Part Two: Unity, Broken
Chapter Twenty Nine
A long, sleek form passed silently through empty space; the Republica was on the move. Dozens of gashes and patches of blackened hull plate adorned the cruiser, a testament to the desperate battle the ship had recently survived. A faint aura of blue light trailed the ship, generated by half a dozen tubular thrusters arrayed at its rear. The energy emitting from the drives was far less than the powerful Mon Calamari vessel was capable of producing, just enough to inch the ship through the interstellar blackness. The Republica was hiding, prey in a very dangerous game.
Captain Imal Ryceed stared out of her vessel’s bridge viewport nervously, her large, amphibian eyes fixated on a huge rocky object that filled the light cruiser’s screen. Around her, human and Mon Calamari officers monitored sensor stations and engineering readouts in silence, some occasionally trading anxious glances with each other. One of them, a human Lieutenant named Botrates, began to yawn, but swiftly stifled the sound with his hand. His eyes flitted over his fellow officers, and he hoped embarrassedly that none of them had noted the unprofessional behavior. However, the others were feeling similarly stressed and exhausted, so none of them paid Botrates any heed.
Ryceed, however, did notice, but instead of rebuking the officer as she might have done under more normal circumstances, she just sighed, flexing her jointed fingers as they lay folded on the small of her back. They were all tired; no one had gotten any real rest in the several days since the Republica had escaped the battlefield that was the Sullust system. The Imperial ambush there had devastated the rebel fleet, and only two warships and a smattering of smaller vessels had escaped. Admiral Ackbar and his command ship were gone; the Mon Calamari had sacrificed his life to buy time for the Republica’s escape, as well as for the Redemption, the frigate that carried what remained of the Alliance High Command.
After pausing to retrieve the fighters and escape craft that had managed to slip away with them into hyperspace, the Redemption and Republica split up. The frigate, carrying Mon Mothma, General Madine, and General Rieekan, and escorted by the few remaining Alliance corvettes and gunships, as well as Wedge Antilles’ Rouge Squadron, was to make to make for the rendezvous point, a distant point in the Outer Rim. Ryceed’s ship was to move to the same system, but by a different route. Since the rebel fleet had been routed, imperial patrols and interdictor checkpoints had formed a nearly impassible net over several sectors known to be hotbeds of resistance, hoping to crush the Alliance while it was still reeling from the recent defeat. Because of this, it had been difficult for the Mon Calamari cruiser to travel, forced to use obsolete hyperspace lanes and travel through uninhabited star systems.
Despite the best efforts of Captain Ryceed and her crew, the Republica, upon reverting from hyperspace to navigate around a system populated by several large gas giants and a late-stage sun, had finally been pinned. The tactical officers detected two Imperial Star Destroyers already in system, most likely hoping to catch any smugglers or rebels who dared to use the system for cover, and the Republica had been forced to hide in-between a small asteroidal moon and its host gas planet, narrowly avoiding the notice of the imperial craft. The rebel ship was trapped in the mass shadow of the planet, and the patrolling imperial forces were inadvertently keeping the ship from venturing out into a clear jump area.
Ryceed, anxious to break the deathly silence that had settled upon the bridge, unfolded her slender, webbed hands from her back and turned from the viewport. “What is the status of those imperial destroyers?” the slim and neat captain asked, her normally smooth voice cracked and tired. A Mon Calamari standing at the primary sensor station double-checked the readouts before him before answering. “No change sir,” he wheezed in reply. Ryceed smiled slightly. Traditional military discipline was sometimes absent among the volunteer ranks of the Alliance, so she appreciated it when someone appropriately acknowledged her rank. “The Star Destroyers are still blocking the most direct escape vectors. The enemy craft are covering each possible hyperspace inversion and reversion point with a sensor net, and with the amount of gravimetric distortion in this system, our choices are very limited,” the officer concluded. Ryceed walked up next to him and looked at the readout for herself. “Have you been able to determine the pattern of their sensor scans?”
Another officer spoke up, and Ryceed turned to him. “They’re patrol pattern is fairly straightforward, moving to each likely jump coordinate every fifteen minutes, and employing their passive scanners to sweep the rest of the system for strong signals,” the man said wearily. “The active nature of this system’s star has reduced some of they’re sensor accuracy and range, but it has also cut off a large number of exit paths available too us. Even with only two destroyers, given our current location, the Republica will almost certainly be detected and cut off before we leave the mass shadow of the star and this gas giant.” The captain sighed and ran her right hand over her bare, orange-hued scalp contemplatively. “It seems that our only choice is to remain hidden until a hole in the sensor net can be located. Keep the ship on minimal running power, and inform me of any new developments.”
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The Republica’s starboard docking bay was abuzz with activity, as fighter pilots, technicians, and droids worked to ready the various craft in the hangar for combat. The atmosphere aboard ship had been tense over the last few days, its crew left with nothing to do save brood upon the devastating loss that had killed so many comrades might very well have been a death blow for the rebel cause all together. However, now that they had something to do, moods were brightening somewhat, and the sound of starship preparation was complemented with the low rumble of pre-battle banter.
From an open entry hatch, Commander William Riker watched the display of rebel resilience and spirit. He, like the rest of the Federation crew, was in a fairly dower mood. Considering the tremendous losses they had sustained over the last few weeks, the Enterprise destroyed, most of its crew likely in an imperial gulag, the death of Doctor Beverly Crusher was especially damaging to moral. The captain seemed to be taking it especially badly, and had been extremely reclusive and distant since they escaped the Home One. Of course, there wasn’t much that any of them could do; with the attempts at contacting the Federation on most likely permanent hold, they were little more than baggage. None the less, Major Truul had made endeavored to make special accommodations for them, and thus the Enterprise’s former crew and the other guests were allowed free reign over the non-sensitive areas of the ship.
And So Riker was leaning against the hangar doorway unobstructed, watching a little R2 astromech unit scurry along the crowded flight deck. It accidentally rammed into a mechanics tool kit and sent its contents spilling onto the deck. The tech cast a furious look onto the diminutive droid and began to shout insults, but as soon as the first words left his mouth, the droid was already rolling away, whistling something akin to a hasty apology. Riker stifled a laugh at the spectacle, and it occurred to him that even the simple mechanic robots had an easier time interacting with humans than Data did, and he was the most advanced cybernetic life form ever created in the Federation’s history.
As Riker mused, his eyes wandered around the large chamber until they fell upon the other side of the open hatch. There stood the young Jedi Knight Jacen Solo, who also seemed to be taking in the sights. Young Jacen was of this galaxy, but not this time, for him it was all history. It must be a very strange feeling, Riker decided, living and even shaping one’s own past.
The commander was about to speak to the man, but he first noticed that Jacen was staring fixatedly at one point in the chamber beyond, and so Riker followed his gaze. It fell upon a battered, gray vessel, so badly carbon-scored and patched with replacement parts that it looked barely flyable. On top of the ship, a tall, hairy humanoid, a Wookiee if Riker recalled the name correctly, was hunched over a piece of the hull that had been melted away by laser fire, and was welding a new armor plate in place over it, his eyes shielded by large, black goggles. Next to the ship’s landing struts stood two other figures, human, a man and a woman. The man, dressed in a black vest, was fiddling the hydraulics power cable on one of the struts, while the woman, dressed in a white Rebel Fleet uniform, looked on.
With the rumble of machinery and conversation all around them, Riker couldn’t make out what either figure was saying, but he was sure they were talking. The woman in white folded her arms and stepped closer to the man, but he continued working, evidently ignoring her. She shook her head and said something else, but the man seemed to still be ignoring her for the most part. The woman, frustrated, took another step closer, and unfolded her arms, gesticulating slightly when she spoke again. At this, the man froze, and then slammed the tool he was using into the starship’s landing gear, creating a clang heard even over the racket of the flight deck. The man growled something and then turned away, and the woman faltered slightly, almost stepping away. Instead, she moved forward again, putting her arm around the man’s shoulders slowly. At first he began to recoil, but when she did not let go, he slumped, and accepted the embrace. The two figures were in each others arms for a few moments, and then they were apart again, back to work on the rickety starship.
Riker glanced back at Jacen, who was still watching the two. “Do you know them?” Riker asked, moving closer. Jacen looked up, seemingly startled, and a faint redness crept into his cheeks. “Oh, well…” he paused, seemingly considering whether or not he should respond. Riker noted that the man looked very uncomfortable with the subject, and was about to retract the query when Jacen replied. “Actually, I do. They’re…my parents.” This gave Riker pause. The woman looked hardly twenty five, and the man not much older. How could they be the late teenage knight’s parents? Then the obvious donned on the commander.
Jacen turned back to view his parents again, but they were gone, either inside the ship or hidden among the crowd. Sighing, Jacen straightened up, nodded at Riker in a distant manner, and walked off down the hallway, immersed in his own thoughts. Riker looked after him and considered following, but decided against it. The man had just as many problems as the rest of them did, cut off from home, suffering from the loss of one he cared about, and Riker felt he had no right to interfere. The Federation officer turned back to the flight deck and began scanning it again. After all, there was little else for him to do at the moment.
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Captain Ryceed stared incredulously at the holo-projector before her, or rather the space above it. There, displayed in flickering bluish strands of code, a female figure floated, staring back obstinately. “What?” the image asked in a somewhat haughty female voice. “It’s a perfectly valid plan. It’s either that, or we stay her until those imperial cruisers leave. Are you willing to risk waiting?” Imal Ryceed didn’t enjoy being talked down to, especially not by a droid, or computer, or what ever the AI Cortana was, and if it wasn’t for her orders, she would have turned of the projector right then and there. However, before the Republica had split off from the other rebel warship, orders had come through from Mon Mothma herself that these strange, extra-dimensional visitors were to be given quarters and even some diplomatic privileges, and were to be well taken care of. In addition, it was stated than if any of them had useful information or expertise on a matter of significance and wished to consult Ryceed, she would be obligated to listen.
Ryceed grudgingly complied, but she tried to keep the last part of the order away from her charges; the last thing she wanted was advice from some random extra-galactic, diplomatic privileges or not. However, the final stipulation had somehow managed to find its way into the notice of Cortana, and ever since then, she had been delving into the non-secure portions of the Republica’s computer network (Ryceed suspected that Cortana might be attempting to bend the “non-essential” clause in the arrangement.)
“So let me see if I understand this,” the Captain intoned slowly. “You want me to take my ship through a star.” Cortana’s representation rolled its eyes and sighed. “You know what I said captain,” she replied. Then the projection disappeared, replaced with a field of holographic stars. Other officers moved closer, interested in the antics of the brash AI. Few organic crewmen aboard the ship could talk the way Cortana did to Ryceed without earning a few weeks trash compactor maintenance duty.
From the starfield blossomed a small representation of the star system they were currently trapped in, a backwater known only by its survey designation BT-556072, complete with models of five gas giants, the primary, the two destroyers, and the Republica. Cortana’s voice wafted over the projector’s speakers again, and the model began to rotate slowly. “We are here, hemmed in by the gravitation forces of these two planets, as well as the outlier effects of the primary,” Cortana began, highlighting each of the subjects in turn with a blue light. “These are the Imperial Star Destroyers. I will accelerate their patrol pattern.” The two blips that were the enemy ships began to pirouette around the star, weaving a seemingly erratic course, one ship always on the other side of the sun from the other. “Now, due to the compromising nature of the gravitic forces in the area, and the impressive sensor capabilities of those ships, any run for a jump position on this side of the system will be detected by one of the destroyers, and we will be overtaken and destroyed.” As Cortana drawled on, the representation played out her words, the tiny blip that was the rebel vessel making a break for the edge of the system, and being blown into pixels by a pursuing destroyer.” Ryceed ran a hand through her hair again.
“Even though that course of action is doomed to end in failure, we still have a way out of here,” Cortana continued. “If, in approximately seven minutes, when the orbital position of the planet we are orbiting is right, the ship moves at full speed towards the primary, the planet behind us will be enough to temporarily block us from the Star Destroyer’s sensors. Then, instead of breaking off to the side, a move that would easily be detected, the Republica alters its course slightly; it can pass through the star’s corona here.” The blip, regenerated after its previous attempt, followed the AI’s instructions, and began to skirt the outer layer of the star. “I realize this is an unorthodox and dangerous maneuver, but from what I know of your shielding and heat dissipation systems, which are quite impressive, this ship will be able to hold together.”
“Now, the hard part’s over. By cutting straight across system, and angling down in orientation forty degrees after the star is passed, we can skirt under the second destroyer’s passive scanning field and from there, and the ship can simply cruise into a safe jump position.”
Her speech over, Cortana’s map disappeared and her blue form grew again in its place. “Well captain, there you have it,” Cortana said smugly. Ryceed’s eyes narrowed at the projection’s persistently disrespectful behavior, but her plan did seem to make sense. “Can you confirm her estimations?” the Captain asked Commander Gavplek, one of her second-in-commands. The human man, who also served as the ship’s chief tactical officer nodded slowly, as if still thinking over what Cortana had said. “I believe it can be done,” he replied. “As long as we navigate around any potential flares and stay at a sufficient altitude, the shields will hold.” Ryceed paused to consider again, and Cortana spoke up. “Six minutes until the orientation. The window won’t last very long,” she warned, trying to add a touch of respect back into her tone. The captain shot another hard look at the projection. As much as see loathed being upstaged in front of her command crew, remaining in the system any longer was not an option. “Make ready.”
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Five and a half minutes later, the Republica shot like a torpedo out of its hiding place, its sublight drives blazing incandescent blue. As the long craft approached the target star, one of the imperial destroyers picked up a power spike in system. It altered course, and was soon navigating past the sensor barrier of the nearby gas giant. However, by that time, the rebel ship had already plunged into the star’s incinerating corona. Superheated gas lashed against the Mon Calamari cruiser’s shields, but they held, dissipating most of the obliterating heat. However, some of the energy was seeping through, and the ship’s outer hull began to glow, surface blisters beginning to warp. A strip of durasteel plate began to peel away from the hull, curling backwards like a sheet of molten parchment paper.
