Resistance

[jegs2]

Resistance

Chapter 16

Ash filled the air, but the frequent dust storms often made it indistinguishable from blowing sand. The ash of the destroyed city of Mecca mixed neatly with the dust, and the wide-spread destruction of the city ensured its remains travelled far with the raging winds. The evenings were growing cooler, but not so much as of yet. The local calendar recorded that it was late September, and the bristling heat of the summer had slowly given way to more sane temperatures deep within the Arabian wastelands.

Fluun and his garrison had relocated to just outside the city of Riyadh, which was the capital of this particular land-mass. For a couple of weeks after the destruction of Mecca, Imperial forces had suffered ferocious and suicidal attacks by the locals. Intelligence had reported that not only the locals had been involved in such attacks, but those adhering to the local religion from outside the local land-mass had also been part of the attackers. According to what Fluun had been told, most of the attackers had come from outside the local land-mass. He was simultaneously amazed and disgusted by the reckless fury of the attacks. While they had been largely ineffective, for nearly two weeks they had been also unrelenting.

Then, about a week ago the attacks had trickled down to just a tiny flow. Significant enemy activity was reportedly now no more than could be expected in any of the other land-masses on Sol. That both relieved and disturbed Fluun. Why had the attacks suddenly abated? Did the locals realize they were conquered? Did they finally realize their resistance was silly and futile? Fluun wanted to think so, but he was no less cautious and alert during patrols even so.

Today, he and his squad were conducting a dismounted patrol through the streets of downtown Riyadh, and he felt mild comfort at the newly-fielded battle droids intermixed with his men. He had signed for three of the devices. They were spherical droids about twice the size of what the locals would term a football. They contained a suite of sensors and were armed with heavy blasters. Fluun had also been briefed that the droids contained at least a couple of thermal detonators that could be launched in case his squad fell under heavy attack. He peered to his left and spotted one of the droids floating in the air on repulsor-lifts. It quickly darted down a toward a side alley and conducted its own scan and analysis. It was dark-grey in color, and only a few small red lights marked its otherwise clean surface. Fluun knew that the droid would report only what it perceived as possible threats.

Two days prior, the droid's sensors had detected a road-side bomb that Fluun's own sensors had not. After Fluun had ordered the droid to neutralize the threat, the droid had informed the squad of a minimal safe distance, emitted a shrieking alarm that startled and scattered the locals, and then fired upon the concealed bomb. A terrific blast showered fragmentation toward the street, and Fluun reflected darkly what such a blast might have done to him or his men.

Fluun turned his gaze away from the hovering droid. Two others like it were also in the vicinity, working tirelessly to keep his squad in one piece. Rumor had it that the locals had already developed methods to neutralize the droids, involving something that had been smuggled in by the Rebels. He ardently hoped that the locals here had run across no such equipment. Chanting in Arabic floated from loud-speakers of some of the local mosques. This was the call to prayer. Fluun watched as men in traditional dress, carrying sticks, walked among the shops to ensure they were closed during the time for prayer. Multitudes of men (Fluun could spot none of the black-clad shapes reportedly containing females) walked outside and unrolled small carpets on which they then faced the ruins of Mecca to pray. Fluun ensured his squad gave the men a wide berth, for nothing was to be gained by overtly irritating or interrupting those who chose to engage in the widely-popular superstition. He was confused though. The local religion demanded prayer toward a city that the Empire had wiped off the face of the planet, and yet here they were – praying toward the ruins as though the city and its religious artifacts yet remained. Unconsciously, Fluun gripped his weapon more tightly.

-----

The desert here was unforgiving, and it was hot. No calls to prayer were to be heard over loud-speakers, and the Empire had not seen fit to wipe out any city, nor had the inhabitants of this land provided them reason to do so. Even so, a short but furious battle raged above the skies. A local teenage farmer peered through binoculars into the sky and watched what he could of the unfolding conflict. His instrument was not very powerful, but he could make out what appeared to be a wedge-shaped starship firing at what could only be a much smaller starship that appeared intent on escaping. Dim flashes told of enormous levels of firepower being flung between the two ships. After a while, he spotted a bright flash on what was likely the smaller vessel, and the firing abated. He lowered his binoculars and let his imagination run wild. Were those smugglers that were attempting to escape Imperial justice? Were starfighters involved in the fight? He would have given nearly anything to be in such a starfighter, pin-wheeling through space in pursuit of criminals, thugs or Rebels. He envisioned hapless criminals in the crosshairs of his guns as he squeezed the contacts and poured laser blasts forth in divine fury … then reality hit him like the desert heat.

This was Tatooine, and he was likely going nowhere. Last year he had asked his uncle if he could transmit his application to the academy and had been rebuffed. Uncle Owen admonished him, preaching that the family needed him too much for him to leave yet. Yet! Always later! Luke Skywalker felt it unfair. From the corner of his eye, Luke thought he saw a streak – perhaps a meteorite. Ah, what did it matter anyway? Resigned and in frustration, Luke turned his attention back to the evaporator he had been sent out to service. Nothing exciting ever happened to him, nor did it seem it ever would.

-----

Power had but one purpose: It was to be consolidated and then carefully guarded. There were only those in power and those without to be ruled by it – or challengers to be eliminated. Power for the mere exercise of it was both the ends and the means. The Sith Lord meditated in his chambers, reaching out through the dark side of the Force. His enemies were there, outside, within the galaxy – his galaxy. He had accomplished what none of his order had achieved, and for that, dark pride swelled within him, but tempered by the purity of hatred. Challengers were all about him – even his own apprentice with his broken and now mostly-mechanical body. Yes, he had known early of Vader's secret apprentice, and Vader had been foolish to think he could hide such from his own master. That apprentice was dead, at Vader's own hand. In the end, the young man had served the interests of Sidious, to bring out his enemies in plain view, just as he had foreseen.

The challengers that Sidious now faintly sensed, like small whispers in his mind were older, and they were not of the Sith, nor were they dark Jedi. It was with unease that Sidious recalled his last battle with the small green Jedi, Yoda. They had never discovered his body, so Sidious had to assume his enemy was yet alive, somewhere. At times, when meditating like this, Sidious could almost sense the presence of his old enemy, but it was flirtatious in nature, never quite there, withdrawn too soon. His anger increased, and his ever-hungry hatred increased in magnitude. It was a perversion of justice that such enemies remained alive within his galaxy – his Empire. There were others too – the galaxy was large, and his enemies had places to hide, even with the vast apparatus at the command of Sidious. His meditation delved elsewhere, further and in a different direction.

His guards were not Force-sensitive, but they were yet more. They were Force-impervious. They had been trained and indoctrinated through the most rigorous training to be absolutely loyal and brutal. More was needed for his enemies though, and Sidious had seen to it that the appropriate measures were taken. Even now, specially-trained Force-impervious men were being trained for a special task. His revenge was not yet quite complete, but it soon would be. Then, there would finally be peace.

-----

The reports blurred together, but the officer shook his head to stay awake. He knew the danger of stimulants, even here. While on Sol, Gregory Yost had relied on hot coffee and even chewing tobacco to remain alert during critical planning sessions in the US Army. Here in the Imperial Army, Greg could obtain much more effective stimulants, and they were perfectly legal. Even so, one could not cheat one's body indefinitely, and when crashes came after such stimulants, they came with a vengeance.

There was too much to do to grant himself sleep just yet though, or so Greg told himself. His reports had begun to paint an elaborate and disturbing picture. If his latest hypothesis held any water, the insurgents facing the Empire on both his home planet and in his adopted galaxy were much better organized and focused than he initially thought. He had always suspected that the Rebel Alliance was working with the resistance on Earth, though initial reports showed it to be a relationship of convenience, but recent reports he had analyzed reflected an intertwining he thought before not possible. Too many pieces were still missing though. In the back of his mind, Greg thought of the cryptic messages from his former superior on Earth, and he felt mild discomfort in his gut. Were they part of this puzzle, or was that something separate?

One name that came across his monitor time and again was, "Lancer Six." Greg recalled that had been the call-sign of his brigade commander while serving in the Deathbringer Battalion, but that had to be coincidence. It seemed unlikely that a brigade-level commander would play so prominent a role in the messages he had scanned. Greg typed the name into the terminal, and it took its place within the program he had created. The name took the form of the simple outline of a man, "LANCER SIX" glowing in red next to the form. From that form radiated multiple lines to different names, some identified as part of the resistance on Earth, and others connecting to shapes of men or blocks denoting organizations within the Rebel Alliance. Some lines connected with what were known Imperial agents and corrupt Imperial officials. Lines within lines, and multiple connections bespoke an elaborate organization carefully constructed for both independent operations and co-dependence on a more strategic level. The pieces were coming together, but much more was yet to be done.

Greg rubbed his eyes as he noticed the words on his screen beginning to form into nonsense. His terminal had contracted no virus, but he was exhausted, and he felt the inevitable crash impending. Greg slowly stood, realizing he might collapse if he rose too swiftly. He surveyed the small room in which he worked, and he spotted several of his men busily entering data into terminals similar to his own. A younger officer sporting the rank of a lieutenant came up to Greg with a concerned look upon his face. His hair was longer than Greg's, and Greg thought absently that it was longer than US Army standards would have allowed, but Imperial standards were different. He smiled at the young man.

"Lieutenant Lacks."

"Sir," replied the young man with concern in his voice to match his visage. Greg realized that the junior officer was obviously concerned about his state of well-being. Greg had been promoted several months before and had been assigned a larger team, including Lieutenant Lacks, Lieutenant Norzt, and and several non-commissioned officers and men, amounting to about a platoon's worth of men. Their purpose was counterinsurgency, and Greg had found no challenge in requesting and receiving only the most capable officers and men, along with whatever equipment and support he desired. Greg was now a captain, and he no longer had to share a room with another officer. He intended to take advantage of such solice.

"Think I'm going down for the night, Jord," said Greg, using the young officer's first name. Unlike the US Army, Imperial officers appeared uncomfortable using first names, even with junior officers, but Greg did so and here he was the boss.

"Yes sir."

"Do you need anything from me before I duck out?"

"No sir. I have your intent, and we will continue work on the link diagrams and pattern analysis. We are making excellent progress so far, and recent information has revealed a great deal about inner workings of the Rebels."

"Indeed," said Greg, stifling a yawn.

"Good night, sir."

Greg walked down the corridors of the massive building, if it could be called that. Wasn't this whole planet pretty much a building in and of itself? It was also unbelievably ancient, portions of the planet-wide cityscape at the lower levels reportedly thousands of years old. Greg recalled stories of ancient droids deep within the lower levels that were still blankly performing repetative functions programmed into them millennia before. Other tales bespoke droids that had degraded over time to such a point that they had become feral and dangerous. Suddenly, he realized he was dreaming while walking, and he vigorously shook his head with a grunt. He felt the crushing weight of the physical crash fall upon him, and Greg struggled with all his might to remain on course for his living quarters. After what seemed like hours but was only a few minutes, Greg found the door to his quarters and used his rank cylinder to activate the lock. Once inside, Greg sat upon his bed. He had intended to unclothe or at least remove his boots, but the state of his body ensured he never reached that objective, and he fell unconscious upon the mattress.

