over her lightsaber. She hesitated at first – it was her own creation, more natural in her hand than Luke's had ever been – but still she relented.
"The emissary may approach."
Rey stepped forward. The throne room had marble floors, marble pillars, and great banners that depicted a red hawk on a green and black background. The symbol of House Atreides, or so she assumed. Either side of her were lines of Fremen, no doubt ready to kill her at a moment's notice. But of all those present, only three truly caught her eye.
Before her were two thrones – one for a man, one for a woman. The woman was clad in a dress of white silk. Her golden hair was tied in a bun, her eyes were, unlike everyone else, free of the blue glow. She was tall – taller even than the man beside her – but…sad, Rey thought. The woman looked at her with neither disdain nor interest. As if her very life was to sit on the throne and do nothing else.
Which, Rey thought, maybe it was.
"Hold."
She obeyed Stilgar's words.
"Presenting Rey Skywalker to Emperor Paul I Atreides, Muad'Dib, the Prophet, and his wife, Empress Irulan Corrino."
Rey looked at the man. The one called Paul. Muad'Dib. Saviour of Arrakis. The Kwisatz Haderach, though that was a name (or title?) she had only heard in passing, and never with any consistency as to what it actually meant. But names and titles aside, the man before her was not what she expected.
He was short. Not overly so, but shorter than his wife. Black hair, olive skin, a simple face, a black uniform, the only real ornamentation being a single signet ring. Paul looked like any number of men on any number of planets – quiet, unassuming, and therefore, potentially the most dangerous person in the room.
Or second-most, for her eyes glanced at the third person in the room who'd caught her notice. A single female Fremen who was equipped with a pair of knives, an athletic figure, and a piercing look at those in the throne, her blue eyes contrasting with her tawny-red hair. It was her eyes that caught Rey's attention, or rather, what lay behind the perpetual blue glow.
Adoration for Paul. Total disdain for his wife.
A mystery she'd have to solve later, as she knelt before the emperor.
"My liege," Rey said. "I have travelled from-"
"Rise," Paul said.
She looked up. "Your grace?"
"Stand on your own two feet. My people have earnt that. For now at least, you have that same privilege."
"My lord, I don't know if-"
"RISE."
Rey obeyed. Instantly. It was as if Paul's single word had compelled her to do so. Something tingled in the back of her mind. A feeling not dissimilar when she'd linked with Ben across light-years. That feeling of her mind being brushed against.
If Ben had brushed against her mind however, Paul's words had taken her mind by the throat and yanked it.
"You have travelled far," Paul continued. "I have considered your request – aid for the galaxy." He sat there, his fingers tapping against the golden arms of the throne. His ring tap-tap-tapping, his blue eyes shining with the light and fury of a blue sun. Try as she might, Rey failed to meet his gaze.
"I shall hear your case," he said eventually.
Rey took a breath – she'd have preferred to have an audience alone, but knew that she had better chances of winning an arm wrestle with Chewie than that happening. Safe in the knowledge that the Falcon's former co-pilot was on Kashyyyk, that he, at least, was safe from the turmoil engulfing the galaxy, she began to speak.
"Emperor of Dune," she said. "The galaxy darkens, and the hour grows late. Six years ago, the First Order destroyed the New Republic in a day that will live in infamy. Billions of lives lost in an instant, as the…"
She paused, sensing that Paul was uninterested in the details.
"The point is, five years ago, the First Order was destroyed," she said. "But unlike the Rebellion of old, there is no force that could step in to restore order to the galaxy. Where once there was Republic and Empire, now there is naught but fiefdoms and petty warlords. The galaxy burns, the people suffer."
"And so you come here," Paul said. "Fleeing?"
"No, never," Rey said, trying to convince herself as much as he. "No, what I seek is your aid."
Paul said nothing. No-one did.
"I have seen your ships in orbit. You have the greatest fighting force in the galaxy, though I understand your FTL technology is limited. If I were to offer you the secrets of faster-than-light travel, I-"
"If you were to offer me," said Paul in a low voice. "You, as opposed to the Resistance?"
"I am no longer with the Resistance," Rey said, the words still bitter to her tongue. "The Resistance does what it can, but it resists friend as well as foe. The First Order wars with the Final Order, with the remnants of the Empire. The Resistance wars against them, as well as remnants of the New Republic. War makes monsters of us all and-"
"So you have come to me on your own, bereft of any greater allegiance, or means to offer recompense, begging me to intervene in a galaxy that has long turned a blind eye to the suffering of this world."
"I do," Rey whispered.