At last, as the shields were beginning to overload, the cruiser burst from the cover of the star and angled down, out of sight of the destroyer that was occupied far above. Ryceed slumped into her command chair slightly with relief, and then caught herself. “Damage report.” The rest of the bridge crew was also relieved, and the response was surprisingly cheerful in tone. “Moderate damage to the section B-4 and C-4 ablative armor plate. No casualties or other significant damage.” The captain nodded, and glanced at the increasingly smug Cortana. “Your welcome,” the projection prompted, and Ryceed inclined her head slightly towards her, a sign of grudging respect. “All right, renter the rendezvous point into the navicomputer and set course for the closest jump position, speed…” she never finished her sentence. From one of the ancillary sensor stations, the one controlling the ship’s passive scanners, a Devaronian crewman spoke up. “Sir, I’m picking up another power source in our immediate vicinity.”
The Captain leaned forward in her command seat warily. “One of the destroyers?” The red-skinned man altered some of his controls. “No, it’s not showing up as any known type of power source. However, it’s definitely artificial; the emissions are far too regular for a natural phenomenon.” Another sensor officer checked his own readings. “I believe I have localized the source, fifteen thousand kilometers off the port bow.” Ryceed swiveled back to the viewport, which was now showing empty starfield, the star was far behind and above the Republica now. “Show me.”
The forward center panel switched from one starfield scene to another, the second with the system they had just escaped as a distant backdrop. “Increase.” The viewport zoomed forward, and what was once an impossibly distant speck now filled the screen. The Captain, along with everyone else on the bridge looked at the drifting object in fascination. “Nothing on file for that Captain,” an officer said, answering her next question before she even asked it. From her projector platform, Cortana looked on as well, although she augmented her sight with a direct linkup to the visual scanner that was showing the organic crew the object. She sifted through her vast memory banks and swiftly compiled the appropriate information, applied it to the situation, and reached a conclusion. “Do you know what this is Cortana?” asked Ryceed, her attention split between the object and the hologram. The AI nodded. “Care to enlighten us then?”
Cortana paused for a moment before responding. “I think Captain Picard should take a look at this. He may be in a better position to answer than I.”
The Rift
Moderator: LadyTevar
Last edited by Noble Ire on 2007-03-16 10:34pm, edited 1 time in total.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Chapter Thirty
It was morning in the Imperial City. Sunlight, reflected and amplified by orbital mirrors to compensate for Coruscant’s distance from its primary, made the towers and skyscrapers of the endless metropolis glow and glisten. Steady streams of aircars, transports, and patrol vehicles wound their away between and over monolithic structures of durasteel and chromium, casting tiny shadows over their gunmetal and ivory surfaces. Seen from above, it was a breathtakingly beautiful scene for nearly any humanoid. However, beauty is often lost on the Dark Lord of the Sith.
From an open balcony a thousand stories above Coruscant’s long obscured surface, Darth Vader looked out upon the grand city, his personal throne world. Everything that was within the cyborg’s view was fully within his power, if he wished for a tower that had stood for millennia to be demolished, or the inhabitants of an entire urban sector to be uprooted and executed, it would be done. He was the Emperor, and his power was absolute, like Palpatine’s had been before him. As the Sith lord looked out over his domain however, his mind was not on conquest or power, it was instead focused inward.
Over only a few short days, Vader had achieved two goals that had been his foremost motivations for years, even decades; he had destroyed Palpatine, the vile entity that had twisted and dominated the dark lord since even before his coronation to his Sith rank, and he had delivered a crippling blow to the traitorous Rebel Alliance, and their ability to resist the order and peace the Empire would instill with Palpatine gone was now all but eliminated. The sympathizer worlds of Sullust and Mon Calamari had swiftly been dealt with, Sullust had been rendered uninhabitable by orbital bombardment, and every single Mon Calamari warship, transport, space dock, as well as several of their most heavily populated reef cities had been swiftly eliminated as well, insurance that the amphibious people would never again oppose the Empire.
And yet, even with all these great successes, Darth Vader was still tormented by uncertainty, emptiness, and even guilt. The immolation of the two alien home systems had given him no satisfaction or relief, not even the sense that he was promoting order in the galaxy. This absence was a new phenomenon, while he was still under Palpatine’s domination, acts of destruction and oppression had induced feelings of control and righteousness in him, the feeling that he was acting naturally, through the true nature of the force. But now that the Emperor’s influence had evaporated, much of the hatred, contempt, and bloodlust that had driven Vader had begun to dissolve as well, allowing older motivators and feelings to well up, bring with them more forgotten memories, like the ones he had seen on the rebel flagship. However, even with all these doubts and conflicts becoming more and more pronounced in his mind, something else was occupying the Dark Lord’s focus.
Darth Vader abruptly turned away from the magnificent view that the high balcony afforded him and retreated into the secluded corridors of the Imperial Palace, his long black cape fluttering gently out from behind him. The armored being moved quickly down a broad hallway sheathed in rare Korriban obsidian, and slipped into a turbolift hidden in the wall. As soon as it’s doors slid shut, the small lift pod plummeted straight down into the bowels of the immense structure, a controlled fall at the rate of a dozen floors a second. After only a few moments in the dimly-light mobile coffin, Vader felt the lift gently slow and come to a stop, immediately followed by the low hiss of doors sliding open again. Darth Vader stepped out into a new passage, this one made of dull, gray durasteel.
On either side of the doorway stood motionless a red-robed Imperial Guardsman, a force pike in his hand. The elite defenders of the late Emperor had immediately shifted their role to become Vader’s elite guards after the fabricated “rebel bombing” that had killed the Emperor reached their ears. They submitted to him now without hesitation, and the change in regime did not seem to be interfering with their duties, but Darth Vader was still wary of them; individuals who had worked so closely with Palpatine for so long could not be entirely trusted.
Brushing past the faceless sentries, the sith lord walked down the hallway until he came to a new set of doors, this one also flanked by guardsmen. He paused before the plain metal double doors and stared at them, his progress suddenly stayed. There was something in his mind that was reluctant to let him see what was beyond those doors, telling him to forget the chamber and continue on past. Vader pondered the notion for a moment and then cast it off, but the act of hesitation still bothered him. The dark lord was not well known for succumbing to doubt, and especially not fear, and thus allowing such instincts to slow him now was unacceptable. Darth Vader hooked his thumbs reflectively onto his belt and moved forward, stepping into the chamber beyond as its door slid swiftly opened to receive him.
The room was dark, light only by a few glow panels set in the ceiling, their intensity levels at minimum. Low desks and terminals covered in medical equipment and sensory devices lined the walls, and mechanical armatures hung from the roof panels, folded and inactive. A lone 5-1B medical droid stood at the rear of the chamber, clad in polished black casing and operating a medical monitor, typing in commands in an eerily regular pattern. As Vader approached, it looked up silently and stepped away from the terminal, snapping into readiness mode. “Leave,” the dark lord commanded, his low voice resonating throughout the room. The droid gave no sign of respect or acknowledgement, instead simply turning to door and marching out, its hydraulic legs whirring softly as it moved.
Once the artificial being had left and the doors had closed behind it, Vader turned back to where the droid had been standing, next to the large device that dominated the rear of the room. The machine, a tall, cylindrical tube of glass recessed in the wall, was a bacta tank; a medical device used the galaxy over to pull patients back from the brink of death. In the dim room, the two illumination panels that light up the clear pillar cast the healing fluid it contained in a red hue, an eerie counterpoint to the darkness that filled the room. Vader, however, did not notice the vibrant liquid, or the slowly flashing bio monitors that skirted the clear structure; he was instead focused on the figure the device held.
The naked body beyond the thick glass was damaged, covered in small cuts and patches of burned and dead skin, but the microorganisms that inhabited the medical soup that the body was suspended in were quickly sealing the wounds and healing the abrasions; none of the injuries were significantly dangerous to warrant the body’s long emersion in the fluid. Instead, the serious damage was internal; it’s only evident outward symptom was the abnormal yellow coloration of the being’s skin. But for the moment, Darth Vader was blocking out all of the visible signs of damage, looking up into the limp figure’s face. He looked upon the features of his only son.
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Luke Skywalker, General and hero of the Rebel Alliance, destroyer of the Death Star, last of the Jedi Order stood alone, a tiny speck in the Star Destroyer Indenture’s cavernous landing bay. Luke was crouched by his captured fighter, lightsaber hilt clenched in his right hand and a holdout blaster in his left as he scanned the huge chamber for signs of opposition. There were none. Aside from his astromech Artoo Deetoo, who still sat in the X-wings droid slot, monitoring the situation unfolding around him nervously, the bay was totally vacant of activity, the emptiness only broken by evenly spaced shuttle craft that lined the hangar’s walls.
“Are you picking up any life readings nearby Artoo?” Luke asked, edging along the side of his fighter. The astromech rotated its head section to face Luke and whistled plaintively. The young Jedi nodded, his eyes now fixed on one of the entry hatches to the bay, still sealed with a blast door. “It’s strange that they evacuated the bay. I would have expected imperial troops to have stormed in here the instant we were brought down.” Artoo twittered in agreement. Luke began to scan the walls and high ceiling for potential threats. “If they wanted to take us, we’d be dead or unconscious by now. Maybe there’s something wrong with the ship. See if you can determine if the tractor beam projectors are still operational. Maybe we can still get out of here.”
The little droid continued to scan the chamber and Luke waited in silence, the grip on his weapons loosening slightly. After a moment, Artoo buzzed again, his voice a warning. In response, Luke glanced directly above them, and saw what had caught Artoo attention. One of the bay’s dedicated turbolaser turrets was pointed directly down at the X-Wing and its crew, twin firing tubes trained on Luke’s head. For a moment, the rebel flinched and fell backwards away from the captured fighter, but the turret did not fire, instead simply altering its orientation to follow its target.
Luke regained his balance and cautiously walked back to his ship, eyes still fixed on the rotating gun emplacement. “Well, it looks like were not going to get out of here that easily,” he sighed. Exasperated, he leaned against the fighter’s cold hull and looked back over the room, his mind still racing to find a way out of the trap that had closed around him. His eyes fell on the huge opening in the middle of the chamber’s floor, the entry point that docking ships had to pass through, a clear window into the stellar space beyond, only separated from the Star Destroyer’s atmosphere by a bluish environmental shield. Through this barrier, Luke could make out huge shapes in the distance, Imperial cruisers in the foreground and the brownish orb of Sullust beyond.
As he watched, two of the distant ships moved closer to the planets, eventually disappearing from view against the massive back drop, but their objective was clear. After only a moment, flashes of green sprang to life from where the pair of destroyers were now positioned; standard imperial policy in action. Even from the tremendous distance, Luke could make out huge explosions of energy and vaporized rock as rain of turbolaser bolts plummeted downward from orbit, slicing easily through dozens of meters of arid ground and rock, immolating the first of Sullust’s subterranean cities. It was a display of power and vengeance; no world could openly defy the Empire and hope to continue its existence for long.
Soon, rivulets of fire began to spider their way outwards from the bombardment point, lines along which the planet’s crust itself was cracking, and Luke turned away, shivering. He could feel pain, the cries of the millions on the planet below that were dying every minute, incinerated by the continuing Imperial attack. Deep within him, a blazing point of anger began to grow, and Luke’s mind began to blur, a thousand thoughts flashing into it. He saw the Rebel fleet in flames, he saw emerald bolts extinguishing city after city, he saw dark glove reaching out, offering great and terrible power, and destruction. From the point of anger within him, hatred began to push forward, and Luke felt his grip tighten on his saber hilt, fingers both real and mechanical pulsing with arcane energy.
But then the young man closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. The rage and anger receded rapidly, as if extinguished by a sudden wind. Luke Skywalker was a Jedi, the last of the Jedi, and he would control his emotions. Anger was the path to the dark side, Master Yoda had told him, and giving into it would lead him down a path his father had already tread, one that Luke had already refused to follow. The Empire would be brought to justice for what it had done, the Alliance still existed, Luke was sure of it. He would have felt his sister die if it had been completely destroyed. The image of Princess Leia, the calm compassionate sibling he had only just learned he had, flickered into his consciousness and Luke felt the last of his anger drain away. He would survive this day, there was still hope.
Then Luke felt a sudden draft, and his heart stopped for a moment. Vader was coming. Luke felt fear now; he had not expected the confrontation to come so soon, he was not ready. Then the Jedi steadied himself, remembering the teachings of his old masters. Luke knew he could find the good in Vader, he had felt even during their last duel, and he could stimulate it in Vader. He knew his father could be turned back to the light, despite what Master Obi-wan had said back on Dagobah. With the dark side’s hold on Darth Vader broken, Luke knew that they could together defeat the Emperor and bring an end to the tyrannical rule of the Empire. He just had to hold onto hope, and believe in the force.
Artoo let out a series of warning moans, and Luke turned to one of the docking bay’s main entryways, set in a wall only a few dozen meters from his X-Wing. “I can sense him too,” he muttered, holstering his blaster and moving slowly forward. “Find some place to hide Artoo. This could get dangerous.” Behind him, the astromech said buzzed worriedly. “Don’t worry, I can handle this,” Luke replied, and then under his breath muttered “I wont fail again.” The little droid made a few more plaintive noises, but he quickly silenced himself, and a moment latter Luke heard the clatter of metal on metal as Artoo extracted himself from the X-Wing’s socket and carefully guided himself onto the deck plate below the fighter’s outstretched wing.