-----

Rage filled him, as it usually did. His breathing was simultaneously regulated and labored, as though the abomination in which his weakened body had been encased was designed to constantly remind him of his weakness, and his dependency. Only in memory and in tortured dreams could he recall a time, long before, when he was able to nimbly leap through the air and wield his light-saber in a dizzying array of parries, swings and thrusts with proficient and deadly speed and accuracy, nothing able to withstand his expert attacks. Only, one man had done so and left him for dead, and for that he was now ensconced in a black, mechanical apparatus – utterly dependent upon it for day-to-day survival; and so his rage deepened.

Vader reflected upon his failure: He had been dispatched by his master to locate and recover the stolen plans to the Death Star, and he had failed. His intercepted transmissions had traced the plans to the Corellian Corvette now in the underbelly of his star destroyer. In his initial rage to locate the plans, Vader had physically crushed the life out of the captain of the smaller ship, then tossing the hapless man's form against a nearby bulkhead.

The fear he sought had been felt by all around him, and he had sensed it clearly, except within a couple of specially marked stormtroopers. Those were the newer troopers sent by the Emperor to serve closely with Vader, but Vader did not trust them. Searching them, he felt only … absence. He dared not get too close to them, for they exuded absence of the Force, and in that absence was nothing more than despair and weakness. Even in his mechanical suit, Vader knew he would not long survive without the dark side of the Force. To Vader, those were not men, but nor were they droids, for even droids could be physically manipulated by the Force. Those abominations could not, for they originated from that other, dead galaxy. Yet Vader knew he did not have the freedom to eliminate the new troopers. The will of his master would not allow it. For that, Vader's rage deepened.

Vader reflected upon his unexpected success: The princess from Alderaan was now in his possession. He recalled with a mixture of wonder and fury that she had demonstrated no fear in his presence. The princess had raged that he would not get away with his attack on her ship, but Vader knew beyond a doubt that she was a member of the Rebel Alliance. He had received reports that an escape pod had been jettisoned to the planet below. It had not been destroyed, because the gunners had detected no life forms aboard. Vader had soon realized that the plans had to be in that pod, and so he had dispatched troops to search for and recover the plans at all costs.

For some reason he himself could not discern, Vader could not bring himself to personally oversee the operation on Tatooine. While he desired to see the job through and knew the importance of the mission, something held him aboard his ship. In tortured dreams, he could yet see the form of a haggard woman, abused to the point of death by viscious and mindless Sand People. He remembered the merciless slaughter of so many of them by a young man full of hatred and fury. He recalled a distant childhood of slavery … of weakness … of failure. Dim thoughts of a beautiful young woman, full of life and confidence – no, he pushed that vision away with violent force. He hated the planet below, and he could not bring himself to step foot upon it now.

Vader intended to question the princess further prior to taking her to the Death Star and handing her over to Grand Moff Tarkin and his interrogators. Once in their possession, she would reveal what she knew, but Vader feared that might be too late. He stepped out of his room and headed for the detention area. From behind him, Vader heard the footfalls of two stormtroopers, and he nearly whirled to face them with his saber ignited. Then he quickly remembered the new troopers assigned to him. They would follow him without his command. He stopped without turning around.

"Remain at the entrance to my quarters."

"Yes sir," said the senior of the two troopers in accented Basic. He heard them retreat orderly to where he had banished them and then continued his trek. Vader thought darkly about the two men he could not sense. No, he did not trust them at all.

-----

William Dudley felt unnatural here. Memories long numbed flooded to the surface, and he felt vertigo threaten to take him. This was his native galaxy, though none but he knew it. A couple of officers in his presence wore concerned expressions.

"Sir, are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. It's just … being in space is a relatively new for me."

"Oh, yes sir. You'll get used to it. It's not like what we had before the invasion. They've got artificial gravity and faster-than-light travel and all that."

"It's pretty incredible."

"Yes sir!"

William stood up, smiled at the junior officers and strode out of the small room. He found his way to a nearby viewing port and watched the colorful interplay of hyperspace. Perhaps this had been a mistake. It was not space travel that had overwhelmed his senses. This space was alive! The Force was here, and he felt it, all at once. After so long in its absence, being immersed in a universe of the Force had been like being immersed in ice-cold water after having walked thorough a scorching desert for many days. It was all about him, immersed even in the beings around him, and yet … he did not sense it in the natives from his adopted world … odd.

William closed his eyes and allowed his feelings to spread meditatively. Then he stopped and opened his eyes. He sensed something amiss. The presence he recalled from so many years before had included his many comrade Jedi, but he did not sense them now. The Force was there, but he could not sense fellow Jedi. Where had they gone? He recalled the massive war that had consumed the galaxy when he had left it. Had the CIS been victorious with its massive fleets and innumerable droid armies? Then he recalled that Palpatine was emperor now, so that didn't make sense. The right side had won. He was tempted to meditate and tune his senses further but thought better of it. William worked to close his mind off to the Force and turned toward the ship's command center.

"Good afternoon, Colonel Dudley," announced the ship's captain as William walked on to the bridge. William glanced at his watch, which he had reset to galactic standard time. It was indeed afternoon now, though just barely. He saw the vortex of hyperspace in the forward view-plates of the ship and the smiling captain off to his right.

"Good afternoon, Captain Risalah."

"We are about four standard hours from our destination, Colonel." William winced inwardly but did not show discomfort on his face. In the US Army, one was referred to by one's rank only by superiors, and then generally only when being chastised for something. William knew the good captain meant no offense, so he ensured to take none.

"Is Bill in the CIC?"

"I think so."

"Thank you," said William, and he turned aside to the combat information center. The door swished open automatically for him, and William noted with some amusement that the CIC was little different from one he might have found aboard a floating ship or an Army tactical operations center on Earth. While the instruments were obviously more advanced, they served generally similar purposes. Above a table at the center of the CIC floated a hologram of the galaxy. Studying the hologram with obvious interest was William Kinder, one of the senior officers who had served with him for so many years. As they both shared the same first names, William referred to him as Bill, and Kinder called him William.

"There is our destination, Willliam," said Bill pointing to a glob of light toward one of the inner spirals of the galaxy with an extended telescopic pointer, and he elaborated, "We are currently vicinity of here." William joined his old friend and studied the map of the galaxy. Dimly, he recalled briefings long in the past when he received detailed orders on missions wherein he and his Jedi cohorts were dispatched. Very similar holograms had then floated in the air, used to delineate detailed tasks.

"How long until we arrive?"

"Captain Risalah said we're about four hours out."

"That's right. I just asked him that."

"Have you seen the briefing on their proposals?"

"I've perused it, but there is still a lot of detail to digest."

"Pay particular attention to sub-section four of section alpha, twenty-four."

"Really?"

"Yes. I think that may cause slight consternation, but we can still fit it into the overall plan if they won't dump it."

"Ok," replied William. Bill was watching him with his steel-blue eyes. In William's opinion, Bill was easily the most adaptable and forward-thinking officer with whom he had ever served. Cautiously, William reached out with his feelings, but no, the Force fled from Bill just as all other natives of Earth. William smiled and turned toward one of the terminals. He then turned and said, "Who's the lead cat we're meeting with there again?"

"The man's name is Bail Organa."

The name had distant meaning to William. It had been a name of some importance in another life, long ago, but William couldn't place just how. He was familiar with the planet of Alderaan, at least by name. He could not recall having visited the world, but that was now their destination. He decided he had more reading to do, and so he set to work.

-----

The rain descended steadily through the darkness. It was often dark and damp here, and the precipitation fell as it had for untold millennia, further soaking a wet ground, feeding vegetation that drunk of and seemed never weary of it. Beneath the thick vegetation, no sentient life made its home, save that of one being.

Yoda sat within one of the few dry confines of the planet of Dagobah. As was his practice, much of his day was spent in meditation. He was old. To his knowledge, he was one of the oldest of the sentient beings in the known universe, and he knew that his immersion in and service to the Force was owed much for that. His eyes formed slits as he reached with his considerable senses into the deepness of space. He saw a frustrated farm boy nearing his destiny. He saw a brave young woman, though inexperienced, facing a personal crisis in the hands of evil. He saw a former apprentice waiting patiently on a desert planet, ready to assist the young farm boy when the time was right. Events were unfolding, and multiple futures he could foresee, based on decisions by others. Would he at long last be able to rest and leave the future of the galaxy in the hands of a new order? Always in motion was the future.

The old gnome wrinkled his nose. A once-promising Jedi Knight, twisted to the Dark Side performed acts of evil, bent on serving the one man who had defeated Yoda so many years ago, causing his exile to this planet. Vader was bent on torturing information out of a young woman; if only he knew the true identity of the young lady, but then … that would be worse. More pain was to come. Yoda sadly shook his head … always, more pain and suffering.

Yoda lifted his head quickly, nearly pulled out of his reverie. He sensed another. This one was new, and yet… The sensation was gone.

"Hmmm," said Yoda to the air around him. It heard him and yet did not. The Force was everywhere … even upon a small starship speeding toward the planet of Alderaan.

[Stuart Mackey]

Alderaan...Bail Organa, this cannot end well.
Good chapter.

[jegs2]

Resistance

Chapter 17

"Bertha, Harold… Ungh!" Another series of electric jolts stabbed multiple portions of his upper body, increasing in intensity and frequency, causing his already exhausted muscles to spasm, and culminating in a sickening symphony of pain. Automated syringes had pumped mind-numbing drugs into his flesh, and he felt confusion encroaching with each agonizing minute. Worse, the drugs also induced a combination of severe headache, dizziness and nausea, though he was for some reason unable to vomit. Beneath it all, Harry repeated within his mind words he had so long ago memorized:

Energetically will I meet the enemies of my country. I shall defeat them on the field of battle for I am better trained and will fight with all my might.

More jolts pulsed into Harry's body, while the drugs coursed through his veins working to induce hopelessness.

Surrender is not a Ranger word. I will never leave a fallen comrade to fall into the hands of the enemy and under no circumstances will I ever embarrass my country.

"I grow weary of this repetitive prattle," droned a disembodied voice from behind the device to which Harry was held. It continued, "I have a great deal of patience, and this machine is fully capable of inducing upon you a severe level of discomfort. While I have no particular desire to do so, I can increase its intensity in a manner sufficient to permanently damage you."

Readily will I display the intestinal fortitude required to fight on to the Ranger objective and complete the mission though I be the lone survivor.

Those words are all Harry clung to now. Many years had passed since he had attended US Army Ranger School and memorized them. The pain was nearly unbearable, but Harry felt he could hold on just a little while longer.

"Lieutenant Colonel, United States Army, Social Security number… Gaaah!"

More electricity coursed through his racked body, at multiple points.

"No one is coming for you. There is no hope of escape," said the voice, "What is the point of this resistance? What can it possibly accomplish, other than your own suffering and eventual death? In case you are holding out hope that you will find relief through unconsciousness, I can assure you that the machine to which you are strapped is finely attuned to your physical state and will ensure that does not happen."

Harry had lost track of the time he had been here, but it seemed an eternity. He could recall the face of Mike Zilliox glaring at him. From where had such bitterness come? For the life of him, Harry could not guess. What had driven Mike to turn on him – to turn on his own people and former comrades in arms?