Paul didn't say anything. No-one did. Silence filled the throne room, long enough to be the passing of an age. Risky as it was, Rey stretched out with her mind, to try and gauge Paul's thoughts, yet found a wall between him and her.
There was no reading him. His mental fortitude was astounding. She pulled her mind back, but the way his lips twitched…did he know? Had he sensed her?
"All of you, leave us," Paul said eventually.
A general murmur spread through those gathered. Looks of confusion were directed at Paul, looks of loathing at Rey. Nevertheless, they obliged. The one called Irulan got to her feet, curtsied, and headed for a side door. Other members of the Fremen slowly filed out. The one exception was the girl Rey had seen earlier. One who came within a knife's edge of her emperor. Whose hand quickly brushed against his, before she too began to file out. A sign of affection if Rey had ever seen one.
Interesting, she thought, as she remained kneeling. Until the last Fremen had exited, until Stilgar closed the doors to the throne room with a mighty thunk.
"An emperor with wife and concubine," Paul murmured.
"Your majesty?"
"You behold with eyes and mind both, do not play the fool," Paul said, as he got to his feet. "There is but one fool in this room, and it is not you."
"I…don't…emperor, this is-"
"I shall explain the nature of things," Paul said as he walked to the other side of the throne room. With a wave of his hand, the great wall rose, revealing a plexiglass window that looked out over Arakeen and the desert beyond – wider and grander than the one in the antechamber. "I cannot offer you aid. Events are in motion that cannot be undone."
"I don't understand."
"Listen, so you may. The Fremen call me Muad'Dib. Prophet. They call me this because of legends implanted by the Bene Gesserit generations ago. I am, in their eyes, an agent of prophecy. I have bested the Harkonens, I have taken the Lion Throne, I have avenged my father and the honour of my house."
"That's…good?"
"Is it? If a man starts a fire to burn down a rival house, and in so doing reduces the world to wasteland, is that good, Rey of Nowhere?"
Rey supposed not. But still, this made no sense to her. Paul was the emperor. As small as his domain might be in galactic terms, he was still the most powerful man within light-years.
"We prepare for war," Paul continued. "The Fremen will march through the domains of the Imperium. They will plant my banner. They will bring the word of the Prophet to those who will listen, will cut off the ears of those who refuse. Worlds will burn. Civilizations will be reduced to dust. And I am powerless to stop it." He looked at Rey. "I cannot aid you, Rey Skywalker. War is coming. Jihad is coming."
"Boscrap," Rey whispered.
"Excuse me?"
"Boscrap," Rey repeated. "If what you say is true, you're the emperor. You could stop this right now."
"An empire is more than its emperor. Belief is more than its prophet. I have dreamt, I have studied the paths of the future, and all lead to the same outcome. All I may do is provide a gentler path to be walked upon." He paused, before adding in an undertone, "and perhaps a path of gold beyond that."
He stood there – a minute, an hour, it made no difference. All that remained was the gaze of Paul Atreides. The look of a man who saw himself in the glass…and that which lay beyond.
"This is my message to you," Paul told Rey eventually, his blue eyes blazing with the glow of blue suns, most ancient and mighty of stars. "Run. Leave. I let you come here to impart these words – I am no god. No Prophet. I am not the messiah of Dune. Words that men like Stilgar would kill anyone else for, words that might drive him mad if he heard them from me. Leave, and pray that the coming storm does not reach you."
Rey had no answer to him. She wanted to call Paul a fool. He was emperor, if war was coming, surely he could stop it. But then, had not the ideals of Palpatine outlasted him? The Empire, the First Order, the Final Order…all claimed themselves to be the successors of his legacy. He was dead, yet his work remained.
"Go, Rey," Paul said. "Speak nothing of what transpired here."
"But I-"
"Go," ordered the emperor of Dune.
Rey obliged, and remained in silence.
Silence as she took her lightsaber from Stilgar. The weapon as heavy as gold, now foul to touch, as she was reminded of what weapons were made for.
Silence as she was escorted back to the starport of Arakeen. As she re-entered the Millennium Falcon, as she looked at the shuttles departing for orbit. Pebbles that preceding the coming of an avalanche.
Silence as she broke through the cloudless skies of Dune. As she remained in the shadow of the heighliners. Weapons of war that would disgorge soldiers on a thousand worlds, raising the banner of a man who sought neither glory nor deification, yet had been granted both.
Silence as she punched in coordinates to lead her away from the planet below. Back into the howling darkness, away from the shining sands.
Arrakis. Dune. Desert planet.