As the faint whir of the droid’s motorized feet fainted away, the door before Luke slid open, and a lone figure stepped into the chamber. His grip on the lightsaber in his right hand tightening, Luke stared the figure straight in the eyes, still trying to calm himself. “Father,” he said softly, more to himself than the dark lord now standing mere meters away. Nevertheless, Darth Vader heard the words. “So, you have accepted the truth.” It was not a question, more like a statement of victory. Before replying, Luke looked over his father carefully, opening up all his Jedi abilities to try and scan him. Something felt different since their last meeting. Then, the dark lord had seemed almost absolutely dark, with only the slightest spark of humanity and individuality left, and he had exuded an aura of pain and malevolence that seemed somehow separate from the dark lord himself. Now, however, the aura was almost completely absent, and while the dark was still overwhelming in Vader, there was something strange about it, conflicted.
Luke was heartened by this change, and he pressed forward. “I have accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father.” Darth Vader shifted his weight imperceptibly. “That name means nothing to me now,” he replied, intoning deeply, almost angrily. However, even as Vader spoke those words. Luke could sense a change in him, a slight increase in the energy he was dedicating towards the control of his emotions. “I sense conflict in you even now father. There is still good in you, let it out,” Luke persisted, lowering his inactive saber into a less threatening position.
Vader paused before replying, considering his son’s words. When he spoke again, the words his suit’s vocabulator emitted powerful and definite, but Luke still was certain there was underlying doubt as well. “No, there is no conflict within me. The dark side is the only path to order, the light to which you cling is an illusion, one perpetuated by Obi-wan Kenobi and his deceptions.” Vader took a few steps forward. “Join me Luke, and together we can quash the last vestiges of this pitiful and destructive rebellion and at last bring peace and order to the galaxy.”
Luke shook his head sadly. He had never expected this to be easy, but he had hoped it would be. “I will never turn father, you must know that. Search your feelings, you know that what your doing, what you’ve become isn’t right. This is the Emperor’s doing, not your will. Cast off his domination, you can still save yourself from the dark side.”
Vader stared at Luke for a long moment in silence. Something was wrong, Luke thought, his father almost seemed…surprised. “The Emperor is dead Luke, I have slain him.” The young Jedi stood motionless, the words resounding through his mind. How could this be, if the Emperor was dead, then why was Vader still under the sway of the dark side. Could he have been wrong, was his father so far gone he would uphold Palpatine’s dark reign even after his death? No, there was conflict in Vader, he was sure of it. He just needed more time, or a catalyst of some sort to cast of the dark mantle.
“The insane old fool needed to be destroyed, he wanted nothing save to grow in his own power until all life in this galaxy was bent to his will absolutely,” Vader continued. “But I have eliminated that blemish upon the universe, and now the Empire is mine, and I can put it to its true purpose. Come Luke, join me, and together with the aid of the dark side the galaxy shall never again know conflict or turmoil, only happy obedience to us, and the new order of the Sith we shall create. Our Empire shall be one of peace, and justice.”
As he listened, the sick feeling of frustration and growing rage blossomed within Luke. “Peace! Justice!” he blurted out, throwing his free arm back at the entry void in the floor, beyond which the Imperial fleet continued to pummel the defenseless Sullust. “You call that justice? If this kind of slaughter is what your new empire will be built upon, then it will be no better than Palpatine’s!”
Vader looked out at the dying world, and for a moment Luke thought he saw a twitch in Vader’s gloved hands, a sign of uncertainty. But the lapse was over as soon as it had begun, and Vader turned back to face Luke. “They are traitors Luke. I do not wish suffering or death upon my subjects, but if they attempt to undermine the stability of this civilization, to lend aid to the terrorist rebel scum, then they must be punished. A warning must be given so that other worlds do not foolishly cast their lot in with traitors, and seal the fate of their inhabitants.”
Luke was both horrified and frightened now. Even with Palpatine destroyed, the dark side still lived on strong within his father’s heart. The Jedi’s hope was beginning to fade. A tear forming in his eye, Luke stepped even closer to his father. “This is wrong! You have to find the good that is still in you! I know the part of you that is still my father is strong enough to cast of the poison of the dark side. Please, you must turn father. While you still can.”
At this, Vader began to stalk forward, and Luke involuntarily stumbled backwards. “You still do not understand. The path of the dark side is the only one to peace, my son.” From Vader’s clenched right fist a beam of crimson shot forth. “Join me Luke. I do not wish to destroy you.”
Then it had come to an end. His options had run out, and Luke was now left with very few options. Vader now seemed irredeemable, consumed by the dark side and Palpatine’s corruption. The will of the last of the Jedi began to falter. Perhaps there was no other way. If his father was so resolute in his support of the dark side, is it possible that he saw what Yoda and Obi-wan could not, or would not? This was Luke’s test, a choice from which there was no escape; there were only two paths, and he had to take one, the light, or the dark.
Luke’s gaze moved from Vader’s nightmare mask to his own hands, where his lightsaber still lay clenched, and then back again. Then suddenly, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he straightened, and an emerald blade appeared in his hand. He had made his choice. Vader nodded slowly, accepting this bitter failure, and then he lunged forward, red blade poised to strike.
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A low beep resounded through the dark medical chamber. Startled by the sound, Darth Vader looked up from his silent reverie. “What is it?” he asked sharply, the voice directed at a small panel set in the ceiling above. “Lord Vader, the Star Destroyer Torrent has just entered the system. Captain Coloth is requesting clearance to send a shuttle to the place. He says you are expecting him,” the calm, crisp voice of an Imperial officer responded over the comm. Vader cast his gaze back down to the bacta tank, in which Luke Skywalker still hung motionless. Behind his oppressive mask and life support gear, the dark lord let out a sorrowful sigh, and his right hand moved slowly to touch the glass barrier. “My lord?” the voice prompted again, this time somewhat nervous.
Vader’s hand froze midway to the medical capsule, and he locked his son’s expressionless face with one last long gaze. Then, as if forgetting him entirely, Darth Vader spun around and proceeded towards the exit. “Transmit the landing clearance. Inform the Captain that I await his arrival, and that of his passenger.” The communications officer offered recognition of the order, but Vader had already left the chamber, leaving it just as cold and lifeless as it had been when he had entered.
It was morning in the Imperial City. Sunlight, reflected and amplified by orbital mirrors to compensate for Coruscant’s distance from its primary, made the towers and skyscrapers of the endless metropolis glow and glisten. Steady streams of aircars, transports, and patrol vehicles wound their away between and over monolithic structures of durasteel and chromium, casting tiny shadows over their gunmetal and ivory surfaces. Seen from above, it was a breathtakingly beautiful scene for nearly any humanoid. However, beauty is often lost on the Dark Lord of the Sith.
From an open balcony a thousand stories above Coruscant’s long obscured surface, Darth Vader looked out upon the grand city, his personal throne world. Everything that was within the cyborg’s view was fully within his power, if he wished for a tower that had stood for millennia to be demolished, or the inhabitants of an entire urban sector to be uprooted and executed, it would be done. He was the Emperor, and his power was absolute, like Palpatine’s had been before him. As the Sith lord looked out over his domain however, his mind was not on conquest or power, it was instead focused inward.
Over only a few short days, Vader had achieved two goals that had been his foremost motivations for years, even decades; he had destroyed Palpatine, the vile entity that had twisted and dominated the dark lord since even before his coronation to his Sith rank, and he had delivered a crippling blow to the traitorous Rebel Alliance, and their ability to resist the order and peace the Empire would instill with Palpatine gone was now all but eliminated. The sympathizer worlds of Sullust and Mon Calamari had swiftly been dealt with, Sullust had been rendered uninhabitable by orbital bombardment, and every single Mon Calamari warship, transport, space dock, as well as several of their most heavily populated reef cities had been swiftly eliminated as well, insurance that the amphibious people would never again oppose the Empire.
And yet, even with all these great successes, Darth Vader was still tormented by uncertainty, emptiness, and even guilt. The immolation of the two alien home systems had given him no satisfaction or relief, not even the sense that he was promoting order in the galaxy. This absence was a new phenomenon, while he was still under Palpatine’s domination, acts of destruction and oppression had induced feelings of control and righteousness in him, the feeling that he was acting naturally, through the true nature of the force. But now that the Emperor’s influence had evaporated, much of the hatred, contempt, and bloodlust that had driven Vader had begun to dissolve as well, allowing older motivators and feelings to well up, bring with them more forgotten memories, like the ones he had seen on the rebel flagship. However, even with all these doubts and conflicts becoming more and more pronounced in his mind, something else was occupying the Dark Lord’s focus.
Darth Vader abruptly turned away from the magnificent view that the high balcony afforded him and retreated into the secluded corridors of the Imperial Palace, his long black cape fluttering gently out from behind him. The armored being moved quickly down a broad hallway sheathed in rare Korriban obsidian, and slipped into a turbolift hidden in the wall. As soon as it’s doors slid shut, the small lift pod plummeted straight down into the bowels of the immense structure, a controlled fall at the rate of a dozen floors a second. After only a few moments in the dimly-light mobile coffin, Vader felt the lift gently slow and come to a stop, immediately followed by the low hiss of doors sliding open again. Darth Vader stepped out into a new passage, this one made of dull, gray durasteel.
On either side of the doorway stood motionless a red-robed Imperial Guardsman, a force pike in his hand. The elite defenders of the late Emperor had immediately shifted their role to become Vader’s elite guards after the fabricated “rebel bombing” that had killed the Emperor reached their ears. They submitted to him now without hesitation, and the change in regime did not seem to be interfering with their duties, but Darth Vader was still wary of them; individuals who had worked so closely with Palpatine for so long could not be entirely trusted.
Brushing past the faceless sentries, the sith lord walked down the hallway until he came to a new set of doors, this one also flanked by guardsmen. He paused before the plain metal double doors and stared at them, his progress suddenly stayed. There was something in his mind that was reluctant to let him see what was beyond those doors, telling him to forget the chamber and continue on past. Vader pondered the notion for a moment and then cast it off, but the act of hesitation still bothered him. The dark lord was not well known for succumbing to doubt, and especially not fear, and thus allowing such instincts to slow him now was unacceptable. Darth Vader hooked his thumbs reflectively onto his belt and moved forward, stepping into the chamber beyond as its door slid swiftly opened to receive him.
The room was dark, light only by a few glow panels set in the ceiling, their intensity levels at minimum. Low desks and terminals covered in medical equipment and sensory devices lined the walls, and mechanical armatures hung from the roof panels, folded and inactive. A lone 5-1B medical droid stood at the rear of the chamber, clad in polished black casing and operating a medical monitor, typing in commands in an eerily regular pattern. As Vader approached, it looked up silently and stepped away from the terminal, snapping into readiness mode. “Leave,” the dark lord commanded, his low voice resonating throughout the room. The droid gave no sign of respect or acknowledgement, instead simply turning to door and marching out, its hydraulic legs whirring softly as it moved.
Once the artificial being had left and the doors had closed behind it, Vader turned back to where the droid had been standing, next to the large device that dominated the rear of the room. The machine, a tall, cylindrical tube of glass recessed in the wall, was a bacta tank; a medical device used the galaxy over to pull patients back from the brink of death. In the dim room, the two illumination panels that light up the clear pillar cast the healing fluid it contained in a red hue, an eerie counterpoint to the darkness that filled the room. Vader, however, did not notice the vibrant liquid, or the slowly flashing bio monitors that skirted the clear structure; he was instead focused on the figure the device held.
The naked body beyond the thick glass was damaged, covered in small cuts and patches of burned and dead skin, but the microorganisms that inhabited the medical soup that the body was suspended in were quickly sealing the wounds and healing the abrasions; none of the injuries were significantly dangerous to warrant the body’s long emersion in the fluid. Instead, the serious damage was internal; it’s only evident outward symptom was the abnormal yellow coloration of the being’s skin. But for the moment, Darth Vader was blocking out all of the visible signs of damage, looking up into the limp figure’s face. He looked upon the features of his only son.
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Luke Skywalker, General and hero of the Rebel Alliance, destroyer of the Death Star, last of the Jedi Order stood alone, a tiny speck in the Star Destroyer Indenture’s cavernous landing bay. Luke was crouched by his captured fighter, lightsaber hilt clenched in his right hand and a holdout blaster in his left as he scanned the huge chamber for signs of opposition. There were none. Aside from his astromech Artoo Deetoo, who still sat in the X-wings droid slot, monitoring the situation unfolding around him nervously, the bay was totally vacant of activity, the emptiness only broken by evenly spaced shuttle craft that lined the hangar’s walls.
“Are you picking up any life readings nearby Artoo?” Luke asked, edging along the side of his fighter. The astromech rotated its head section to face Luke and whistled plaintively. The young Jedi nodded, his eyes now fixed on one of the entry hatches to the bay, still sealed with a blast door. “It’s strange that they evacuated the bay. I would have expected imperial troops to have stormed in here the instant we were brought down.” Artoo twittered in agreement. Luke began to scan the walls and high ceiling for potential threats. “If they wanted to take us, we’d be dead or unconscious by now. Maybe there’s something wrong with the ship. See if you can determine if the tractor beam projectors are still operational. Maybe we can still get out of here.”
The little droid continued to scan the chamber and Luke waited in silence, the grip on his weapons loosening slightly. After a moment, Artoo buzzed again, his voice a warning. In response, Luke glanced directly above them, and saw what had caught Artoo attention. One of the bay’s dedicated turbolaser turrets was pointed directly down at the X-Wing and its crew, twin firing tubes trained on Luke’s head. For a moment, the rebel flinched and fell backwards away from the captured fighter, but the turret did not fire, instead simply altering its orientation to follow its target.