For weeks Harry had been locked up, and he had undergone interrogation by Imperial agents and droids. All had pressed him for information on his role in the resistance, but many questions had centered on Lancer Six. Today was no different.

"Who is Lancer Six?"

"Bertha, Harry, Lieuten …. Aaaah!"

"What is the real name of Lancer Six? Where can we find him?"

"Lieutenant Colonel, United State…." Harry felt his lungs about to burst as he cried out in pain. The interrogator significantly cranked the power of the device to which he was strapped. Nearly all of Harry's muscles uncontrollably shuddered, and the drugs within him made everything look surreal, mixed with an incredible sense of vertigo and nausea.

"Be careful, or you will kill him," floated forth a different voice.

"The idiot persists in this mindless drivel, so what alternative do I have?"

"We have time."

"We have wasted too much, and he knows what we seek!"

"There are other, more effective ways."

"So be it. He is yours to deal with now."

Without warning, the machine ceased its machinations upon Harry, and merciful blackness washed over him.

-----

Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin was angry and frustrated. Who was this insignificant girl to provide undue resistance to the might of the Empire? Was not Vader a Sith Lord with power to instill dread into nearly anyone? How had he proven incapable of extracting critical intelligence from that waif? Princess Leia had proven resistant to all means available to his interrogators.

This battle station was unmatched throughout the galaxy, and indeed Tarkin knew of nothing throughout recorded history that could match it. He greatly desired to bring its main weapon to bear on the hidden Rebel base, but the unbending will of one stubborn young woman blocked the fulfillment of that desire. He could feel victory tantalizingly close, and yet how long would he have to wait to see it realized? In his mind's eye, Tarkin envisioned the battle station's main weapon penetrating deep into the rebellious world and obliterating it from existence. If Princess Leia could not be made to see reason, then he would use different means he was certain to be effective.

"Perhaps she would respond to an alternative form of persuasion."

"What do you mean?" replied Vader.

"I think it is time we demonstrated the full power of this battle station."

-----

Light rain drifted down through the atmosphere and settled upon a desert floor unaccustomed to it. The local calendar reflected mid-October, and the temperature was mild. Around the city of Riyadh were dotted Imperial outposts and prefabricated garrisons. Stormtroopers patrolled the city streets, but the frequency of the patrols was less than in previous months. Lately, violent incidents occurred as sparsely as once to twice a week, and those usually consisted only of booby traps, instead of suicide attacks or the deadly complex attacks so prevalent in the former summer months.

Fluun checked his chronometer, and it registered a local time of 2115. In the relative safety of the garrison, he could remove his body armor, and so he went without it. Scars lined his face and various parts of his body, mostly resulting from the campaign here in this particular land mass. Though calls to prayer sounded outside the building, he could not hear them inside and for that he was grateful. Not all calls to prayer in the past had been for their intended purpose, but some had rather been audible signals for complex attacks by local fighters.

While Fluun could not obtain the stuff he had access to prior to his banishment to this Sith-forsaken place, he had over the past few weeks gained access to locally-produced product that came close to granting him what he sought. The leadership was opposed to the practice, and they made half-hearted attempts to clamp down on it. But here, few leaders made any real effort to enforce the guidance handed down from higher unless it directly impacted the mission.

Fluun reached for his nose, wiping away some dried blood encrusted within his right nostril. He still felt some euphoria from his earlier use of the locally-available stuff, but the powder had some unfortunate side effects that the spices he could obtain in his home galaxy did not produce. Obtaining the substance was easier these days than it had been even a month ago. Various local workers conducted menial tasks for the Imperial garrisons, and they were quite eager to exchange credits for the product, which they had with them.

Fluun savored the moment, for he knew that he would be back out on patrol within the next few hours. The constant threat to life or limb no longer lurked around every corner, but over the past few weeks it had been replaced by boredom, mixed with ingrained wariness. Fluun suspected every local he met as a rebel, but they had orders not to engage unless hostile intent was identified. Nobody had any interest in seeing the situation with these people degenerate into the nightmare of before. Hostility remained in the brown faces of the men within the city, but the deadly intent seemed less – at least in any overt way. Conversely, the stress Fluun and his men experienced grew. Within a short while, Fluun would be back out there again, attempting to cheat death for yet another few hours.

"Did you hear the latest, sir?" inquired one of Fluun's squad members from behind him.

"What?"

"Over two thousand more joined up, yesterday alone?"

"What are you talking about?"

"You really don't know, sir?"

"If I did, would I be asking?"

"Locals – the Arabs; they're joining the Empire in droves."

Fluun turned in his chair to face the younger trooper. Like Fluun, his subordinate was dressed down to basic clothing, absent his armor. He was nursing a plastic bottle of water that had been flavored by something colored red. He appeared a good dozen years younger than Fluun, but he noted with resignation that such was prevalent these days. His light brown hair was cropped short, and his dialect sounded like one of the planets from the outer rim. Fluun struggled to place the young man's name – he had lost so many in the past few months.

"You're Bren, right?"

"Yes sir."

"You say the locals are joining the Empire?"

"Yes sir; as stormtroopers mostly, from what I have heard."

"Emperor preserve us."

"Rumor has it that the Emperor is all for it."

"So now you have an inside line to what the Emperor thinks?"

"Uh, no sir. I meant no disrespect … uh, I did not mean to infer…"

"Forget it."

Later in the evening, Fluun and his squad conducted their patrol. The intelligence briefing had warned of booby traps, but he found none in his sector. He still felt comfort knowing the hovering battle droids were providing extra sensor and lethal protection for him and his squad. As he stepped around the corner of a building, a young native approached him. Fluun tensed.

"Where do I go to become a soldier?" inquired the native in broken Basic. Fluun noted he was wearing a white dishdasha, popular among the local male population. As usual, the black shapes allegedly containing females were few and far between – and never alone.

"There are two recruiting centers in the city. Go see them."

"I want to be a soldier like you."

"Go see the men at the recruiting center and tell them."

The young man glanced at the hovering and whirring grey globe overhead, looked back at Fluun, and replied, "Shookran." He then turned and walked away from the squad. Fluun felt he would never become accustomed to civilians walking up to troopers, much less talking to a trooper. While he had been speaking to the native, his other droids and his men had spread out to ensure they were not being set up for an ambush.

As Fluun returned to the garrison with his squad, he noticed a message on his personal terminal. His commander wanted to see him. Fluun took off his helmet but kept on his body armor. He felt there was little sense in making the commander wait. He made for the office.

Office was a liberal term for what Captain Tamek used for a headquarters. An over-sized cleaning closet would have been closer to the mark, but then the officer rarely used his office except for once or twice a day to check message traffic. Most of his time was spent in the field with his troopers. As Fluun entered, he noticed that the commander was still wearing is desert-camouflaged body armor without helmet. Fluun congratulated himself on his own decision not to dress down.

Captain Tamek busily engaged himself with whatever held his attention on his terminal. There was but one chair in the tiny room, and he was occupying it. After a couple of minutes, he glanced up at Fluun, who was still at the position of attention.

"At ease," he said, and then continued working on his terminal. After another five minutes, he discontinued work on the terminal, leaned back in his chair, and again looked at Fluun.

"Sir, TK-378 reports."

"I am transferring you."

"Sir?"

"The orders have been transmitted to your terminal."

"Sir, if I may … why am I being transferred?"

"You have performed in an exemplary manner here, and you are needed elsewhere." The captain locked eyes on Fluun in concentration, seeming to hesitate, but then he added, "I know of your habit, which ironically is what helped land you here in the first place."

"Sir, I …"

"It is what it is, and it will no longer be overlooked. Know that your superiors at your next duty station will also be aware of your habit and will be monitoring your activities closely. It would be in your best interest to terminate that particular habit soonest. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir."

"Dismissed."

Fluun turned to leave. He knew what was unspoken as well. The commander could have taken harsh disciplinary action against him if he chose, but he had not exercised the authority to do so. He knew that his duty performance likely played a large role in such a decision. Moreover, it was often simpler for commanders to transfer problems rather than delve into the cumbersome processes involved in disciplinary action. Reaching a nearby terminal, he logged in and checked his messages. There was the order. Reading it, he started in surprise. He was to report to the massive, moon-sized space station known as the Death Star. Inwardly, Fluun smiled. He was finally leaving this cursed excuse for a world.

-----

"So, you were a member of the Imperial Senate?"

"That is correct," replied Bail Organa, "My daughter, Leia, followed in my footsteps, becoming the youngest senator in history."

"That is impressive."

"Unfortunately, the Imperial Senate no longer exists. The Emperor dissolved it a short while ago."

William Dudley leaned back in his chair and folded his hands together, forming them into a steeple. The room in which he found himself was well-furnished, but it was in the bowels of the Alderaan Royal Palace. He recognized only a couple of the persons at the table from previous briefs. The architecture of the place was ornate while simultaneously ancient in form, but that was unsurprising. Unlike Earth, societies in this galaxy were thousands of years old. From time to time, William had to remind himself that he was a native of this galaxy himself, though he had no intention of revealing that to anyone else. To his left was seated Bail Organa, and he also recognized Mon Mothra at the table. Four others were also present. William understood that two were also former members of the Imperial Senate, while two other served as senior military leaders of the Rebel Alliance.

"I am sorry to hear about the plight of your daughter, Senator Organa," said William, retaining the man's recent honorific.

The older man's eyes fell momentarily toward the table.

"We received reports from our spies that she may have been taken to the Death Star by Lord Vader. That said, she is both brave and resourceful. I have faith that she will find her way through this most recent trial," he hesitated and then added, "She must survive this … if only he knew."

"Sorry?"

Bail Organa quickly recovered, smiling weakly, "Oh never mind. I am just an old man who fears for his daughter."

"That is completely understandable. Our thoughts and prayers are with her for her safe return."

"Thank you," replied Bail who then turned toward Mon Mothra.

Taking the visual cue, Mon Mothra said, "Colonel Dudley, it is a pleasure to finally meet you face-to-face. I feel as though I already know you, since we have conducted so many long-range conferences together."

"Ma'am, the pleasure is all mine."

"We have received many positive reports about the resistance on your home planet, and the greater plan is well in motion."

"We lost a lot of good fighters, but we feel that conditions are now set for the next phase of our operation." William recalled poring over reports of horrific casualties, some of the names and their accompanying faces forever imprinted upon his mind.

"I understand you recently initiated Operation Black Horse."

"Yes ma'am. While the events that facilitated that particular operation were horrendous, Operation Black Horse may well be the final piece necessary to achieve our final objective."

Mon Mothra raised her eyebrows, "Do you really think that will allow us to accelerate our plans to the degree Lancer Six proposed?"

"He believes so."

"That would be, impressive."

Over the next three hours, the participants covered details of supporting operations and phases of the major operation. Bill came in about an hour into the meeting with detailed plans, and he covered recent intelligence reports. They had agents throughout the Imperial military apparatus, and they were working to infiltrate even the highest levels. Bribery and corruption had proven to be effective tools.

When the meeting was over, William, Bill and Mon Mothra headed for their respective starships. Much work was yet to be done. As William neared his starship, one of his officers walked briskly toward him.

"Sir, we need to leave as soon as possible."

"What is the problem?"

"Alderaan officials report the Death Star has entered the system."