Luke regained his balance and cautiously walked back to his ship, eyes still fixed on the rotating gun emplacement. “Well, it looks like were not going to get out of here that easily,” he sighed. Exasperated, he leaned against the fighter’s cold hull and looked back over the room, his mind still racing to find a way out of the trap that had closed around him. His eyes fell on the huge opening in the middle of the chamber’s floor, the entry point that docking ships had to pass through, a clear window into the stellar space beyond, only separated from the Star Destroyer’s atmosphere by a bluish environmental shield. Through this barrier, Luke could make out huge shapes in the distance, Imperial cruisers in the foreground and the brownish orb of Sullust beyond.
As he watched, two of the distant ships moved closer to the planets, eventually disappearing from view against the massive back drop, but their objective was clear. After only a moment, flashes of green sprang to life from where the pair of destroyers were now positioned; standard imperial policy in action. Even from the tremendous distance, Luke could make out huge explosions of energy and vaporized rock as rain of turbolaser bolts plummeted downward from orbit, slicing easily through dozens of meters of arid ground and rock, immolating the first of Sullust’s subterranean cities. It was a display of power and vengeance; no world could openly defy the Empire and hope to continue its existence for long.
Soon, rivulets of fire began to spider their way outwards from the bombardment point, lines along which the planet’s crust itself was cracking, and Luke turned away, shivering. He could feel pain, the cries of the millions on the planet below that were dying every minute, incinerated by the continuing Imperial attack. Deep within him, a blazing point of anger began to grow, and Luke’s mind began to blur, a thousand thoughts flashing into it. He saw the Rebel fleet in flames, he saw emerald bolts extinguishing city after city, he saw dark glove reaching out, offering great and terrible power, and destruction. From the point of anger within him, hatred began to push forward, and Luke felt his grip tighten on his saber hilt, fingers both real and mechanical pulsing with arcane energy.
But then the young man closed his eyes, and inhaled deeply. The rage and anger receded rapidly, as if extinguished by a sudden wind. Luke Skywalker was a Jedi, the last of the Jedi, and he would control his emotions. Anger was the path to the dark side, Master Yoda had told him, and giving into it would lead him down a path his father had already tread, one that Luke had already refused to follow. The Empire would be brought to justice for what it had done, the Alliance still existed, Luke was sure of it. He would have felt his sister die if it had been completely destroyed. The image of Princess Leia, the calm compassionate sibling he had only just learned he had, flickered into his consciousness and Luke felt the last of his anger drain away. He would survive this day, there was still hope.
Then Luke felt a sudden draft, and his heart stopped for a moment. Vader was coming. Luke felt fear now; he had not expected the confrontation to come so soon, he was not ready. Then the Jedi steadied himself, remembering the teachings of his old masters. Luke knew he could find the good in Vader, he had felt even during their last duel, and he could stimulate it in Vader. He knew his father could be turned back to the light, despite what Master Obi-wan had said back on Dagobah. With the dark side’s hold on Darth Vader broken, Luke knew that they could together defeat the Emperor and bring an end to the tyrannical rule of the Empire. He just had to hold onto hope, and believe in the force.
Artoo let out a series of warning moans, and Luke turned to one of the docking bay’s main entryways, set in a wall only a few dozen meters from his X-Wing. “I can sense him too,” he muttered, holstering his blaster and moving slowly forward. “Find some place to hide Artoo. This could get dangerous.” Behind him, the astromech said buzzed worriedly. “Don’t worry, I can handle this,” Luke replied, and then under his breath muttered “I wont fail again.” The little droid made a few more plaintive noises, but he quickly silenced himself, and a moment latter Luke heard the clatter of metal on metal as Artoo extracted himself from the X-Wing’s socket and carefully guided himself onto the deck plate below the fighter’s outstretched wing.
As the faint whir of the droid’s motorized feet fainted away, the door before Luke slid open, and a lone figure stepped into the chamber. His grip on the lightsaber in his right hand tightening, Luke stared the figure straight in the eyes, still trying to calm himself. “Father,” he said softly, more to himself than the dark lord now standing mere meters away. Nevertheless, Darth Vader heard the words. “So, you have accepted the truth.” It was not a question, more like a statement of victory. Before replying, Luke looked over his father carefully, opening up all his Jedi abilities to try and scan him. Something felt different since their last meeting. Then, the dark lord had seemed almost absolutely dark, with only the slightest spark of humanity and individuality left, and he had exuded an aura of pain and malevolence that seemed somehow separate from the dark lord himself. Now, however, the aura was almost completely absent, and while the dark was still overwhelming in Vader, there was something strange about it, conflicted.
Luke was heartened by this change, and he pressed forward. “I have accepted the truth that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father.” Darth Vader shifted his weight imperceptibly. “That name means nothing to me now,” he replied, intoning deeply, almost angrily. However, even as Vader spoke those words. Luke could sense a change in him, a slight increase in the energy he was dedicating towards the control of his emotions. “I sense conflict in you even now father. There is still good in you, let it out,” Luke persisted, lowering his inactive saber into a less threatening position.
Vader paused before replying, considering his son’s words. When he spoke again, the words his suit’s vocabulator emitted powerful and definite, but Luke still was certain there was underlying doubt as well. “No, there is no conflict within me. The dark side is the only path to order, the light to which you cling is an illusion, one perpetuated by Obi-wan Kenobi and his deceptions.” Vader took a few steps forward. “Join me Luke, and together we can quash the last vestiges of this pitiful and destructive rebellion and at last bring peace and order to the galaxy.”
Luke shook his head sadly. He had never expected this to be easy, but he had hoped it would be. “I will never turn father, you must know that. Search your feelings, you know that what your doing, what you’ve become isn’t right. This is the Emperor’s doing, not your will. Cast off his domination, you can still save yourself from the dark side.”
Vader stared at Luke for a long moment in silence. Something was wrong, Luke thought, his father almost seemed…surprised. “The Emperor is dead Luke, I have slain him.” The young Jedi stood motionless, the words resounding through his mind. How could this be, if the Emperor was dead, then why was Vader still under the sway of the dark side. Could he have been wrong, was his father so far gone he would uphold Palpatine’s dark reign even after his death? No, there was conflict in Vader, he was sure of it. He just needed more time, or a catalyst of some sort to cast of the dark mantle.
“The insane old fool needed to be destroyed, he wanted nothing save to grow in his own power until all life in this galaxy was bent to his will absolutely,” Vader continued. “But I have eliminated that blemish upon the universe, and now the Empire is mine, and I can put it to its true purpose. Come Luke, join me, and together with the aid of the dark side the galaxy shall never again know conflict or turmoil, only happy obedience to us, and the new order of the Sith we shall create. Our Empire shall be one of peace, and justice.”
As he listened, the sick feeling of frustration and growing rage blossomed within Luke. “Peace! Justice!” he blurted out, throwing his free arm back at the entry void in the floor, beyond which the Imperial fleet continued to pummel the defenseless Sullust. “You call that justice? If this kind of slaughter is what your new empire will be built upon, then it will be no better than Palpatine’s!”
Vader looked out at the dying world, and for a moment Luke thought he saw a twitch in Vader’s gloved hands, a sign of uncertainty. But the lapse was over as soon as it had begun, and Vader turned back to face Luke. “They are traitors Luke. I do not wish suffering or death upon my subjects, but if they attempt to undermine the stability of this civilization, to lend aid to the terrorist rebel scum, then they must be punished. A warning must be given so that other worlds do not foolishly cast their lot in with traitors, and seal the fate of their inhabitants.”
Luke was both horrified and frightened now. Even with Palpatine destroyed, the dark side still lived on strong within his father’s heart. The Jedi’s hope was beginning to fade. A tear forming in his eye, Luke stepped even closer to his father. “This is wrong! You have to find the good that is still in you! I know the part of you that is still my father is strong enough to cast of the poison of the dark side. Please, you must turn father. While you still can.”
At this, Vader began to stalk forward, and Luke involuntarily stumbled backwards. “You still do not understand. The path of the dark side is the only one to peace, my son.” From Vader’s clenched right fist a beam of crimson shot forth. “Join me Luke. I do not wish to destroy you.”
Then it had come to an end. His options had run out, and Luke was now left with very few options. Vader now seemed irredeemable, consumed by the dark side and Palpatine’s corruption. The will of the last of the Jedi began to falter. Perhaps there was no other way. If his father was so resolute in his support of the dark side, is it possible that he saw what Yoda and Obi-wan could not, or would not? This was Luke’s test, a choice from which there was no escape; there were only two paths, and he had to take one, the light, or the dark.
Luke’s gaze moved from Vader’s nightmare mask to his own hands, where his lightsaber still lay clenched, and then back again. Then suddenly, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, he straightened, and an emerald blade appeared in his hand. He had made his choice. Vader nodded slowly, accepting this bitter failure, and then he lunged forward, red blade poised to strike.
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A low beep resounded through the dark medical chamber. Startled by the sound, Darth Vader looked up from his silent reverie. “What is it?” he asked sharply, the voice directed at a small panel set in the ceiling above. “Lord Vader, the Star Destroyer Torrent has just entered the system. Captain Coloth is requesting clearance to send a shuttle to the place. He says you are expecting him,” the calm, crisp voice of an Imperial officer responded over the comm. Vader cast his gaze back down to the bacta tank, in which Luke Skywalker still hung motionless. Behind his oppressive mask and life support gear, the dark lord let out a sorrowful sigh, and his right hand moved slowly to touch the glass barrier. “My lord?” the voice prompted again, this time somewhat nervous.
Vader’s hand froze midway to the medical capsule, and he locked his son’s expressionless face with one last long gaze. Then, as if forgetting him entirely, Darth Vader spun around and proceeded towards the exit. “Transmit the landing clearance. Inform the Captain that I await his arrival, and that of his passenger.” The communications officer offered recognition of the order, but Vader had already left the chamber, leaving it just as cold and lifeless as it had been when he had entered.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Chapter Thirty One
“That’s a Federation vessel,” Jean-Luc Picard said, his voice hushed, almost disbelieving. The captain stood next to Imal Ryceed’s command chair. Staring fixedly out the viewport at the object he had been summoned to see. Behind him, Commander Riker, Data, and Geordi La’ Forge stood intermingled with the Republica’s crew, each of them just as surprised and relieved as their captain.
Only a few dozen kilometers off the rebel ship’s bow, the Federation ship drifted, motionless and silent. The cause of this inactivity was immediately apparent; the ship’s hull was lacerated by huge gashes of melted hull plate and pocked with numerous gaping breaches. One of the craft’s nacelles’, a characteristic feature of nearly every Starfleet vessel, was completely absent, the support pylon that had once connected it to the ship now only a tattered amalgam of corroded metal. The top of the ship’s saucer section was also shorn away revealing blackened compartments several decks below the outer hull.
“The damage to the ship is extensive, but I believe I can still identify it accurately,” Data said, looking at a sensor display over the shoulder of a Mon Calamari crewman. “It is a Steamrunner-class, a long range combat vessel. I am unable to determine the ship’s designation; there is too much damage to the forward hull.” Picard looked away from the viewport. “Combat vessel?” he said, somewhat confused. The Federation wasn’t in the habit of making dedicated combat vessels, and he wasn’t aware of any in service. Geordi moved over to the data display Data was looking at and checked it himself, much to the chagrin of the officer still seated at it.
“Yes, I remember hearing about those during our last stopover at Deep Space Twelve. Apparently, it’s a prototype anti-Borg ship.” Geordi paused to stroke his chin, his optical visor shifting back to look out the main viewport. “I didn’t think they had tested anything space worthy yet though.”
Commander Riker was still looking at the wreck intently. “I wonder what could have caused that damage.” The man blinked, clearing his head, and he suddenly he remembered the situation they were all still in. “Or more importantly, how it got here. Mr. Data, are you picking up any disturbances like the one we encountered at the wormhole in the vicinity of that ship?” At that, the android leaned down to the sensor station’s control terminal, forcing the attending crewman not back away, now very irritated.
Before he could bring up the pertinent information however, Captain Ryceed rose from her seat and fixed a glare upon Picard. “This is all quite fascinating, but if you hadn’t noticed, there are two Imperial Star Destroyers in this system, and they very well may locate us at any moment,” she said haughtily. “It would appear that that ship is damaged far beyond repair, and I doubt that there are any survivors left on it. I apologizes for unconvincing you, but we have a schedule to keep. Helm, record these coordinates in the navicomputer and enter the predetermined jump vector into the drive system. Engage as soon as the hyperdrive is primed.”
As Ryceed began to wade amongst her bridge crew, making sure her ship was ready to jump; Riker and Picard stood back, and exchanged worried glances. Both of them knew that abandoning the Federation ship could very well insure that the crew never saw home again. Ryceed would most likely not relent, she did have a crew of her own to protect after all, but the pair had to try. Resolute, William Riker put on his infamous roguish smile and approached the stern woman.
“Captain, surely you can delay our departure long enough to send a brief survey mission over to that ship, or at least take a more detailed sensor sweep of the immediate area.” Ryceed turned slowly to face Riker and scanned his expectant face. “Please?” the Commander continued, his teeth visible in a handsome grin. The captain’s eyes narrowed and her head moved imperceptibly, inching toward Riker’s face. After a moment of looking him over, she withdrew her neck and pushed past him. “Sorry commander, I have my orders,” Ryceed said, her voice showing signs of exasperation and exhaustion.
Riker shook his head as she passed, and glanced again at Picard, who was tugging on his uniform tunic, an indication of the state of his nerves. “Captain, there may still be survivors on that ship. Without a more detailed sensor scan or search by an away team, we could be leaving men and women to their deaths,” he pleaded. At this, Ryceed whirled on the bald man and opened her mouth, ready to berate him for consistently interfering, but before she could form a syllable, a blue image flickered to life behind her.
“He has a point Captain,” Cortana said, looking down on the group from the elevated holographic projector she was using. “With all of the distortion in this system from its star, the Republica’s sensors are having a difficult time penetrating far beyond the ship’s outer hull, but I believe there are indications that life support is still functional in sections of its interior. I predict it would be feasible to dispatch a shuttle to the ship and have a boarding team investigate it in a sort enough time to not seriously endanger this vessel. And I must remind you Captain; your orders do dictate that you are to consider the recommendations of your passengers. The information gathered from that ship could be very valuable to the rebellion.” She glanced at Picard. “Isn’t that right captain?”
Picard smiled slightly in gratitude, and then nodded. “Yes, if my crew can gather enough information from that vessel’s computer to locate the wormhole it emerged from, I believe that your High Council would be quite gratified.” Ryceed cast glares at both Picard and the AI construct and looked like she was going to object, but instead she flopped onto the bridge command chair and stared out at the subject of their argument. “Very well,” she sighed at last. “Picard, you may take a shuttle over to that ship and investigate. I’m giving you one hour starting now to do what you need to do over there and get back. When that time span has elapsed, this ship is leaving, whether you’re back or not,” she said, rubbing her eyes wearily. Picard thanked her quickly and walked quickly towards the bridge turbolift, towards which Data and Geordi were already heading.
Riker moved to follow his companions, but he paused long enough to shoot Cortana a thankful grin, which she replied to with a wink. “Oh, commander,” she added as Riker began to move again. “I believe the Master Chief has been anxious to get out of his quarters. I think he would appreciate it if you asked him to go along.”
“I think I can get the captain to agree to that,” Riker replied, waving in recognition as he stepped into the open lift cavity where the others waited impatiently.
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A low clang resounded through the battered Steamrunner’s interior as the small rebel shuttle attached itself to the ship’s hull. The Federation ship’s small docking bay was caved in and completely obstructed, so the shuttle’s pilot had opted to set his ship down in one of the huge gashes the covered the vessel. The tear that the ship now rested in ran for several dozen meters along the saucer section’s port side, and stretched two decks into the craft’s inner workings. The rebel ship powered down its drive engines, and engaged it’s forward and after floodlights, bringing an expanse of charred metal and corroded walkways into view.
From the small, almost tubular shuttle’s rear hull plate, an egress hatch hissed open, and a cloud of flash-frozen atmosphere spilled out into the desolate, airless chasm. Following the cloud, four figures, clad in gray survival suits and magnetized boots stepped onto the cold, lifeless hulk. They were followed by another being, encased in drab green armor, which jumped out from the shuttle’s air lock just as the hatch began to seal itself. One of the gray-suited beings leaned forward slightly, listening to a transmission being picked up by his atmosphere suit’s helmet. “You’ve got twenty seven minutes before I’m lifting off commander,” the shuttle’s pilot was saying over the comm. “You’d better do what you’ve got to do quickly.”
William Riker acknowledged the message, and then turned to his small team, who were inspecting their surroundings with both interest and anxiety. Behind tinted face panels, Riker could see Lt. Commanders Data and Worf, as well as medical officer Ogawa waiting for orders. The captain had also wanted to come, but the shuttle they had been provided with was very compact, and in any event, Riker had been adamant in his insistence that the commanding officer should not accompany away teams into potentially dangerous situations, and the drifting, half destroyed ship certainly qualified. Standing behind the Federation officers, the Master Chief stood alert, his sealed armor providing him with oxygen and protection from the vacuum around them.
“Alright, you know what we need to do here,” Riker said over a comm to his comrades. “Find an operational computer terminal to download recent sensor logs and command entries, and try to locate any survivors.” Data withdrew a tricorder from his suit’s belt, one of the few they had left, and began to scan their surroundings. “Energy readings would seem to indicate that the engineering section may still have computer power and atmospheric containment. I believe we should begin our search there,” he said, adjusting a few knobs on the scanning device. Riker nodded and glanced at the chronometer set on his suit’s wrist. “Let’s get going.”
Data guided the group towards a sealed doorway on the other side of the shuttle, partially illuminated by its floodlights. After picking their way over the blasted and ruptured deck of what had once been a series of Jeffries tubes, the team halted at the partially blackened door, which seemed to be still in working order. However, when Data approached the entry point, the sliding door remained fixed, apparently robbed of its sensing ability. Unperturbed, the android cleared a piece of sheet metal away from the side of the door in search of the manual control pad, but found instead only a mangled hunk of melted wiring. “It would appear that this door is too damaged to be opened by conventional means,” Data commented. The android then moved towards the fused hatch, intent on prying it open, but found that the Master Chief was already standing there.
The soldier set his armored fingers to the thin crack that separated the door sections and pulled outward, his muscles flexing underneath his enclosed body glove. The metal warped and dented quickly around his fingers, but surprisingly, the door did not budge, evidently fused closed by what ever force had torn the hole that they were now standing in. After a moment, the Chief stepped back, shifted his weight slightly, and kicked. Firm as it might have been, the barrier was unable to absorb the energy of the cyborg’s speeding foot, and the twin door sections clattered inwards, propelled onto the deck plate beyond. The titan stepped back from the now unobstructed and gestured to the others to enter. Riker nodded to the silent man, slightly mildly amused by the soldier’s direct approach.
The team filed slowly into the dark corridor beyond, and Worf and Data each ignited palm lamps they had brought with them, illuminating the long, empty space. The ship’s normally bright and sterile walls were now dark and foreboding, the computer interfaces and lighting strips that lined them cracked and unlit. “What could have done this?” Riker asked quietly to himself, keeping pace directly behind Data as he stared down a side hallway, blocked off by reams of power cable that dangled from its shattered ceiling.
Worf, who was walking behind the dower and silent Nurse Ogawa and just ahead of Master Chief, shifted his light source onto the commander’s back. “From what I saw of the hull damage, I would guess that this ship was attacked by a vessel employing phasers of some sort, although without closer analysis, I cannot be sure of what type,” he said. Riker pondered the information; most of the species in the Alpha and Beta quadrants used phasers, but he couldn’t imagine any of them attacking a Federation vessel, especially with the brutality that the massive damage indicated. As of the Enterprise’s departure, the Federation was on fairly good terms with all the major powers that surrounded it, and Riker couldn’t imagine any fringe group taking on a Starfleet vessel of this size.
Suddenly, an all but forgotten memory, one unaccountably driven to the back of his mind over the last few weeks came to the surface; the Columbus. It was a Federation ship that had driven the Enterprise and he crew into the distant and hostile galaxy they were now in, and there seemed to be no explanation for their attack. The strange creature’s that had boarded during the attack also seemed beyond explanation; perhaps the crew had been infected somehow by interstellar parasites that had mutated them, or perhaps they had encountered a strange new alien life form that had commandeered the ship, both occurrences were not without precedent. Still, neither felt right to Riker, and he suddenly felt cold, new, unsettling theories about the ship’s attackers coalescing in his mind.
At the end of the hallway, the group again halted, this time facing a turbolift access hatch. Tentatively, Commander Data tapped the door’s control interface, and to the team’s mild surprise, the obstruction slid open, revealing a small lift cabin, lit dimly by a flickering ceiling panel. Riker inspected the compartment; it appeared to be stable enough, but it was quite small, only able to comfortably accommodate four people unencumbered by survival gear. However, time was too short to search for another operational lift, so Riker stepped aside and beckoned to the Master Chief, easily the largest of the group. “After you.”
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The lift ride was long and unsettling; the weight of four humanoids and a cyborg that weighed half a ton did little to ease the strain on the already damaged compartment, and the sounds of it creaking as it hurtled through the battered innards of the Steamrunner help convey the weakness to its passengers. Finally, the lift came to a stop and the five team members spilled out into the hallway, eager to be off the potential death trap.
They found themselves in a hallway adjacent to main engineering. This deep into the vessel, the damage was not as severe as it had been closer to the bridge and weapons systems, but the signs of battle were still quite evident. Signs of a very different kind of battle. As soon as she had exited the turbolift, Ogawa gasped audibly and nearly fell back into the lift, shocked by what she saw. Half a dozen bodies lay stretched out across the floor, each in various states of mutilation. The walls were covered in scrapes and phaser burns, and a large section of the hallway several meters to their right had been blown away, mangled wiring visible under ruptured deck plate.
Master Chief swiftly tore a blaster pistol from his belt and switched of its safety, using it to cover both ends of the hall. Worf, even though he lacked a weapon, also sprang to attention moving to put himself between the rest of the group and any possible attackers who might be lying in wait. Riker knelt beside one of the bodies that was lying near his feet, the corpse of a human female. She was almost unrecognizable, covered in vicious gashes and sickly burn marks, most of them focused around her face and neck. What little undamaged skin that remained on her had begun to take on a greenish, rotted complexion; apparently there was still oxygen in this part of the ship.
“Commander.” Data’s voice directed him to another corpse, lying across the walkway. After taking one last mournful look at the dead woman, Riker rose and turned to the object the Lt. Commander wanted him to look at. Roughly the size and shape of a large dog, the creature that lay crumpled before him was quite unlike anything he had ever seen, and yet was strangely familiar. It was covered in a slick, reddish hide that was thick and scabrous and drenched with a liquid of some sort, perhaps its own blood, or the blood of another. It had a long, angular head adorned with two large tusks and tiny black eyes, and its forelegs were each tipped by a single, knife-like claw more than a foot long. The cause of the creature’s death was also apparent; it sported a gapping hole its chest, most likely cut by a hand phaser.
After examining the hideous creature briefly, Riker glanced at Data. “Can you identify this thing?” he asked over the comm. “I do not believe so commander,” he replied. “There is no species in my memory banks that matches the physical proportions of the organism.” Riker nodded nonplused and looked back at the creature, over which officer Ogawa was now standing, her tricorder moving back and forth over it. He noticed her gloved hands were shaking as she worked. “Are you alright?” Riker asked her, moving closer. Unsteadily, she closed the scanning device and turned to the commanding officer. He could see was quivering slightly behind the survival suit’s mask.
“I’m alright sir,” she gulped. “But…” She paused, trying to regain her composure. Riker was not surprised that she would be unnerved; Onigawa and others of her rank typically stayed on duty in the Enterprise’s medbay, and likely had never seen the more gruesome spectacles away teams sometimes encountered in person. Still, she seemed to be reacting to more than just the carnage around them. “The readings I’m picking up from this creature are very similar to the one’s that were recorded from a boarder we captured before the Enterprise was evacuated. I can’t be sure without more advanced equipment, but it looks like whatever those things on the Columbus were, they didn’t die with it.” Data gestured to the area down the hall that had been gutted by an explosion. “The type of damage is very similar to the kind left by those boarders who exploded in their effort to cripple the Enterprise.”
The secret dread that had been growing in Riker since they encountered the Federation vessel came back anew, stronger and more persistent than before. The things that had destroyed his ship and ensured capture or death for most of her crew had spread, and he feared what damage they might have caused, how far they might have spread.
“Sir.” Commander Worf said over the comm, catching Riker’s attention. “There are eight casualties the immediate area, all Federation personnel, all dead.” Grimly, the Klingon glanced down at the dog-sized creature. “I also located ten more of those things. They seemed to have entered the passageway through a hole cut through the ceiling several meters down. None of them appear to be alive either.” Prompted by the tactical officer’s words, Data activated his tricorder once again. “There are definitely life readings emanating from this deck, approximately thirty meters down that adjoining hallway. However, I am unable to determine the species or number of the organisms.”
Riker checked his chronometer. “Alright, we have nineteen minutes until our ride leaves. Commander Data and I will locate an operational computer hub and collect as much information as possible.” Data immediately activated a wall schematic of the ship and began to assess it. As he was doing so, Riker turned to the others. “Worf, I want you to take Onigawa and the Chief to investigate the life readings. Be careful, we don’t know if any of these things are still alive. Contact me if you locate any survivors or run into trouble. We meet back here in twelve.”
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Blaster in hand, the Master Chief lead the group of there down the hallway indicated to them by Data, past walls scuffed with phaser marks and the occasional spatter of blood, with evenly spaced sealed doorways every few meters. Behind him, Onigawa tried to ignore the body she had just stepped over, that of an Andorian man who seemed to have had his right arm torn out of its socket. She glanced back at Worf, who had taken off his helmet and was holding it at his side while he sniffed the stale and pungent air, alert for possible threats. “So, you don’t talk much, do you,” Ogawa asked over the helmet comm, directing her words towards the soldier in front of her in an attempt to take her mind of the grim scene around them.
“I speak when I need to,” was his response, and then a definite silence, as if he was telling her and this is not one of those times. The woman gulped and quietly looked back at the tricorder in her hand. “We should turn left at that intersection up there.” The soldier nod almost imperceptibly and quickly covered the last few meters to the point where their hallway ran into another. His weapon rose to the ready, he glanced quickly down both sides of the passage as the other two made their way to his position. “Anything?” Worf asked, sliding up along side the Spartan. The Chief shook his head and slowly swung out into the hallway, his Bryar side arm flashing from side to side with elegant precision.
“There?” the Chief asked, gesturing at a large doorway which bore the label ‘Main Engineering’ next to it in block lettering. Beyond its double sliding doors, which lay slightly ajar, only blackness was visible. Onigawa rechecked her readings and shook her head, pointing instead to a doorway to the right of engineering and on the other side of the hall. “That should be one of the coolant intake conduit junctions for the warp core,” Worf commented. “It would seem whatever’s in there had to put up a fight to get in.” Strewn around the closed doorway, nearly a dozen federation crewmen and alien beasts lay dead, sporting a variety of burns, cuts, and gashes; some of them looked like they had been chewed on after death. Worf and Master Chief took the scene in stride, but Ogawa had to hold onto the wall for a moment to recover from it.