"That's interesting. Senator Organa thinks his daughter may be on board that battle station. Perhaps they intend to use her as some sort of bargaining chip."

"Sir?"

"Eh? Oh, it's just something we were discussing. Alright, let's go."

-----

Lieutenant General Merdon Voss used his time and resources wisely. He knew that he was not widely trusted, and many higher level Imperial officers thought he knew things about them. It was true that Voss had information on high level officers, but the perception was that he knew much more. Voss smiled. He was okay with that. Let them think he knew more than he did. What he did know is that he had over time developed an impressive array of subordinates to plan and execute multiple tasks, and young Captain Gregory Yost of Sol was one of his newer additions.

Voss stared at the lone terminal on his desk. It was capable of holographic projection, which was useful for studying operational and strategic graphics in sectors of the galaxy, but he often chose to view information in only two dimensions, unless he was required at a briefing. He was ever thankful for his aide, Colonel Meridian, but he would soon lose him. He was too talented an officer to remain where he was, and Voss had recommended him for a higher level assignment that would warrant a promotion.

Unlike Voss, Meridian was family man with three children, two of whom were now grown. One of Meridian's sons had recently graduated from the academy and was now training to become a TIE fighter pilot. Voss recalled that he was a likeable young man who demonstrated considerable potential. He mused that perhaps he could get Meridian's son as a replacement for his personal aide, but that would be unfair to the promising young pilot.

Voss studied the information on his terminal. The recent announcement of the dissolution of the Imperial Senate both puzzled and concerned him. He could not surmise what the Emperor hoped to gain. At least the Imperial Senate had provided a small illusion of democracy for the people, and they had no real power. Voss feared that dissolving the Imperial Senate would work only to strengthen the Rebels. That made his job more difficult.

Voss was also aware of the stolen plans for the giant space station, and he knew that Vader had seized the young senator from Alderaan. She was certainly suspicious due to her ties and activities, but Voss felt that seizing her was a dangerous move, even with the dissolution of the Imperial Senate. She was a popular figure, and rough treatment of her was likely to generate sympathy for the Rebellion.

Voss looked over recent reports sent to him by Captain Yost. The young man was doing excellent work, and his efforts had assisted in the capture of a high-value target that had the potential to provide vital intelligence about the resistance on Sol. The general allowed himself a smile.

-----

"How many do you think are there?"

"Thousands are now in place, and more are following."

Deep underground, the two men sat at a table illuminated by a single incandescent bulb overhead. Dampness within the network of artificial caves was further contributed to by underground springs that had been discovered during excavation. Unseen and in the shadows, but known to both men were many other armed men whose sole duty it was to ensure the security of their respective charges, both facing each other at the long table.

Datshi eyed his friend Moheb with caution. The Syrian had recovered from his initial shock well over the past few weeks, and he had thrown himself into his work like a possessed man. By some trick of the sparse light provided by the one fixture in the area, the Syrian's face took on a menacing hue. While they both had been working for nearly a year on the plan they now discussed, efforts to speed, and modify the process were now considerably accelerated. The Georgian had been concerned that Moheb would go off the deep end, but his friend now seemed as tempered and dangerous as a sword.

"What of Grey Six?"

Datshi shrugged, "Lancer Six says he won't talk."

"I do not share his enthusiasm."

"He really does not know much."

"He knows enough."

"Well, what can we do about it anyway, my friend?"

"We can take action."

"Is it worth the risk though?"

The Syrian smiled, "Do you still underestimate me?"

"But Lancer Six…"

"He approves. I spoke to him already."

The Georgian raised an eyebrow.

-----

The brilliant light of day assaulted Harry's aching head like a sledgehammer, as he was led out of the building. His hands were manacled behind his back, and he was flanked by two stormtroopers. A gray-clad Imperial officer led the way, while another stormtrooper followed him.

As Harry's vision cleared, ahead of him he could see a transport ahead of him. He knew from previous operations that this was an Imperial shuttle. It looked like they intended to take him off-world. What more could they do to him? The officer in front stopped and turned to face Harry, a sneer of cold contempt on his face.

"You have demonstrated impressive resistance to our questions, but that will soon come to an end."

Harry said nothing, but a smile barely forced its way through swollen lips.

The officer matched his smile, "But I wonder just how resistant you will continue to be in the face of what awaits?"

Harry remained silent.

"Your wife, Mary, is a remarkable woman."

Harry involuntarily surged toward the officer, though he was restrained by his shackles and the gauntleted hands of the two troopers flanking him. The officer smiled without mirth, satisfied at Harry's reaction. Almost in a panic, Harry wondered how they had found his wife. Frankly, he had thought her dead during the initial Imperial attack, but he had later discovered she was yet alive. Out of fear for her safety, Harry had not reinitiated contact, so he was sure she thought he too was dead.

"She will be happy to see you again, though perhaps the feeling will not long persist."

"You don't have her."

"I do not? Very well, then you can tell the woman who looks, acts, and sounds remarkably like your wife that she is not who she claims to be when you see her."

Harry felt a knot in his gut, and he wanted to vomit. Harry felt all hope drain from him, and the hopelessness he had not allowed to envelop him now settled like a cold, wet blanket. The officer turned and continued leading the way toward the shuttle.

"Die, Rebel scum!" shouted a tinny voice from next to the shuttle. Harry looked up in time to see a red flash, and then he knew no more. A blaster bolt crashed center-mass into his chest, and he slumped lifelessly within the grip of his two escorts.

The Imperial officer pulled out his side-arm, and he and the remaining strormtroopers leveled their weapons at the culprit.

"Freeze!" shouted the closest stormtrooper, and the culprit, another stormtrooper, dropped his carbine and held his arms aloft.

The Imperial officer turned and looked at the body of Harry Bertha. One of the troopers who had been escorting the man looked up and uselessly offered, "He is dead, sir."

-----

They had captured Lieutenant Colonel Bertha? Greg stared at the blandly-written report on his monitor in some disbelief. That was never part of the plan. Sickly, Greg became aware that his own efforts and input were at least partially credited with facilitating the capture of his former commander.

Greg feverishly dug through the archive and scanned for more reports on Bertha. The man had been captured for some time and had undergone intense interrogation, garnering no results. Greg swallowed, as he envisioned techniques likely used for such interrogation. He continued to scan the documents. As he read, his eyes grew wider and his alarm grew."

"Mrs. Bertha."

"Sir?" said one of the men working on a terminal nearby.

A pale Greg looked at him, "Nothing … uh, never mind," he said, returning his attention to the terminal. Bertha's wife had been detained. What had they intended to do with her? He recalled the kindness of Mary Bertha during one of the officers' calls to her house a few years ago. She had been cheerful, and Greg's girlfriend had got along well with her. This seemed unreal.

Greg continued reading, and then he could read no more. As calmly as he could, Greg logged off of the terminal and turned to Lieutenant Lacks.

"I will be stepping out for a while, Lieutenant."

"Yes sir," replied the junior officer, staring at Greg with obvious concern. Greg smiled lightly and exited.

Greg secured the entrance to his quarters and sat heavily upon the chair to his small desk. He stared blankly at the inactive terminal on his desk.

"Dead," he whispered to himself.

Harry Bertha had been killed by a stormtrooper. The reports stated that the shooting was not sanctioned, but then why was he shot? Greg shook his head. A yellow message alert began blinking on his terminal, but Greg felt no desire to activate it just yet. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be somewhere else.

-----

The stormtrooper stood before the Imperial officer. He was still shackled and his helmet was removed. Two armed stormtroopers stood on either side of him, carbines at port-arms.

"Tell me again why you shot the man we were escorting."

"He was the same one I told you about."

"Yes, we have heard this before, but as before it still makes no sense."

The anger in the eyes of the shackled stormtrooper still blazed, but the officer sensed it was not directed at him.

The officer said, "You have no idea how much intelligence value that man possessed, and now we can obtain nothing from him – thanks to you."

"He was a rebel coward, and he got no less than he deserved," growled the stormtrooper with determination.

"Again, where is your explanation?"

"He and his kind butchered my brothers!"

"What?"

"You were not there! You cannot know … sir."

"Know, what?"

"His unit was the one that destroyed my ancestral town! It was he who was responsible for the butchery of my brothers as they defended their homeland," spat the restrained man, rage filling his eyes.

The officer sighed and leaned back in his chair. It was clear now. It was easy to forget the multiple conflicts that had raged on this planet prior to the arrival of the Empire. These two men were apparently involved in such a conflict, on opposing sides. He would have to punish this man, although transferring him would be simpler.

"Take him back to his cell, for now."

Once the trooper entered his cell, one of the two escorts removed his restraints and secured the cell door. The man looked at the one window toward the top of the wall, opposite the door. A beam of sunlight streamed in from outside, illuminating some of the dust particles permeating the room. He closed his eyes. In his mind, he could hear the call to prayer. Though he did not have a prayer rug with him, that did not prevent him from facing what he felt to be the direction of Mecca, and he began a ritual practiced daily by so many millions of the faithful.

[LadyTevar]

The fools the fools, to accept the snake to their breast

[Stuart Mackey]

That was quick, you must have some down time?
Good chapter...It will be interesting to see who, gets off Alderaan, if anyone, and of course the nature of the plan..self destructing ISD's?.

[Darksider]

Actually, terrorists of the Islamic Fanatic variety could probably do a shitload of damage once they establish themselves in the SW galaxy proper. On earth we have fanatics driving cars into buildings. In the SW galaxy it'll be fanatics flying Corellian Corvettes into planets and overloading their reactors, creating a mass-extinction event. Though once they get started with that kind of shit, any assistance they get from the Rebellion proper is going right the fuck away. Hell, Rebel forces would probably start hunting down the islamists in order to prevent them from giving the empire a legitimate reason to crack down and cutting off their popular support.

[Krisnack]

Fluun reached for his nose, wiping away some dried blood encrusted within his right nostril. He still felt some euphoria from his earlier use of the locally-available stuff, but the powder had some unfortunate side effects that the spices he could obtain in his home galaxy did not produce.

It appears that Earth drugs are nastier stuff then the narcotics that Galaxy Far, Far Away has been ust to.
I wouldn't be surprised if the GFFA is already acquainted with such products as crack, heroin, methamphetamine, and OxyContin.

And the Death Star is getting ready to fire. I suspect Yost will have major second thoughts about working with the Empire.

I am eagerly looking forward to how Yoda deals with Force-null assailants.

[Darksider]

Question about the "nulls" in this story. Are they just absent in the force and immune to direct-action force powers like the vong, or do they actually emit a field that neutralizes the force like 40k's "blanks?"

[phongn]

It appears that Earth drugs are nastier stuff then the narcotics that Galaxy Far, Far Away has been ust to.
I wouldn't be surprised if the GFFA is already acquainted with such products as crack, heroin, methamphetamine, and OxyContin.

Probably impurities in the drugs causing nasty side effects.

[LadyTevar]

Question about the "nulls" in this story. Are they just absent in the force and immune to direct-action force powers like the vong, or do they actually emit a field that neutralizes the force like 40k's "blanks?"

I avoided the Vong novels like the plague, so I don't know how they're explained away, but in this story, we are literally from Outside the Force. The Force doesn't flow through us, doesn't recognize us as a living being. We're not simply 'dead' to the Force, we don't exist by its rules.