Picking their way over the battlefield, the group at last came to the door, and not surprisingly, found it locked. Worf examined the barrier, which was scored dozens of claw marks, and then tried the control panel to no avail. Master Chief moved up along side him and began to prepare to open the door ‘manually’, but Worf stopped him. “No, that door is likely far stronger than the others we have encountered. Federation coolant junctions are designed with blast doors that can contain potential leaks and overloads. In any event, it would be unwise to make more noise than necessary, in case any of these creatures are still nearby.” The Chief stared at him from behind his opaque visor. “Then what do you propose?”
Worf considered for a moment, and then care fully pried the control panel in front of him off the wall, revealing a mass of wiring and optic cable. Then the Klingon punched his hand into the opening, dug around for a moment, and then ripped a large section of the electronic mass out from the wall. After a second, the door retracted to the side with a soft hiss, and the Chief brought his weapon to bear on the room beyond.
The center of the room was dominated by large junction that connected four gray and blue tubes that emerged from the floor and ceiling and two of the room’s walls. The conduits were quiet and unlit; the core was obviously offline. Aside from the junction, the chamber appeared to be empty, save for a control station set in a nearby wall, and a few supply crates that lined far side. Cautiously, the Chief entered the room with his blaster at the ready, and tried to maneuver around the central column so he could have a view of the entire chamber. Suddenly, out of the corner of his unnaturally acute eye, he spotted movement from behind the supply crates, and the glint of metal. Acting on instinct and decades of combat training, the soldier jumped to the side, seeking cover behind the inactive junction, and a fraction of a second later, the red beam of a phaser swept through the air, blackening the wall behind where the Chief had just been standing.
Not stopping to allow the attacker to get off another shot, the Spartan rolled out from behind the central column and fired two blaster bolts at the crates. One of the energy bolts impacted a tubular crate harmlessly, but the other hit the attacker’s weapon head on, causing him to cry out and drop the smoking phaser. In a flash, the Chief was over the conduit between him and the crates, across the small room, and on top of the assailant, pinning him to the far wall. Worf was close behind, moving to aid the Chief while Ogawa stayed a safe distance away from the fray.
Arms and legs constricted under the Chief’s immense weight, a wiry, gaunt woman, dressed in a tattered gold uniform struggled in vain to reach a second hand phaser lying just out of reach. Her eyes were wide open and bloodshot, staring at Master Chief’s black face plate fixedly, her face quivering with fear. Worf rushed up along side the pair and tried to calm the woman down. “Its all right, we’ve come to rescue you. Those things can’t get to you know.” The survivor didn’t not seem to hear Worf, or even notice he was there, her whole attention fixed on the Chief’s blank helmet, on which a distorted version of her own haggard face was reflected. She mouthed wordlessly, her eyes windows to her inner pain and fear. The Chief shifted his weight, removing some of the pressure that crushed the woman in place, and moved his left hand slowly towards the back of his neck, where his helmet seal was located. Before he could reach it however, the woman let out one final wordless cry, and slummed down, her limbs now limp and lifeless.
“Ensign Ogawa,” Worf called gruffly, setting down his helmet as he helped prop the unconscious survivor up against the wall. The medical officer approached slowly and nervously, but when she saw that the attacker was human, she broke into a run, pulling her tricorder free of its holster. Crouching beside the woman, she ran the scanner over her body worriedly and inspected some of the deeper cuts that she sported all over her body, especially on her left arm. “Her life signs are weak, and some of those cuts may be infected, but she should survive if we can get her back to the ship,” the nurse said, then opened a large pocket set in the side of her atmospheric suite. “This survival gear should hold enough oxygen for us to get her through the breached section of the ship and to the shuttle.” Out of the pocket came a large piece of folded white fabric, which Ogawa proceeded to unfurl into a large body suit, complete with a flexible translucent visor.
As the nurse worked to slip the woman into the suit, Worf searched the survivor’s hiding place, and picked up the two phasers. The one the Master Chief had shot was useless, but the other was in working order, so Worf clipped it to his atmosphere suit, insurance against any surprises they might encounter on they’re way back to the turbolift. Then the Lt. Commander placed back on his head and tapped into the comm unit. “Commander Riker, we have located a survivor in one of the chambers adjacent to main engineering.” After a moment, Riker’s voice crackled over the link. “Good, Data and I have located a computer terminal and our downloading as much information as we can from it. Seven minutes until we rendezvous back at the lift; if you don’t locate anyone else soon, head back, we’ll catch up.”
“Confirmed,” Worf responded, and switched off the comm link. “Ensign, are you picking up any other life readings in this area?” Ogawa, who was sealing the survivor’s helmet to the suit, looked up and checked her tricorder. After a moment she frowned. “I’m not sure sir. There are strong signals emanating from Main Engineering, but…” she paused adjusting a few controls. “But what?” Master Chief prompted, moving closer to the doorway, blaster in hand. Suddenly, Ogawa looked up in horror. “I don’t think there human.”
“That’s a Federation vessel,” Jean-Luc Picard said, his voice hushed, almost disbelieving. The captain stood next to Imal Ryceed’s command chair. Staring fixedly out the viewport at the object he had been summoned to see. Behind him, Commander Riker, Data, and Geordi La’ Forge stood intermingled with the Republica’s crew, each of them just as surprised and relieved as their captain.
Only a few dozen kilometers off the rebel ship’s bow, the Federation ship drifted, motionless and silent. The cause of this inactivity was immediately apparent; the ship’s hull was lacerated by huge gashes of melted hull plate and pocked with numerous gaping breaches. One of the craft’s nacelles’, a characteristic feature of nearly every Starfleet vessel, was completely absent, the support pylon that had once connected it to the ship now only a tattered amalgam of corroded metal. The top of the ship’s saucer section was also shorn away revealing blackened compartments several decks below the outer hull.
“The damage to the ship is extensive, but I believe I can still identify it accurately,” Data said, looking at a sensor display over the shoulder of a Mon Calamari crewman. “It is a Steamrunner-class, a long range combat vessel. I am unable to determine the ship’s designation; there is too much damage to the forward hull.” Picard looked away from the viewport. “Combat vessel?” he said, somewhat confused. The Federation wasn’t in the habit of making dedicated combat vessels, and he wasn’t aware of any in service. Geordi moved over to the data display Data was looking at and checked it himself, much to the chagrin of the officer still seated at it.
“Yes, I remember hearing about those during our last stopover at Deep Space Twelve. Apparently, it’s a prototype anti-Borg ship.” Geordi paused to stroke his chin, his optical visor shifting back to look out the main viewport. “I didn’t think they had tested anything space worthy yet though.”
Commander Riker was still looking at the wreck intently. “I wonder what could have caused that damage.” The man blinked, clearing his head, and he suddenly he remembered the situation they were all still in. “Or more importantly, how it got here. Mr. Data, are you picking up any disturbances like the one we encountered at the wormhole in the vicinity of that ship?” At that, the android leaned down to the sensor station’s control terminal, forcing the attending crewman not back away, now very irritated.
Before he could bring up the pertinent information however, Captain Ryceed rose from her seat and fixed a glare upon Picard. “This is all quite fascinating, but if you hadn’t noticed, there are two Imperial Star Destroyers in this system, and they very well may locate us at any moment,” she said haughtily. “It would appear that that ship is damaged far beyond repair, and I doubt that there are any survivors left on it. I apologizes for unconvincing you, but we have a schedule to keep. Helm, record these coordinates in the navicomputer and enter the predetermined jump vector into the drive system. Engage as soon as the hyperdrive is primed.”
As Ryceed began to wade amongst her bridge crew, making sure her ship was ready to jump; Riker and Picard stood back, and exchanged worried glances. Both of them knew that abandoning the Federation ship could very well insure that the crew never saw home again. Ryceed would most likely not relent, she did have a crew of her own to protect after all, but the pair had to try. Resolute, William Riker put on his infamous roguish smile and approached the stern woman.
“Captain, surely you can delay our departure long enough to send a brief survey mission over to that ship, or at least take a more detailed sensor sweep of the immediate area.” Ryceed turned slowly to face Riker and scanned his expectant face. “Please?” the Commander continued, his teeth visible in a handsome grin. The captain’s eyes narrowed and her head moved imperceptibly, inching toward Riker’s face. After a moment of looking him over, she withdrew her neck and pushed past him. “Sorry commander, I have my orders,” Ryceed said, her voice showing signs of exasperation and exhaustion.
Riker shook his head as she passed, and glanced again at Picard, who was tugging on his uniform tunic, an indication of the state of his nerves. “Captain, there may still be survivors on that ship. Without a more detailed sensor scan or search by an away team, we could be leaving men and women to their deaths,” he pleaded. At this, Ryceed whirled on the bald man and opened her mouth, ready to berate him for consistently interfering, but before she could form a syllable, a blue image flickered to life behind her.
“He has a point Captain,” Cortana said, looking down on the group from the elevated holographic projector she was using. “With all of the distortion in this system from its star, the Republica’s sensors are having a difficult time penetrating far beyond the ship’s outer hull, but I believe there are indications that life support is still functional in sections of its interior. I predict it would be feasible to dispatch a shuttle to the ship and have a boarding team investigate it in a sort enough time to not seriously endanger this vessel. And I must remind you Captain; your orders do dictate that you are to consider the recommendations of your passengers. The information gathered from that ship could be very valuable to the rebellion.” She glanced at Picard. “Isn’t that right captain?”
Picard smiled slightly in gratitude, and then nodded. “Yes, if my crew can gather enough information from that vessel’s computer to locate the wormhole it emerged from, I believe that your High Council would be quite gratified.” Ryceed cast glares at both Picard and the AI construct and looked like she was going to object, but instead she flopped onto the bridge command chair and stared out at the subject of their argument. “Very well,” she sighed at last. “Picard, you may take a shuttle over to that ship and investigate. I’m giving you one hour starting now to do what you need to do over there and get back. When that time span has elapsed, this ship is leaving, whether you’re back or not,” she said, rubbing her eyes wearily. Picard thanked her quickly and walked quickly towards the bridge turbolift, towards which Data and Geordi were already heading.
Riker moved to follow his companions, but he paused long enough to shoot Cortana a thankful grin, which she replied to with a wink. “Oh, commander,” she added as Riker began to move again. “I believe the Master Chief has been anxious to get out of his quarters. I think he would appreciate it if you asked him to go along.”
“I think I can get the captain to agree to that,” Riker replied, waving in recognition as he stepped into the open lift cavity where the others waited impatiently.
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A low clang resounded through the battered Steamrunner’s interior as the small rebel shuttle attached itself to the ship’s hull. The Federation ship’s small docking bay was caved in and completely obstructed, so the shuttle’s pilot had opted to set his ship down in one of the huge gashes the covered the vessel. The tear that the ship now rested in ran for several dozen meters along the saucer section’s port side, and stretched two decks into the craft’s inner workings. The rebel ship powered down its drive engines, and engaged it’s forward and after floodlights, bringing an expanse of charred metal and corroded walkways into view.
From the small, almost tubular shuttle’s rear hull plate, an egress hatch hissed open, and a cloud of flash-frozen atmosphere spilled out into the desolate, airless chasm. Following the cloud, four figures, clad in gray survival suits and magnetized boots stepped onto the cold, lifeless hulk. They were followed by another being, encased in drab green armor, which jumped out from the shuttle’s air lock just as the hatch began to seal itself. One of the gray-suited beings leaned forward slightly, listening to a transmission being picked up by his atmosphere suit’s helmet. “You’ve got twenty seven minutes before I’m lifting off commander,” the shuttle’s pilot was saying over the comm. “You’d better do what you’ve got to do quickly.”
William Riker acknowledged the message, and then turned to his small team, who were inspecting their surroundings with both interest and anxiety. Behind tinted face panels, Riker could see Lt. Commanders Data and Worf, as well as medical officer Ogawa waiting for orders. The captain had also wanted to come, but the shuttle they had been provided with was very compact, and in any event, Riker had been adamant in his insistence that the commanding officer should not accompany away teams into potentially dangerous situations, and the drifting, half destroyed ship certainly qualified. Standing behind the Federation officers, the Master Chief stood alert, his sealed armor providing him with oxygen and protection from the vacuum around them.
“Alright, you know what we need to do here,” Riker said over a comm to his comrades. “Find an operational computer terminal to download recent sensor logs and command entries, and try to locate any survivors.” Data withdrew a tricorder from his suit’s belt, one of the few they had left, and began to scan their surroundings. “Energy readings would seem to indicate that the engineering section may still have computer power and atmospheric containment. I believe we should begin our search there,” he said, adjusting a few knobs on the scanning device. Riker nodded and glanced at the chronometer set on his suit’s wrist. “Let’s get going.”
Data guided the group towards a sealed doorway on the other side of the shuttle, partially illuminated by its floodlights. After picking their way over the blasted and ruptured deck of what had once been a series of Jeffries tubes, the team halted at the partially blackened door, which seemed to be still in working order. However, when Data approached the entry point, the sliding door remained fixed, apparently robbed of its sensing ability. Unperturbed, the android cleared a piece of sheet metal away from the side of the door in search of the manual control pad, but found instead only a mangled hunk of melted wiring. “It would appear that this door is too damaged to be opened by conventional means,” Data commented. The android then moved towards the fused hatch, intent on prying it open, but found that the Master Chief was already standing there.
The soldier set his armored fingers to the thin crack that separated the door sections and pulled outward, his muscles flexing underneath his enclosed body glove. The metal warped and dented quickly around his fingers, but surprisingly, the door did not budge, evidently fused closed by what ever force had torn the hole that they were now standing in. After a moment, the Chief stepped back, shifted his weight slightly, and kicked. Firm as it might have been, the barrier was unable to absorb the energy of the cyborg’s speeding foot, and the twin door sections clattered inwards, propelled onto the deck plate beyond. The titan stepped back from the now unobstructed and gestured to the others to enter. Riker nodded to the silent man, slightly mildly amused by the soldier’s direct approach.