[jegs2]

Resistance

Chapter 18

He had not foreseen this – not entirely. Many things did the Force reveal to those who listened, and listening was he, always. He also knew that the Force did not reveal events, or if it did they were but images of what might be. Images came both bidden and unbidden to him as through mists, and some more clearly, and even others in dreams.

Skywalker was in the hands of Kenobi now. That, Yoda saw clearly. The future was always in motion, but he still foresaw the recovery of Skywalker's sister now upon the enormous battle station of the Empire, though not for long. Other events were transparent, or seemingly so. Yoda could distantly foresee a great battle between the Skywalker father and son, but that particular vision was not so clear as it had once been. Other visions now clouded that one, almost as many that were attempting to split apart. New visions including both father and son now introduced themselves into Yoda's mind, all with equal possibility.

The Emperor grew more powerful, and Yoda sensed he drew his power from different sources now than he had earlier envisioned. His arrogance was evident in all he did, and his hand was seen upon many events. Darkly, Yoda recalled the creation of the clone army in secret, prior to the fall of the Republic.

He had sensed the destruction of Alderaan. How could he not? It had come as a shock, and he yet reeled in horror and sadness. Such a senseless mass-slaughtering of life! Yet the new presence he felt, but no, not new. The presence was … familiar, from the past, but had been lost for a while. A Jedi was this person, but his presence in the Force was much diminished. From a terrible destruction had he but barely escaped. Of that, Yoda was certain.

The old gnome stared into the dense foliage that lent color to the gloom of his home in exile. No precipitation from above fell today, at least not in the form of anything other than that which had collected in the thick canopy above. This place was alive with the Force. He glanced over his shoulder. Yes, that place too was alive, with the Dark Side of the Force. It waited patiently for a young man to enter. No longer was the image of that particular future so certain, but perhaps a trial of a different kind waited for him. Yoda shook his head. It was too soon, and the boy was not ready.

A reptile chattered in the distance, and Yoda stirred the ground with his walking stick. He grunted to himself.

"Always in motion is the future."

-----

Rows of Imperial stormtroopers stood in formation, dark gray armor glistening under artificial light. They stood at the position of attention, carbines at port arms. This was but one regiment of several within the massive training complex, and their rigorous training was now complete. Indoctrination was still ongoing, and indeed that portion of training would likely not see an end. Their gray armor denoted these troopers as set apart, and they were to perform a different function from standard Imperial stormtroopers.

The training the troopers had undergone included basic combat training provided to regular stormtroopers. Addition training the troopers had undergone included espionage, assassination, reconnaissance, counterinsurgency training, and more. The men were finely-honed tools of warfare, sharpened to a fine edge. Soon, they would be pitted against enemies of the Empire.

A man stood from a vantage point, gazing at the formation of troopers. His receding hairline and round face included what appeared to be thin black blindfold. He could not see in a physical sense, but the Force had provided vision to him that was beyond what the physical realm could provide. His was an Imperial Inquisitor, and he had also been tasked with overseeing the training of these regiments of special troopers. Through his Force vision, he could see the troopers before him. It was their absence within the Force that revealed their presence. Their training was to a level sufficient to begin their deployment throughout the galaxy, and Jerec was responsible for the final portion of their indoctrination.

He recalled the day he had first become aware of beings such as these. A young man from Sol had stood before him, terrified. Jerec's attempts to wield his considerable powers within the Dark Side of the Force against the young man had proven ineffectual. It was then that he had discovered what an asset such men could be, were his ultimate plans to come to fruition. He was a patient man, but now events were unfolding that might allow him to achieve his goal much sooner than he had anticipated.

He carefully guarded his thoughts at all times, and he knew that all times he must be cautious. The Emperor was powerful, and his ruthless agent, Vader, was ever watchful for threats. Jerec had carefully crafted his own plans, and they would have to be just as carefully executed. The slightest misstep would certainly lead to a swift and terrible end for him.

Imperial indoctrination was perfected to an art. The troopers arrayed before him were constantly bombarded by propaganda, from the time they woke up until the time they went to sleep. Even in sleep, the troopers were subjected to subliminal messages through various means. They would indeed be powerful tools in the arsenal of the Empire. He smiled inwardly, though it never reached his face.

-----

"You really want to go through with this, my friend?"

"Na'am," replied the Syrian, slipping unconsciously into Arabic.

"You are needed here."

"I will be more useful there."

Datshi stared at his friend. The eastern European city was not that far from the dark caverns in which they normally met, and the effects of Fall were visible in the colorful leaves of the trees dotting the old town. Moheb was wearing a light jacket with some older gray slacks. Datshi wore blue jeans with a long-sleeved shirt, as he usually did, his hands shoved in his pockets. Just around the corner was an Imperial recruitment center, and Datshi was now finished trying to talk his friend out of his chosen course of action.

"Go then my friend, and peace be upon you."

"En'sha'lla!"

Moheb turned to leave his friend and made his way toward the small building. Datshi watched him go. He knew they had contacts and even officers throughout the Empire, but he sighed as he watched his friend go. He was certain he would not see Moheb again.

-----

Fluun felt better than he had in years. In his mind, this is what a professional regiment of Imperial stormtroopers was meant to be. The men assigned with him on this massive, mobile space station were the best of the best, second to none. Their purpose was clear, as they were tasked with maintaining peace aboard the space station itself and serving as expeditionary troopers for large-scale ground assaults.

While Fluun was certainly pleased with his quarters and other amenities to be found on the station, he was most impressed with the multiple state-of-the-art training facilities aboard the planetoid space station. Multiple firing ranges, shoot-houses, immersive holo-simulators, and challenging physical endurance courses were constantly available for groups up to battalion level.

Each stormtrooper regiment also had the opportunity to compete against one another in massive training centers that were designed to replicate any number of likely battlefield conditions. Most pleasing was the inclusion of low-intensity conflict scenarios including civilian role-players.

"Your squad will conduct a presence patrol of the charlie four-nine sector," said the platoon commander.

Fluun stood around a large briefing table with other squad leaders and the platoon commander, over which a holo-projection of the training facility glowed and slowly rotated. As the platoon commander spoke, Fluun watched as the sector he had indicated glowed red. He checked his internal imaging systems to ensure the sector indicated had downloaded properly. It had, and it included details not currently shown on the holo-table. Fluun turned his attention back toward the platoon commander. While civilians and those not wearing stormtrooper armor would see just another stormtrooper, Fluun clearly saw the platoon commander's rank within the heads-up display within his visor.

"Roger, sir."

The platoon commander briefed mission criteria to the other squad leaders. Once he was done and received acknowledgement from each squad leader, he covered what the company's intelligence section had provided regarding the threat. As he spoke, the hologram showed likely enemy positions and threat areas. Automatically, Fluun checked his own internal systems to ensure threat data had been received, and he knew his fellow squad leaders were doing the same. The group was dismissed, and the squad leaders departed to provide briefings with their respective squads, conduct pre-combat checks and execute rehearsals.

At the end of the day, after Fluun dismissed his squad, he changed into his garrison clothing and headed for the nearest cantina. He was sore in a couple of places, and he absently rubbed at his left shoulder. The enemy role players were armed with real weapons, or at least they felt real. He knew that the weapons had significantly toned-down power, but they stung all the same when they hit, and if they hit in the right (or wrong) place, then the effect was a stun that would last several minutes. A stun grenade had detonated against Fluun's squad, and he had taken the brunt of the blast.

Sitting at a table, Fluun let the day's stress flow from him. He ordered a drink with light alcohol content. All alcoholic drinks available in the cantina were light in nature, and nobody was allowed more than their ration, which was strictly monitored. Even so, the moderate amount of the alcohol in Fluun's drink served to take off some of the edge. He allowed his gaze to drift to the other occupants of the cantina. Many of the occupants were in small groups, talking among themselves. Some played Sabbac, while others played holo-games or watched one of the several holo-vids playing. He turned to study other occupants, and then he froze.

Seated at one of the nearby tables were three of the brown-skinned natives of Sol in whose land he had recently been stationed. They sat together in relative silence, and Fluun strained his ears to listen. It did no good, since they were speaking the gibberish of their native land. Fluun had heard enough of it to recognize it for what it was. They were not playing Sabbac, nor did they appear interested in any other available entertainment. Studying their clothing, Fluun decided they were off-duty troopers. While he knew they were troopers like him, he still felt uneasy at their presence all the same.

One of the men facing in the direction of Fluun locked eyes with him. Fluun felt an involuntary shudder. He nodded and turned his attention back to his drink. The alcohol no longer calmed him. Taking another drink, Fluun stood and left the cantina, his drink only half finished.

-----

"Within the Death Star itself?"

"Yes sir."

Greg felt it was an unconscionable breach of security. He was still reeling from the shock that the battle station had obliterated a planet recently, and now this? Reports told of an unlikely insurgent rescue attempt on the battle station. They had brought aboard a wizard with them, but Lord Vader had destroyed him. Still, it was a small team.

"And the ship escaped, you say?"

"Yes sir."

"That's not possible. That battle station has multiple fighter squadrons that would have shot that freighter out of space quickly. Moreover, its multiple turbolaser batteries would have made short work of that ship anyway, without fighters."

"Yes sir."

"They were let go."

"Sir?"

"The insurgents were allowed to escape. I just can't see why."

Greg engaged his terminal again. He rifled through some of the reports he had been gathering. Initially, reporting from that battle station had been sparse. Greg had worked with several other officers to rectify that though over the past month. General Voss would not tolerate a lack of reporting, Sith Lord or Grand Moff aboard it notwithstanding. The reports he received from the enormous battle station were limited to just a few intelligence sections, and Greg was reasonably certain it was contained within the intelligence apparatus. He logged off his computer and left the room.

Greg was one of the few junior officers who had a direct line to General Voss. Not that Greg could walk directly into the general's office, but he did have ready access to his aide, who in turn had direct access to the general. Greg used his rank cylinder to open the door to the aide's office, and a colonel looked up from his desk at him in mild annoyance. Greg did not recognize the officer.

"What do you want, captain?"

"Sir, I need to discuss a matter of some importance with General Voss."

"Really? What matter is that?"

"Sir, it has to do with the recent escape of the Millennium Falcon from the Death Star."

"I have no knowledge of that event."

"Even so, sir, I am certain the general is tracking the event, and I need to discuss details with him as soon as possible."

The colonel looked at his console and then back at Greg.

"The general will be free tomorrow around 1300. I can fit you in then."

"Sir, it is a matter of some urgency. If you could just …"

"I said, I can fit you in at 1300 tomorrow," said the colonel stonily, "now, if there is nothing else, captain."

"Yes sir," said Greg with resignation. He spun on his heel and walked quickly toward his own work area. He returned to his terminal and logged in. He had not sent any high-priority messages to the general before, but this was important. If what he thought was happening was actually taking place, then they were in very real trouble. His message screen appeared, and Greg paused. A message was blinking yellow. That was not surprising, as he often dealt with medium-priority messages. This one though was different. Tentatively, he opened the message.

-----

Dear Greg,

We heard that you have been doing quite well, and we are all so proud of you. Pensacola just isn't the same without you here with us! You may be interested to know that your uncle is going to the big game, and he is excited since it looks like his team will have a really good chance of winning. He keeps pestering us all about the new head coach, complaining that he's afraid the coach might make some bone-headed calls and blow the game. Well, you know your uncle! Come back to visit us when you get a chance.

Love,

Ms. Elliott

-----

Greg quickly closed the message and deleted it. He looked around to see if anyone was watching, but his men were all engaged in their own work and paid him no attention. The intent of the message was clear: They knew what he knew. They knew he knew it, and they didn't want him sharing such knowledge with his superiors. Well, he had intended to tell the general what he suspected, but that idiot aide of his had rebuffed him.

Greg's finger hovered over the terminal, ready to activate a high-priority message to General Voss. He closed his eyes. Hundreds of thousands of Imperial personnel were aboard that battle station. In the unlikely event it was destroyed, and Greg did not provide warning …then again, that battle station had recently annihilated an entire planet along with its population. But was that the fault of the men stationed aboard? Where was it headed now? Greg did not know, but he was fairly certain that the small freighter that had escaped it was being tracked, perhaps to the elusive insurgent base of operations. If they could wipe out the nest of insurgents in one swift stroke, then all this could come to an end, and peace could be restored at last.

Peace? An internal voice mocked him. What peace is that? Were planets to be wiped out at a whim to achieve such … peace? Then he recalled the recent death of his former boss, the very man who had set Greg on this course in the first place. Suddenly a piercing alarm wailed, and Greg was yanked from his reverie.

"What is that?" shouted Greg above the din.

"I don't know, sir. Let me check," replied Lieutenant Lacks as he delved into his terminal. The alarm reminded Greg of a collision alert he had heard aboard the Imperial ship on which he had served. General Quarters drills were common aboard ship, so such an alarm was familiar to him – but he had never experienced such a drill here, nor had an alarm of any kind ever sounded here.

"Sir, come with us," said a stormtrooper who had entered the room and stepped next to Greg. He looked to his other side and noticed that another trooper was waiting there. Greg was escorted through the halls, which were now jammed with officers, soldiers, and stormtroopers. He was hurried into the waiting room of General Voss' office. The aide was no longer at his desk. Once in the general's office, the troopers maneuvered to the far side of the room and opened the door to the general's private quarters. At the far end of that room, another door opened and Greg was ushered inside. It was an elevator. One of the troopers stepped in and activated a control with what appeared to be a rank cylinder.

"Sir, this will take you to safety."

"Safety?"

The trooper did not answer but quickly stepped out. The door closed, and Greg felt the elevator begin a rapid descent.

-----

A giant Golan weapons platform spat turbolaser bolts and proton missiles at its target, the shields of the target deflecting them or absorbing their energy. Even so, it was too late to stop it. A 1600-meter wedge-shaped star ship hurtled toward the surface of Imperial Center, the atmosphere already dragging on the vessel and creating an impressive light show for anyone below who watched. Fighters swarmed about the Imperial star destroyer, pelting it ineffectually with laser cannons.

On the bridge of the mile-long ship, a stormtrooper stood with his helmet under his arm at the triangular viewing ports, gazing impassively at the swiftly approaching planet. At his feet was an Imperial officer, sprawled in death. His team had worked quickly, and they had rehearsed every last detail, including multiple branches and sequels. Nobody had expected the assault by their own stormtroopers, and his men had provided no reaction time.

The man turned to face one of the blast doors to the bridge. It was glowing in places now. The troopers on the other side were desperately cutting through the doors, but they would not be in time. He momentarily closed his eyes and then reopened them. He could feel the massive ship shuddering slightly from atmospheric drag and the relentless pounding it was taking from weapon systems intent on destroying it.

Scattered throughout the bridge were other dead Imperial officers, crewmen and stormtroopers, blast marks on various parts of their bodies. They had been caught by surprise, and so they had died quickly. Other stormtroopers – his troopers now stood at various stations, most with their helmets removed. The same was true for other critical areas throughout the ship, where control of the vessel might have otherwise been restored to the enemy. The man turned his gaze back to the view ports. His target on the surface of the planet grew quickly.

"Alla'hu Ackbar," he said softly.

-----

The Emperor felt the threat before the report reached him.

"Fools!" he spat in contempt. Did they really think this desperate gamble of theirs would work? Why did so many underestimate the Dark Side of the Force? He reached out through the Force to seize control of the men controlling the ship, and … nothing! His smile was replaced by a grimace. He activated a control in the armrest of his chair.

"Yes, my Lord?" came a voice over the speaker.

"An Imperial capital ship is attempting to ram us. Destroy it."

"Uh … yes … my lord!" The intercom cut out. What those on that ship could not know was that the Emperor's palace was protected by a powerful energy shield. Their efforts would prove futile. Still, it would be best if they were destroyed.

"My lord!" cried a voice from the speaker.

"What is it?"

"We need to evacuate you immediately!"

"Do not be a fool, commander. They cannot penetrate our shield."

"My lord! The shield … it's not active!"

"What do you mean?"

"The shield is down, and we cannot activate it!" The Emperor wasted no time. He quickly arose and headed to his elevator. Two Imperial guardsmen robed in red fell in at his side. He would deal with this treachery soon enough.

-----

A massive spherical space station dropped out of hyperspace.

"Sir, we have entered the Yavin system."

"Very good," replied the officer. He turned to report to Grand Moff Tarkin.

"Sir!"

The officer stopped and turned to face another crewman, who had shouted.

"What?"

"We have received a coded dispatch from Imperial Center."

"Well?"

-----

The Rebel Alliance had waited long for this day. All events were falling into place, even though this was an awful gamble. If they failed, then the Rebel Alliance would be destroyed, and the Empire would be strengthened. The plans for the Death Star had revealed a weakness that could be exploited to destroy the mammoth space station, but it would rely on small star fighters and very good targeting.

Throughout the Rebel base, men at various consoles tracked the movement of the giant armored space station as it maneuvered toward the planet of Yavin at sublight speed.

Other Rebel officers crowded around a table and transparent wall charts, busily creating notations and entering data into terminals. The pilots had been briefed and were ready for their mission. Most of them knew it was a desperate mission, and they knew the odds of survival were slim. Even so, while many of them were extraordinarily nervous, they were in high spirits. They would soon launch.

"Sir!"

An Alliance officer turned to face the young man peering into a console.

"Yes?"

"The Death Star … it has turned away from us. It's going into hyperspace."

"What? Why?" He suddenly felt foolish for asking the question, since the young man would be as clueless as he. The officer hurried through the command center to report to the general.

"Why would they do this?" asked a puzzled Leia. The rest of the command staff looked about, but each face revealed only puzzlement.

"Surely, they tracked the Falcon to our location, and their scans would have quickly revealed what was here," replied the base commander.

"We need to find out what happened," said Leia needlessly.

"I agree, your Highness. But even though that Death Star has departed the system, we can be certain they have reported our position to the rest of the Imperial fleet. I believe we will soon get a great number of unwanted visitors."

"Of course you're right, Commander. Prepare for evacuation."

In the pilot ready room, the announcement was made, and the sense of relief among the Rebel pilots was almost palpable. While many had been itching for the upcoming fight, the pilots also had a good idea of the odds they were to face. They stood up and milled about, as the room steadily emptied. Luke Skywalker spotted Biggs Darklighter.

"Well, it looks like we'll have a chance to catch up on old times after all."

"Yeah, looks like we do."

Elsewhere in the ruins of the ancient temple, a small Corellian freighter was preparing to depart. Han Solo collected the credits awarded him for rescuing the princess, and now he felt a great sense of relief. He recalled the conflict he had felt within at leaving these foolish people to their fate. Well, fate it seemed had a different plan, and they would live to see another day. Meanwhile, he had a debt to pay.

"Ready to go, Chewie?"

The Wookiee growled the affirmative.

[The Vortex Empire]

So the Emperors plan is falling apart at the seams, the galaxy has a new terrorist organization the likes of which it has never before seen, and the history of the Rebel Alliance has now been changed forever. What next?

[LadyTevar]

Mwhhahhahahahahahahaahah

Poor Emperor, your plan to use those Force-less Earthlings has back-fired horribly. ALthough I have to wonder what "General Ackbar" will think about the Praise-words.

But now, we do not have Skywalker, Hero of Yavin, and we dont' have Solo and the Princess bonding. In motion, this future is.

[[R_H]]

I'm surprised that the Imperials would recruit from a recently occupied world.

[Kuroji]

This is a different case, though, and I would not be surprised if some of the Imperials would be surprised by this as well. There's no other world where you've got people who do not exist, as far as the Force is concerned, and whatever role Palpatine wants them to play, it's a pretty significant one.

[[R_H]]

This is a different case, though, and I would not be surprised if some of the Imperials would be surprised by this as well. There's no other world where you've got people who do not exist, as far as the Force is concerned, and whatever role Palpatine wants them to play, it's a pretty significant one.

Forgot about that bit as I posted. Good point, but again, I'm surprised that the indoctrination wasn't extremely extensive, considering that the occupation of Earth was so recent.

[Kartr_Kana]

Just found this and I gotta say it's pretty awesome! Can't wait to see how you're going to write what happens in the OT since everything has changed.

On a side note I'm pretty sure it's Akbar not Ackbar. At least that's what I remember from the language studies the BLT did before we went to Iraq.

[hongi]

Just found this and I gotta say it's pretty awesome! Can't wait to see how you're going to write what happens in the OT since everything has changed.

On a side note I'm pretty sure it's Akbar not Ackbar. At least that's what I remember from the language studies the BLT did before we went to Iraq.

Um, I thought that was just an in-joke?

[Kartr_Kana]

Well if that's the case ignore me.

[White Haven]

How have I not read this before? Bloody hell, awesome stuff Jegs.

Slight note, from C13, 'Mon Mothra?' I'm not sure who should be more insulted, the rebel leader, or the giant monster.

[jegs2]

Slight note, from C13, 'Mon Mothra?' I'm not sure who should be more insulted, the rebel leader, or the giant monster.

lol - good catch!

[White Haven]

Also, there are a few passages here and there where specific names of people/things are in italics for no reason I could discern. Is there reasoning behind that?

[jegs2]

Writing this story has been considerable fun for me, though only recently did a conclusion come to mind for me - the story mostly wrote itself. Night shift in a foreign land left a goodly amount of time for writing, so figured to take advantage of it. Hope reading it has been just as much fun for y'all.

Resistance

Chapter 19

"How the hell did they show up so fast?" shouted Solo as he yanked the control stick of the Millennium Falcon, veering the ship sharply away from three approaching Imperial Star Destroyers. He had barely cleared the atmosphere of Yavin IV, and the Imperials were breathing down his neck. Through the canopy, he spotted several Rebel ships leaving the system Imperial ships in pursuit of them. He and Chewbacca had spent some extra time working on the Falcon to conduct some much-needed maintenance, and so they had been on the ground at least an hour after the departure of the Death Star.

"Han, this is Luke," sounded a voice from the communications suite.

"Hey kid, I'm a little busy right now. Can it wait?"

"Thought you might want to know that an Imperial fleet just dropped out of hyperspace close to the planet."

"No kidding!" retorted Solo, busily scanning his instruments.

Chewbacca roared as one of the panels began to beep.