The team filed slowly into the dark corridor beyond, and Worf and Data each ignited palm lamps they had brought with them, illuminating the long, empty space. The ship’s normally bright and sterile walls were now dark and foreboding, the computer interfaces and lighting strips that lined them cracked and unlit. “What could have done this?” Riker asked quietly to himself, keeping pace directly behind Data as he stared down a side hallway, blocked off by reams of power cable that dangled from its shattered ceiling.
Worf, who was walking behind the dower and silent Nurse Ogawa and just ahead of Master Chief, shifted his light source onto the commander’s back. “From what I saw of the hull damage, I would guess that this ship was attacked by a vessel employing phasers of some sort, although without closer analysis, I cannot be sure of what type,” he said. Riker pondered the information; most of the species in the Alpha and Beta quadrants used phasers, but he couldn’t imagine any of them attacking a Federation vessel, especially with the brutality that the massive damage indicated. As of the Enterprise’s departure, the Federation was on fairly good terms with all the major powers that surrounded it, and Riker couldn’t imagine any fringe group taking on a Starfleet vessel of this size.
Suddenly, an all but forgotten memory, one unaccountably driven to the back of his mind over the last few weeks came to the surface; the Columbus. It was a Federation ship that had driven the Enterprise and he crew into the distant and hostile galaxy they were now in, and there seemed to be no explanation for their attack. The strange creature’s that had boarded during the attack also seemed beyond explanation; perhaps the crew had been infected somehow by interstellar parasites that had mutated them, or perhaps they had encountered a strange new alien life form that had commandeered the ship, both occurrences were not without precedent. Still, neither felt right to Riker, and he suddenly felt cold, new, unsettling theories about the ship’s attackers coalescing in his mind.
At the end of the hallway, the group again halted, this time facing a turbolift access hatch. Tentatively, Commander Data tapped the door’s control interface, and to the team’s mild surprise, the obstruction slid open, revealing a small lift cabin, lit dimly by a flickering ceiling panel. Riker inspected the compartment; it appeared to be stable enough, but it was quite small, only able to comfortably accommodate four people unencumbered by survival gear. However, time was too short to search for another operational lift, so Riker stepped aside and beckoned to the Master Chief, easily the largest of the group. “After you.”
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The lift ride was long and unsettling; the weight of four humanoids and a cyborg that weighed half a ton did little to ease the strain on the already damaged compartment, and the sounds of it creaking as it hurtled through the battered innards of the Steamrunner help convey the weakness to its passengers. Finally, the lift came to a stop and the five team members spilled out into the hallway, eager to be off the potential death trap.
They found themselves in a hallway adjacent to main engineering. This deep into the vessel, the damage was not as severe as it had been closer to the bridge and weapons systems, but the signs of battle were still quite evident. Signs of a very different kind of battle. As soon as she had exited the turbolift, Ogawa gasped audibly and nearly fell back into the lift, shocked by what she saw. Half a dozen bodies lay stretched out across the floor, each in various states of mutilation. The walls were covered in scrapes and phaser burns, and a large section of the hallway several meters to their right had been blown away, mangled wiring visible under ruptured deck plate.
Master Chief swiftly tore a blaster pistol from his belt and switched of its safety, using it to cover both ends of the hall. Worf, even though he lacked a weapon, also sprang to attention moving to put himself between the rest of the group and any possible attackers who might be lying in wait. Riker knelt beside one of the bodies that was lying near his feet, the corpse of a human female. She was almost unrecognizable, covered in vicious gashes and sickly burn marks, most of them focused around her face and neck. What little undamaged skin that remained on her had begun to take on a greenish, rotted complexion; apparently there was still oxygen in this part of the ship.
“Commander.” Data’s voice directed him to another corpse, lying across the walkway. After taking one last mournful look at the dead woman, Riker rose and turned to the object the Lt. Commander wanted him to look at. Roughly the size and shape of a large dog, the creature that lay crumpled before him was quite unlike anything he had ever seen, and yet was strangely familiar. It was covered in a slick, reddish hide that was thick and scabrous and drenched with a liquid of some sort, perhaps its own blood, or the blood of another. It had a long, angular head adorned with two large tusks and tiny black eyes, and its forelegs were each tipped by a single, knife-like claw more than a foot long. The cause of the creature’s death was also apparent; it sported a gapping hole its chest, most likely cut by a hand phaser.
After examining the hideous creature briefly, Riker glanced at Data. “Can you identify this thing?” he asked over the comm. “I do not believe so commander,” he replied. “There is no species in my memory banks that matches the physical proportions of the organism.” Riker nodded nonplused and looked back at the creature, over which officer Ogawa was now standing, her tricorder moving back and forth over it. He noticed her gloved hands were shaking as she worked. “Are you alright?” Riker asked her, moving closer. Unsteadily, she closed the scanning device and turned to the commanding officer. He could see was quivering slightly behind the survival suit’s mask.
“I’m alright sir,” she gulped. “But…” She paused, trying to regain her composure. Riker was not surprised that she would be unnerved; Onigawa and others of her rank typically stayed on duty in the Enterprise’s medbay, and likely had never seen the more gruesome spectacles away teams sometimes encountered in person. Still, she seemed to be reacting to more than just the carnage around them. “The readings I’m picking up from this creature are very similar to the one’s that were recorded from a boarder we captured before the Enterprise was evacuated. I can’t be sure without more advanced equipment, but it looks like whatever those things on the Columbus were, they didn’t die with it.” Data gestured to the area down the hall that had been gutted by an explosion. “The type of damage is very similar to the kind left by those boarders who exploded in their effort to cripple the Enterprise.”
The secret dread that had been growing in Riker since they encountered the Federation vessel came back anew, stronger and more persistent than before. The things that had destroyed his ship and ensured capture or death for most of her crew had spread, and he feared what damage they might have caused, how far they might have spread.
“Sir.” Commander Worf said over the comm, catching Riker’s attention. “There are eight casualties the immediate area, all Federation personnel, all dead.” Grimly, the Klingon glanced down at the dog-sized creature. “I also located ten more of those things. They seemed to have entered the passageway through a hole cut through the ceiling several meters down. None of them appear to be alive either.” Prompted by the tactical officer’s words, Data activated his tricorder once again. “There are definitely life readings emanating from this deck, approximately thirty meters down that adjoining hallway. However, I am unable to determine the species or number of the organisms.”
Riker checked his chronometer. “Alright, we have nineteen minutes until our ride leaves. Commander Data and I will locate an operational computer hub and collect as much information as possible.” Data immediately activated a wall schematic of the ship and began to assess it. As he was doing so, Riker turned to the others. “Worf, I want you to take Onigawa and the Chief to investigate the life readings. Be careful, we don’t know if any of these things are still alive. Contact me if you locate any survivors or run into trouble. We meet back here in twelve.”
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Blaster in hand, the Master Chief lead the group of there down the hallway indicated to them by Data, past walls scuffed with phaser marks and the occasional spatter of blood, with evenly spaced sealed doorways every few meters. Behind him, Onigawa tried to ignore the body she had just stepped over, that of an Andorian man who seemed to have had his right arm torn out of its socket. She glanced back at Worf, who had taken off his helmet and was holding it at his side while he sniffed the stale and pungent air, alert for possible threats. “So, you don’t talk much, do you,” Ogawa asked over the helmet comm, directing her words towards the soldier in front of her in an attempt to take her mind of the grim scene around them.
“I speak when I need to,” was his response, and then a definite silence, as if he was telling her and this is not one of those times. The woman gulped and quietly looked back at the tricorder in her hand. “We should turn left at that intersection up there.” The soldier nod almost imperceptibly and quickly covered the last few meters to the point where their hallway ran into another. His weapon rose to the ready, he glanced quickly down both sides of the passage as the other two made their way to his position. “Anything?” Worf asked, sliding up along side the Spartan. The Chief shook his head and slowly swung out into the hallway, his Bryar side arm flashing from side to side with elegant precision.
“There?” the Chief asked, gesturing at a large doorway which bore the label ‘Main Engineering’ next to it in block lettering. Beyond its double sliding doors, which lay slightly ajar, only blackness was visible. Onigawa rechecked her readings and shook her head, pointing instead to a doorway to the right of engineering and on the other side of the hall. “That should be one of the coolant intake conduit junctions for the warp core,” Worf commented. “It would seem whatever’s in there had to put up a fight to get in.” Strewn around the closed doorway, nearly a dozen federation crewmen and alien beasts lay dead, sporting a variety of burns, cuts, and gashes; some of them looked like they had been chewed on after death. Worf and Master Chief took the scene in stride, but Ogawa had to hold onto the wall for a moment to recover from it.
Picking their way over the battlefield, the group at last came to the door, and not surprisingly, found it locked. Worf examined the barrier, which was scored dozens of claw marks, and then tried the control panel to no avail. Master Chief moved up along side him and began to prepare to open the door ‘manually’, but Worf stopped him. “No, that door is likely far stronger than the others we have encountered. Federation coolant junctions are designed with blast doors that can contain potential leaks and overloads. In any event, it would be unwise to make more noise than necessary, in case any of these creatures are still nearby.” The Chief stared at him from behind his opaque visor. “Then what do you propose?”
Worf considered for a moment, and then care fully pried the control panel in front of him off the wall, revealing a mass of wiring and optic cable. Then the Klingon punched his hand into the opening, dug around for a moment, and then ripped a large section of the electronic mass out from the wall. After a second, the door retracted to the side with a soft hiss, and the Chief brought his weapon to bear on the room beyond.
The center of the room was dominated by large junction that connected four gray and blue tubes that emerged from the floor and ceiling and two of the room’s walls. The conduits were quiet and unlit; the core was obviously offline. Aside from the junction, the chamber appeared to be empty, save for a control station set in a nearby wall, and a few supply crates that lined far side. Cautiously, the Chief entered the room with his blaster at the ready, and tried to maneuver around the central column so he could have a view of the entire chamber. Suddenly, out of the corner of his unnaturally acute eye, he spotted movement from behind the supply crates, and the glint of metal. Acting on instinct and decades of combat training, the soldier jumped to the side, seeking cover behind the inactive junction, and a fraction of a second later, the red beam of a phaser swept through the air, blackening the wall behind where the Chief had just been standing.
Not stopping to allow the attacker to get off another shot, the Spartan rolled out from behind the central column and fired two blaster bolts at the crates. One of the energy bolts impacted a tubular crate harmlessly, but the other hit the attacker’s weapon head on, causing him to cry out and drop the smoking phaser. In a flash, the Chief was over the conduit between him and the crates, across the small room, and on top of the assailant, pinning him to the far wall. Worf was close behind, moving to aid the Chief while Ogawa stayed a safe distance away from the fray.
Arms and legs constricted under the Chief’s immense weight, a wiry, gaunt woman, dressed in a tattered gold uniform struggled in vain to reach a second hand phaser lying just out of reach. Her eyes were wide open and bloodshot, staring at Master Chief’s black face plate fixedly, her face quivering with fear. Worf rushed up along side the pair and tried to calm the woman down. “Its all right, we’ve come to rescue you. Those things can’t get to you know.” The survivor didn’t not seem to hear Worf, or even notice he was there, her whole attention fixed on the Chief’s blank helmet, on which a distorted version of her own haggard face was reflected. She mouthed wordlessly, her eyes windows to her inner pain and fear. The Chief shifted his weight, removing some of the pressure that crushed the woman in place, and moved his left hand slowly towards the back of his neck, where his helmet seal was located. Before he could reach it however, the woman let out one final wordless cry, and slummed down, her limbs now limp and lifeless.
“Ensign Ogawa,” Worf called gruffly, setting down his helmet as he helped prop the unconscious survivor up against the wall. The medical officer approached slowly and nervously, but when she saw that the attacker was human, she broke into a run, pulling her tricorder free of its holster. Crouching beside the woman, she ran the scanner over her body worriedly and inspected some of the deeper cuts that she sported all over her body, especially on her left arm. “Her life signs are weak, and some of those cuts may be infected, but she should survive if we can get her back to the ship,” the nurse said, then opened a large pocket set in the side of her atmospheric suite. “This survival gear should hold enough oxygen for us to get her through the breached section of the ship and to the shuttle.” Out of the pocket came a large piece of folded white fabric, which Ogawa proceeded to unfurl into a large body suit, complete with a flexible translucent visor.
As the nurse worked to slip the woman into the suit, Worf searched the survivor’s hiding place, and picked up the two phasers. The one the Master Chief had shot was useless, but the other was in working order, so Worf clipped it to his atmosphere suit, insurance against any surprises they might encounter on they’re way back to the turbolift. Then the Lt. Commander placed back on his head and tapped into the comm unit. “Commander Riker, we have located a survivor in one of the chambers adjacent to main engineering.” After a moment, Riker’s voice crackled over the link. “Good, Data and I have located a computer terminal and our downloading as much information as we can from it. Seven minutes until we rendezvous back at the lift; if you don’t locate anyone else soon, head back, we’ll catch up.”
“Confirmed,” Worf responded, and switched off the comm link. “Ensign, are you picking up any other life readings in this area?” Ogawa, who was sealing the survivor’s helmet to the suit, looked up and checked her tricorder. After a moment she frowned. “I’m not sure sir. There are strong signals emanating from Main Engineering, but…” she paused adjusting a few controls. “But what?” Master Chief prompted, moving closer to the doorway, blaster in hand. Suddenly, Ogawa looked up in horror. “I don’t think there human.”
Last edited by Noble Ire on 2006-02-19 12:56am, edited 1 time in total.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
-
The Grim Squeaker
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 10315
- Joined: 2005-06-01 01:44am
- Location: A different time-space Continuum
- Contact:
So far this is my favorite fic on the board 
.