"Yeah, yeah, I know! Imperial fighters, and they're gaining on us fast. How close are we to being able to make the jump?" Chewbacca grunted something else. Han's face clouded momentarily, revealing some internal conflict. He cursed loudly, and then jammed toward the communicator.

"Han, this is Luke, I'm going to have to go down and get the Princess."

"She's still there?"

"Yeah, she won't leave until the rest of the staff has evacuated."

Solo looked at his wookiee companion. Chewbacca growled softly.

"Well, who said you gotta live forever?" groused Solo as he swung the Falcon back toward the surface of the moon from which they had so recently departed.

"Hey Luke, I'll get her out on the Falcon. You just keep those fighters off my tail."

"What?"

"Hard of hearing, kid? I need you to keep those fighters busy, got it?"

"Okay, Han."

The heavily modified YT-1300 light freighter streaked toward the planet's surface, as a swarm of TIE fighters closed in for the kill. As they approached within firing range, laser cannon fire from Luke Skywalker's X-Wing fighter and the several fighters with him reduced two of the lead TIE fighters to slag. The remaining TIE fighters adjusted course to meet the newly-identified threat.

-----

Multiple landing craft decended upon clearings within the jungle-covered surface of Yavin IV, a thick fighter screen protecting them from above. As ramps descended, stormtroopers in dark gray and jungle camouflage poured out, fanning out and establishing perimeters.

Some of the troopers in dark gray formed into squad-size elements and maneuvered quickly toward pre-assigned objectives in wedge formation. Some of the troopers carried light mortars in backpacks, while others carried combat engineer breaching equipment and shaped charges.

Scout troopers wearing armor with jungle camouflage unloaded speeder bikes from the landing craft, mounted them, and sped toward their respective over-watch positions. The scouts outdistanced the fast-moving stormtroopers in dark gray camouflage, the whine of their engines dimming in the distance. Dusk was setting in, and the troopers switched over to thermal imaging.

As dusk gave way to darkness, the first transports lifted and were replaced by fewer, but heavier transports. As the ramps were lowered, more stormtroopers in jungle camouflage exited, carrying with them multiple heavy boxes. They opened the boxes, emptying their contents upon the jungle floor.

Within minutes, twelve fixed artillery pieces were set up and registered. Troopers manning the guns received direction from the mobile fire coordination center, and they began launching ordinance, which briefly lit the darkness around them. Deadly rounds arched away from the artillery pieces, finding marks deep within the jungle.

Upon the Imperial Star Destroyer Punishment, an Imperial colonel stood next to a table-sized holo-projector, monitoring progress of the battle upon the surface of Yavin IV. Five other officers also monitored the battle but were seated at various terminals, speaking into microphones, sending and receiving reports.

"Sir, Target Two Seven Alpha has been spotted. Strike Team Bravo Six is in position to engage."

"That is a capture target, captain," barked the colonel, "Lord Vader wants that one alive."

"Yes sir."

"Sir, Strike Teams Bravo Three and Charlie One have penetrated the main Rebel base," said an officer seated at a different terminal.

"Resistance encountered?"

"Bypassed and marked, sir."

"Engage with indirect fire."

"Yes sir."

Darth Vader strode into the room, and walked up to the colonel, then turned to glance at the holographic depiction of the ongoing battle.

"Has the Rebel base been breached yet?"

"Yes, my lord. Two strike teams have penetrated and are preparing to engage select targets."

"Good. I will go to my ship. Rebels continue to escape from the moon," boomed Vader. The colonel nodded and returned his attention to the ground battle. Vader strode toward the hangar deck.

"You two, come with me," said Vader as he motioned toward two Imperial TIE pilots. He knew that the Emperor wanted him aboard the Death Star, but the fight against the Rebels was here, and so here he had come. This would be a day, long remembered. It had seen the end of Kenobi, and it would soon see the end of the Rebellion.

-----

Greg knew. What was worse, he wasn't so certain he should tell what he knew. That flew in the face of what he had always practiced as a tactical intelligence officer: Who else needs to know? Even so, he felt confused. The attack on Coruscant by the Resistance had been masterfully planned and executed. If they had intended to kill the Emperor though, they had failed.

"Who was in command of that ship?" demanded Palpatine. He sat in the middle of the command center deep underground, flanked by two of his Imperial guardsmen. His escape had been perilously close, but he remained alive. He was certain that by the end of this day a great many more would not be so fortunate. A nervous Imperial general stood before him at the position of attention.

"My lord, we are still attempting to determine the situa…. akh!" said the officer who then suddenly clutched at his throat.

"That is not enough. If you cannot perform such a simple task, then I will find someone who can!"

The officer collapsed to his knees, but then gasped loudly, apparently released from whatever had been choking him.

"You have ten minutes of your life left in which to tell me who was in command of that ship."

The officer scrambled to his feet, bowed, and sprinted toward Greg and the officers with him, coughing loudly. General Voss stepped forward to meet the running general.

"Find … find, cough, I want the name of that commander, now!"

An officer who had his attention glued to a terminal arose and shouted, "Sir, I have the name!" He gave the name to the senior officer who turned to sprint back toward the Emperor. Greg took the name and entered it into another terminal. Using his rank cylinder, he was granted access to the officer's personal records. A cursory examination of the record revealed what he had already suspected. There was nothing in the officer's background to suggest he was capable of or willing to crash a starship into a planet.

"Captain Yost," said Voss quietly.

"Sir, the ship's commander seems to be in the clear."

"What are you thinking?"

Greg hesitated, "Sir, it could have been a malfunction of some sort."

"You know better than that."

"Sir, it might have been Rebel saboteurs aboard who sliced into the ship's systems."

"Those vessels have multiple redundancies and fail-safes. No mere slicing could have facilitated an attack like that."

"I'll keep looking, sir."

Greg saw a red blinking message on his terminal, and he wrinkled his brow. It was a new message from Ms. Elliott, and it was marked as urgent. He opened it.

-----

Dear Greg,

Your uncle was fit to be tied! His team almost lost the game in the fourth quarter, and he was cursing like a sailor. The team pulled it off, though your uncle had some choice words for the coach, much of which I'm too embarrassed to print here. We really hope you can take some leave soon!

Love,

Ms. Elliott

PS – Your uncle included this for you; hope you enjoy hearing it as much as he did recording it!

-----

Greg spotted the attached file, and he opened it. The file was small, and it downloaded quickly. He leaned forward, so he could hear it through the small speaker on the console.

"We won! Roll Tide!"

Greg felt a sudden sense of vertigo, and then darkness threatened to take him. Confusion momentarily gripped him, and then he felt a sense of absolute revelation and resolution. He knew what he had to do.

-----

The uniform felt wrong on him, but he attempted to ignore the sensation. Keeping an ever-present sneer upon his countenance, Colonel William Dudley strode down the hallway maintaining an appearance of complete arrogance. Flanking him were two Imperial stormtroopers. The damage up ahead was considerable, and confusion still reigned in the area. The crashed ISD had left much destruction and confusion in its wake. Dudley was counting on that. He walked imperiously into an emergency command center. In the center of the room, an Imperial lieutenant colonel feverishly sent and received reports, shouting orders and instructions to other officers manning consoles throughout the room.

"Colonel!" barked Dudley. The officer paused to turn and meet the iron gaze of a man dressed in the uniform of Imperial Intelligence and wearing the rank of a major general.

"Sir, if you do not mind, I am a bit busy working to clean this mess up," he indicated a large monitor depicting catastrophic damage done by the crashed ISD with a broad sweep of his hand.

"That does not concern me, colonel. We have received reports of death squads that infiltrated this facility, and are attempting to assassinate the Emperor."

"What!"

"We will intercept and neutralize them, before they can carry out their mission. I require all access codes in order to expedite mission success."

The lieutenant colonel gave Dudley a slightly dubious look, "I'll have to verify that, sir." He reached for his terminal.

"Colonel, we do not have time for this, and you know as well as I do that our systems have been compromised. As you were; I will find another officer more willing to cooperate. Provide me with your name and service number so that I can hand them over to General Voss once the death squads have killed our Emperor."

The lieutenant colonel paled and swallowed, "Sir, there's no need for that. I will provide the codes. I want nothing to do with preventing your mission."

"I knew we could count on you to be reasonable."

It had been a long time since Dudley had used the Force to influence someone, and he was out of practice. He knew just how close he had come to having to resort to violence here. The last four officers had not offered quite as much resistance.

-----

"We have our orders," announced Tarkin.

The giant space station dropped out of hyperspace and moved slowly toward the heavily guarded singularity, using its massive sublight engines. Seven Imperial Star Destroyers and multiple smaller ships patrolled what was essentially the entrance to the galaxy containing Sol.

"Sir, we have clearance to proceed through the anomaly," said the watch officer.

"You may proceed when ready."

Deep within the Death Star, a stormtrooper clad in white conducted checks during his patrol. He worked with his squad to ensure safe operation of the main reactor. It was a thankless job, but he knew it was necessary. He peered through the transparencies toward the giant reactor powering the massive mobile battle station.

Fluun imagined he could feel waves of energy emanating from the reactor. The amount of power being produced by that monster was unthinkable. Multiple worlds could be powered for many years by what that thing produced for a single hyperspace jump.

He continued his trek down the long corridor ringing the main reactor, and thoughts naturally drifted toward the drink he would be entitled to this evening, along with a friendly game of Sabaac. He had lost too many credits over the last three games, but he intended to make those up.

This was one of the more monotonous jobs for troopers aboard the Death Star, but Fluun knew that even elite troops had to pull dull patrols. He carefully scanned the multiple gauges against the bulkheads to ensure they were within tolerance. He also checked to ensure the doors within the ringed corridor were properly secured. His other troopers were scattered throughout the ring, conducting similar checks.

Fluun spotted another trooper walking toward him, and he checked his internal heads-up display. The man was from a different regiment. That was odd. He was also carrying a plasteel box. The other trooper turned toward one of the doors that would allow access to catwalks for the main reactor.

"Trooper, remain where you are," Fluun shouted. He held his carbine at the low ready. The trooper stopped, turned to face him and said, "Wait."

"What? You are not authorized to be in this area. We got no reports of other units patrolling this sector today. What is in the box?"

The trooper said nothing. He opened the door, set down the box just outside, pulled a switch from inside, and turned to face him. Fluun felt a sudden wash of realization and horror, and he raised his weapon, but he knew it was too late. As he fired into the torso of the trooper, he shouted, "Ah, Sith spit!"

Thermonuclear fire tore apart the ring, and a blast wave smashed into the nearby main reactor. Struck with violent force, the skin of the reactor ruptured, and multiple smaller detonations played around its edge. Nearly simultaneously, another nuclear fireball erupted on the opposite side of the reactor, and a terrific shock wave slammed into the reactor from that side as well. While the battle station was designed to repel attacks from capital ships, the designers had not considered an attack on the main reactor from a point-blank range by primitive nuclear weapons.

-----

Explosions rocked the grounds of the ancient temple, as artillery rained down on dug in Rebel soldiers and fixed positions. Wreckage of two Rebel transports was strewn over the entrance to the jungle nearby, along with the charred remains of Rebel soldiers and officers. Solo ran with Chewbacca, diving for cover whenever they heard the incoming rounds, praying to whatever deities would listen that his ship would remain safe from the deadly rain of explosives. Two Rebel guards met them at the massive doorway to the ancient temple, crouched behind hastily-emplaced barriers made from scrap metal and pieces of stone that had been blown free.

"Halt, or I'll shoot!"

"I'm Captain Han Solo, you idiot! I'm here to pick up the princess."

"I am not authorized to allow…"

The high-pitched whistling of an incoming round sent all three sprawling to the ground. The blast from the explosion picked up Solo and hurled him against a nearby wall. That should have killed or grievously injured him, but Chewbacca had him in a bear hug and took most of the brunt. The Rebel soldier wasn't so lucky. Solo saw that the man was still, either knocked out or dead. He shook his head to free up the cobwebs and looked up toward his friend. Chewy looked no worse for wear. Both bolted through the doorway.

"Your highness, we're leaving!"

Leia looked up from a map table and yelled, "What are you still doing here? You have your permission to leave!"

"Not without you, your worship!" shouted Solo as he reached for the princess.

As she was being pulled out of the room, she turned to the Rebel watch officer and said, "Send the evacuation code, and get the rest of your men to the transports."

In the space just above Yavin IV, Luke Skywalker was in a tough dogfight, but the craft against which he was locked in battle was not the usual TIE fighter. This one appeared to be a bit larger, had panels that were bent inward on the top and bottom, and the pilot was good … really good. Every time he thought he might get the enemy ship into his sights, it would juke out and work to return the favor. Too many scorch marks around Luke's ship attested to just how good that pilot was. One wingman remained with the strangely-shaped TIE fighter, while the other had met his end several minutes before. Most of the other X-Wing fighters were engaged in combat elsewhere.

"Luke!"

"Huh?" said Luke. That had not come from the intercom within his helmet.

"Luke!"

"Ben?"

"You must go to the Dagobah System. Make haste!"

"Dagobah?"

"You must lose no time! Go!"

Luke spun his ship toward the gas giant and gunned his engines. The strange fighter followed quickly. Luke entered his destination into the navi-computer while moving his ship around to keep his enemy from acquiring a firing solution. It would take a few moments before the computer was able to make the calculations for a hyperspace jump.

"Stay on him!" growled Vader. The Force was strong in this one, but he would not remain alive for long. His quarry was clearly attempting to escape. Vader reached out through the Force to get a feel for where the enemy ship would be next, but it was tough for this particular target. He worked the dials on his stick and watched as the image of the enemy ship danced within his targeting monitor. Finally, it locked.

"I have you now."

An explosion to the left of Vader's ship jerked him off of his target.

"What!"

The Millennium Falcon shot through what remained of the TIE fighter wingman of Vader, and he sent two concussion missiles toward the strange looking TIE fighter. They detonated just to the right, and the fighter took some damage, spinning away.

"You're clear, kid. Now let's get the hell out of here!" shouted Solo into his microphone. He wasn't sure where Luke was going, but anywhere was better than here.

"I'm sending you some coordinates, Han. Follow me to Dagobah."

"Where?"

"Don't ask, old buddy, but I need you with me!"

"Ok, kid, sure thing."

-----

"That pathetic planet will no longer be of concern to us," grated Palpatine to the officer. The officer had just informed him that extremists from Sol had been responsible for the terrorist act on Imperial Center.

"I have dispatched the ultimate weapon to that world to end strife upon its wretched surface, permanently."

On the other side of the command center, a young officer signaled to General Voss. Voss walked over to him, and the younger officer motioned him still closer.

"Sir, we have no communications outside of this room."

"What do you mean?"

"Sir, someone, or something has cut us off."

"That's impossible. The access codes … I see."

The senior officer sidled up to Voss and said softly, "The Emperor wants updates on the assault on the Rebel base, as well as progress of the Death Star."

Voss stared blankly at his superior and then told him of what he had just himself learned. The already pale senior officer lost what little color he had retained.

"Sir, will you inform the Emperor of our situation?"

The lieutenant general rubbed his throat nervously and said, "No. I think that might be unwise. I will tell him that all goes according to plan."

He walked up toward the Emperor confidently and said, "My lord, the Rebel base has been defeated, and the Death Star is en route to the planet of Sol as we speak."

"You lie, commander, and you have done so for the last time."

The Emperor stood, and Force lightning lanced out from the Emperor's hands as he stepped forward from his two guards. The officer writhed on the floor in agony. Another blinding blast of Force lightning ended any further movement.

"General Voss, you are now in command. Gain a status report and then see me."

"Yes, my lord."

The Emperor turned around, just in time for one of the two Imperial guards to knock him to the floor with a force pike.

"Kill the guards," screamed the Emperor as he lay sprawled on the floor, one hand in the air in a defensive posture, "They are traitors!"

The Emperor had not felt the attack sooner, for these natives of Sol repelled the Force and he could not sense them. He reached into his cloak and pulled forth a light saber. Igniting it, he severed the foot of the guard, who roared in pain, reeling backwards.

"Did you really think you could dispatch me so readily? Your lack of vision will lead only to your death!"

A blaster bolt slammed into the now single-footed guard, sending him backwards into the Emperor's chair. The second guard raised his force pike to impale the Emperor, but a blaster bolt ended his motion. Stormtroopers within the room opened fire on the guard as he fell backward, and he collapsed into a red heap.

Greg, who had fired the initial blasts reached out with his left hand for the Emperor. The Emperor had extinguished his light saber and moved to take his hand. Greg then raised his blaster with his other hand and aimed center-mass, squeezing off two shots in quick succession. Two smoking holes appeared in the torso of a shocked Palpatine, as he mouthed the word, "treason." Greg had little time to appreciate what he had accomplished, as multiple blaster bolts slammed into him from different directions.

-----

"My lord, we have detained several Rebel leaders," said the colonel.

"Is the princess among them?"

"No, my lord."

"How did she escape?"

"We spotted a small freighter ... the same one that recently escaped the Death Star. She may have been aboard."

Vader spun to face the ship's commander, "Calculate all known tragectories from this location, and send ships to find them."

"Yes, my lord."

A communications officer approached the captain and said something into his ear, beneath Vader's hearing. The captain appeared taken aback.

"Are you certain? You had better check again."

"What is is, captain?" demanded Vader.

The captain swallowed, "We are confirming a report we just received. I want to ensure it is accurate prior to telling you more, my lord."

-----

The team was nearly complete. One of the stormtroopers in dark gray turned to face a man wearing Imperial gray.

"We are almost through, sir."

"Ensure that once you get through, there are no survivors."

"Yes sir."

The man wearing the uniform of an Imperial general officer stood and walked away. As he left, he saw at least two dozen more stormtoopers in dark gray lined up at the entrance and others would soon join them. This was dirty work, but it was necessary. Colonel Dudley had been involved in some questionable acts in his time, but this was the most questionable. He told himself it was for the good of Earth, and for the galaxy as a whole. For it to have a chance of working, there could be no witnesses. He had something else of critical importance to check.

Once clear of the wreckage, Colonel Dudley made his way to a room that served as a medical facility. Upon one of the beds and surrounded by Imperial guards, the deformed visage of a gnarled man met him. He was wearing a robe.

"My lord, it is good to see that you are safe," exclaimed Colonel.

"I am better than ever, and rest assured that this day has been one of victory for the Empire."

"Yes, my lord."

"The insignificant rebellion has been utterly crushed, and all others who oppose the might of the Empire will feel my wrath."

"Indeed, my lord."

-----

Aboard the ISD Punishment, the captain approached Lord Vader, two stormtroopers in white flanking him.

"Lord Vader," began a clearly rattled captain, "The Emperor has survived an assassination attempt."

Vader reached out through the Force. The ever-present power of his master was gone.

"No, he did not."

"Lord Vader, the Emperor has issued orders for your arrest. You are to accompany us to Imperial Center in order to stand trial for involvement in an assassination plot against the his highness."

Vader lashed out through the Force, throwing back the captain and his accompanying stormtroopers to the floor.

"The Emperor was assassinated, but it was not my doing. The Emperor did not issue orders for my arrest, for he is no longer alive. We will uncover this plot and hold those who are responsible accountable for their crime," growled Vader. More stormtroopers entered the room, and Vader used the Force to seal the doors.

"Lord Vader," said the captain as he regained his footing, "we can discuss this once we get to Imperial Center. My orders are clear, and I have verified them. I am certain that the Emperor…"

"The Emperor is dead, so whoever is issuing orders in his name is a traitor!" roared Vader. At the signal of the captain, several stormtroopers approached Vader. He then ignited his light saber.

"If you are not for me, then you are my enemy!"

As stormtroopers fired, Vader parried the bolts with his saber and cut them down. Outside the room, troopers clad in dark gray prepared to breach the door.

-----

Three days later, the oldest of the Jedi stepped forth from the confines of a star ship and sniffed the air.

"Over, my long exile is."

Luke Skywalker stood next to Yoda, hardly believing he was on Coruscant itself. He looked very much the farm boy from a far-off world. Leia stood to the other side of Yoda. Not so long ago, she had been a member of the Imperial Senate.

"I understand that the Senate is being reinstated," said Leia with some wonder.

"That is correct, your highness," said a new, approaching voice. A man wearing Imperial gray and the rank of a major general stood before them. He added, "You are Princess Leia Organa. I am sorry about Alderaan, but I would like to welcome you to Coruscant."

"Don't you mean Imperial Center, general," replied Leia with a tinge of bitterness. The general winked, "The Emperor has had a slight change of plan, and he sees now the necessity of the Imperial Senate." Leia gave him a dubious look.

Yoda said, "General, alone with you I would meet."

"Certainly."

Aboard the Falcon, the Imperial officer and Yoda sat alone.

"Your true identity you cannot hide from me."

"Indeed. I am actually a colonel in what was the United States Army, master jedi. My name is William Dudley"

"This already I knew, but more there is. But speak of that we will later. How long do you think you can keep secret, your fake Emperor?" Dudley frowned slightly.

"Perhaps it may be long enough to accomplish what we have in mind."

"Vader, the Emperor's apprentice; fooled he will not so easily be."

"I imagine not, but we took some measures to mitigate that risk."

"Enough will they be?"

"We hope so, though we have received no reports either way."

"Your fake Emperor, a vote will he have in this play of yours."

"Moheb is a good man." Dudley recalled the surgical procedure that had altered the Syrian's appearance. He took on his modified role readily enough - almost too readily.

"Sense him, I cannot. Closely watch him, you must."

A beeping sound came from Dudley's pocket, and seemed to recall something. He stood to leave.

"I will take my leave, master Jedi. There is much to do today. It has been a pleasure to speak with you." He bowed and turned to leave the ship.

"A long time has it been, Bel Shadar." Dudley's back stiffened, but then he relaxed.

He turned his head slightly toward his old master, "That name no longer has meaning for me, Master Yoda."

"What name would you have me use?"

"As I told you, my name is William Dudley, though others know me as Lancer Six."

[Stuart Mackey]

Or how a small insignificant planet brings down a galactic empire.
That was damn good.
If you are ever in mind for a sequel, I think there is room for it.

[The Vortex Empire]

That was great. I wonder if Vader made it? Something tells me he survived.