I smell Zerg (or possibly flood but it sounds like infested terran's to me)
.I smell Zerg (or possibly flood but it sounds like infested terran's to me)
Photography
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Chapter Thirty Two
Deep with in the interior of the battle scarred Mon Calamari cruiser Republica, Protoss High Templar Tassadar sat in deep meditation. Perched upon a supply crate nestled within one of the ship’s large cargo bays, the weary being focused all his extensive energies on recovery, and introspection. The confrontation with the human known as Darth Vader, even though it had happened nearly a week previous, had left him drained both physically and mentally, and recuperation had been slow. The twisted entity possessed powers great and powerful, different than anything he had ever encountered before, and perhaps surpassing even his own psionic abilities. If he had not been able to muster the final blast of energy that had delayed the fight, Vader would have most likely broken through his defenses.
The existence of creatures that could wield this strange new power, the “Force” as he had heard the young Jacen Solo describe it, was troubling; it defied the principles and knowledge set down by the Order of the Templar over the millennia of the Protoss Empire’s existence. Tassadar had always been the most opened-minded of the Protoss Conclave, learning the forbidden ways of the Dark Templar, and eventually even splitting with the Conclave and its Judicators when the tides of war with the hated Zerg demanded it. Even so, the idea that humans could attain such power made him uneasy, it reminded him of…her.
As his thoughts wandered the stars and his body regenerated, the Templar became aware of a familiar sensation, nearby and growing in intensity. It sickened him. It was like a quiet scraping in the back of his skull, a feeling he knew all too well. His mind switched focus, folding back in towards himself, searching for the source of the disturbance. Vaguely, he could see the blasted hull of a disk-like starship, the movement of beings inside it. Suddenly, a torrent of twisted thought and emotion hit him, and Tassadar’s deep eyes shot open.
The Zerg were near, and they were hungry.
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“How much longer Data?” Commander Riker asked, calling over his shoulder as he worked at a wall-mounted computer terminal, illuminated by the sputtering light fixture that hung above. Behind him, Data too worked at an interface, bypassing corrupted circuits and fragmented data in the Steamrunner’s main computer, each file and bit of information he recovered quickly copied by a data jack that sat plugged into the damaged network.
“The Cornwall’s computer database has been heavily corrupted, and there are several firewalls in place here that I have never encountered before,” the android replied, using the ship’s proper name, information he had gleaned from analysis of its navigational logs. “However, I believe that I can access most of the pertinent information available in the ship’s scientific and navigational logs within the next three minutes.” Riker grunted in acknowledgement and returned his attention to the search he had tasked himself with, accessing the most recent of the ship’s active duty logs. He had to know what had happened to the ship, what had driven the Cornwall through the wormhole and killed her crew.
The Commander entered a series of manual commands, the computer interface’s voice response unit was offline, and attempted to gain access to her operational status and command logs over the week before her warp core had gone offline. Most of the information was inaccessible; Riker wasn’t in a very good position to locate the data anyways, working from a secondary maintenance terminal was hampering his efforts, and he had never been as adept at computer operation as some of the others in his crew. However, after bypassing a few dead end network pathways, he finally brought up the main log chronicling the period he wanted to investigate. The stardates on most of the log entries were obviously showing up incorrectly, listing random dates years in the future, and some files were not tagged at all, but Riker was able to open up a file, fairly recent, and play it.
A small display panel set into the terminal flickered to life with a burst of static, the random blur quickly fading away replaced by the image of a Vulcan male, perhaps as old as Riker himself. “Captain Koltopek of USS Cornwall recording, stardate 53…” the image burst into static momentarily, and then recovered at diminished visual clarity. “…reports that we are still unable to contact Starbase Twenty Two, or the Sigma Aberon colony. It is possible that they have been taken and if that is the case, than it is likely the subspace communications network in this region is already down. Nevertheless, I am attempting to contact Admiral Colti; if the second fleet is still operational, they may require the Cornwall and the Endurance to rendezvous to aid in a…” the log cut out in another burst of static, leaving Riker to ponder what he had just seen. The recording had not been clear, and as was Vulcan custom the Captain showed no sign of emotion, but even the small fragment he had heard suggested something big was happening in Federation space.
Riker glanced back at Data, who was still working diligently, then at his wrist chronometer, and then turned back to the log entries. He cycled down, trying each one in turn, finding most corrupted beyond comprehension. Finally he came to the last entry and accessed it, and to his surprise, the display panel lit up. Through the sheen of static that disrupted the picture, the commander could make out a figure illuminated by red emergency lights. Over the speaker a klaxon blared and crewmen shouted back and forth, nearly drowning out the log’s subject. “Acting Captain Travers,” the figure said over the encroaching static. “We are fleeing the Ereldel system…most of the fleet gone, we still don’t know what they did to…of the Endurance is unknown, Ops thinks they didn’t make to warp.”
The figure paused; wiping his face free of some grime that Riker could not make out, but he guessed was blood. “We’ll make for the nebula in sector 88-43; we might lose them if we can get in there. If this recording ever makes its way back…that this crew has served with skill and loyalty far beyond what any commanding officer could hope for, and I am glad to have served…” The man again paused, looking off-screen this time. “What? Where?” Seal off those decks, we have to give Engineering more time! Alert every non essential crewman, prepare to repel boarders.”
With that, the log blinked out, and the computer’s entry memory ended, culminating the list of mostly useless logs with a note indicating that main power had gone offline. Riker sighed, the sensation of dread growing ever stronger within him. “Alright Data, take what you’ve got, we have to get off this ship. Our departure window is disappearing fast,” the commander said as he sealed his atmosphere suit’s helmet back in place. Before he could continue however, Riker heard a loud clunk from behind him, accompanied by a series of odd hisses. Startled, Riker whirled around and immediately recoiled in surprise; Data was kneeling upon the floor, pinning a mass of red and purple against the floor.
From his vantage point, Riker could see that the mass was in fact one of the creatures that his team had discovered littering the hallway around the turbolift, but this one was very much alive. Thrown on its back, the dog-sized beast thrashed widely, hissing loudly as its huge clawed forelegs lash about aimlessly, their upper sections constricted by Data’s hands. His face a mask of concentration, the android slowly focused his weight on the creature, bending its forelegs down towards its slick carapace, and the creature began to hiss and screech more loudly. At last, with one final push, Data compressed the thing’s legs into its chest, and with a sickening crunch, the being went limp.
Gapping slightly, Riker rushed forward to help the officer to his feet. “What happened?” he asked quickly as Data collected the data jack from the computer terminal he had been operating. “While you were completing the analysis of the terminal, I noticed that this creature was moving towards us from that corridor at a rapid rate.” Data nodded to the hallway directly across from their work station, its distant end shadowed in the darkness of failed emergency lighting. “It lunged at you, so I took the most logical course of action, and intercepted it before it could reach you.” Riker gulped and glanced down at the beast again, his danger senses now blaring. “Thanks Data. I think now would be a good time to leave.”
The two officers set off at a run down the passageway from which they had come, a hall only a few dozen meters from the turbolift bank. As they ran, Riker tapped into his helmet’s comm and tried to raise Worf, but before he had time to say anything, he found himself shoved into the wall as Data wheeled around and placed himself behind his commanding officer. From the direction they had just come, two more creatures were speeding forward, all four legs tearing at the floor as they propelled themselves towards their targets, jabbering with animalistic glee. One of them leaped forward towards Data, and he intercepted it in midair, his fist meeting its neck with a loud wet thud. However, the other being pushed forward as well and dove at the android even as its comrade fell to the floor motionless.
Its mandibles snapping ferociously, the beast knocked Data to the floor, and it proceeded to try and tear off the target’s head with its huge claws. A few feet from the fray, Riker sat back helpless for a moment as Data attempted to tear off the attacker, and then his gaze fell on the tattered corpse of a Federation security man draped out across the floor, a phaser rifle still clutched in his hands. Stumbling forward, Riker pried the weapon from the dead man’s grasp and rolled onto his back, desperately aiming towards Data and his attacker.
The creature was still on top of the android, scything its huge claws downwards at Data’s head. The Lt. Commander evaded as best he could, twisting his neck from side to side as he tried to gain purchase on the beast’s thrashing body. One of the claws cut too close, and a foot of sharpened bone sliced through Data’s clear visor, scraping his left cheek, and then withdrawing, wrenching the ruined helmet away with it. The creature arched its back and raised its claws to strike again, but before it could act, a pulse of red energy tore into its side and set the thing spinning onto the floor. It writhed for a moment, hissing and squealing as it clawed at the floor, and then fell silent.
Riker rushed over Data, and for the second time helped him to his feet. “Are you alright?” The android put one hand to his cheek, which was now missing a large chunk of synthetic gray flesh, revealing a slivery layer studded with blinking lights beneath. “The damage is only superficial, it should not impede my operation to any great extent,” Data responded coolly, inspecting his damaged helmet, which now sported a gapping hole in the visor. Such a loss might prove fatal for a human in this situation, but Data could survive exposure to hard vacuum, so the trip back to the shuttle would not be a problem. However, if the creature had struck only a few more inches to the left, Data was quite sure his cognitive and ambulatory functions would have been stalled, permanently. “I believe it is my turn to thank you.”
Riker nodded quickly and scanned the hallway behind and in front of them warily, his gun held at the ready. “Call us even. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The pair tore down the battle scarred passage, navigating their way around exposed wiring and heaps of decomposing bodies, increasingly aware of the growing din that was forming all around them; the sound of a thousand tiny feet scraping deck plates. Swinging around a bend in the path, Riker and Data at last arrived back at the turbolift bank. Mercifully, the hall was vacant of any living specimens of the strange alien things, but the commander didn’t count on it staying that way. Before they continued on, Data inspected a wall panel and tapped in a few commands, triggering a large blast door to fall into place between them and passage they had just exited. It was a stroke of good fortune, but it wouldn’t last for long; on their way though the upper decks, the team had spotted blast doors like this one torn into pieces, and Riker could now guess what had destroyed them.
The lift that had carried them before stood ready, its doors still open, but Riker noticed that the rest of the team was not there waiting for him, and they had defiantly not already gone ahead. As Data secured their escape route, Riker again tried to raise Worf over the helmet’s comm unit. However his hails went unanswered, as did the ones directed at Ensign Ogawa and the Master Chief. Sighing in exasperation, Riker hefted his rifle and called to Data. “Commander Worf and his team aren’t responding, were going to have to go after them.” Data nodded, and after a moment of searching the floor, scooped up a blood stained hand phaser that lay discarded in the middle of the morbid battlefield. “Commander, I must remind you that we have only nine minutes and twenty one seconds before the shuttle departs, and the journey back to it from the upper levels will take at least three.”
“Then we’ll have to do this fast,” Riker replied, glancing around for any new signs of opposition. “Let’s go.”
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One pulse. And then two more. The creature slumped to the deck plate, its small head scored with three smoking fist-sized holes. Before it had even finished its death twitches though, it was engulfed by a wave of its brethren, clattering heedlessly over the body, all focused on what lay beyond. Several more beasts fell a mere meter beyond where the first fatality lay, but the rest pushed on forward, ignoring the losses and the red bolts hiss past their scabrous hides.
Master Chief ceased the hail of deadly fire for a moment to slam his only spare cartridge he had into his blaster pistol, his legs still propelling him away from the surging horde of alien creatures. Keeping pace alongside him, Lt. Commander Worf continued to lay down fire, the phaser he had requisitioned from the survivors’ hiding place sending beast after beast to the floor with controlled beams of crimson energy. The Chief appreciated the help the Klingon was providing, and the two warriors had been able to keep their small group ahead of the wave of attacking creatures, but both were running low on ammunition, and the enemy were moving more quickly than they were, slowed as they were by the tight passages. The Chief had is own impediment; just ahead of the two men, Ensign Ogawa pushed forward as quickly as she could, forced to bear the load of the unconscious survivor limp in her arms over her arm. The officer was performing admirably under the circumstances, but she simply could not move fast enough, and even now she was slowing, adrenaline powered muscles quickly giving way under the load.
His pistol loaded, Master Chief snapped off a few more shots before shouting to Worf over the din that the hunting pack was making. “Give me your weapon and take the survivor. I can hold them back while you shift the weight.” Worf glanced at the man’s opaque face plate, his frown visible even behind his suit’s visor. The Chief knew men and women like the Lt. Commander; they disliked letting off the guns when there was an enemy still alive in sight. He could respect the feeling, but he hoped that the officer could see that they had to move more or the alien horde would overwhelm them.
After a few more pulses from his weapon, Worf nodded and grunted over the comm, “Catch.” With his free hand, the spartan plucked the phaser out of the air as it flew, and brought both weapons to bear on their pursuers as Worf accelerated to catch up with Ogawa. Master Chief pulsed the phaser’s control stud, and nearly lost the weapon as it belched its deadly wave of energy; it was slightly better designed than the side arms the soldier had seen on the Enterprise, but the thing was still an ergonomic nightmare, he was surprised that security officers didn’t kill themselves when they tried to use them. Adjusting his grip for the weapon’s unusual sleek shape, the Chief slowed his running rate slightly as Worf shifted the survivor to more evenly distribute the weight between himself and Ogawa.
Three more beasts fell under a hail of well aimed pulses and beams, but more simply took there place, joining with the main force from side passages, holes in the ceiling, and the doors that lined the walls. As soon as the four of them had left the coolant chamber, they had been swarmed by the first of the beings, who had apparently come from the darkened Main Engineering. Master Chief guessed that the hisses and shrieks the creatures were making were calling more of their kin to join the hunt, a signal that living prey had been found. They’re behavior was very similar to that of the accursed Flood, although the Spartan was thankful that at least these creatures went down far more easily than the parasitic bastards.
The Federation officers and their motionless charge turned down a side corridor and the Chief followed close behind, his weapons pulsing as they rapidly ran out of power. “We are almost to the lift,” Worf called out from ahead. Mentally, the Chief counted his ammo; the pistol in his hand had only four shots left, and the phaser most likely would not last any longer, its power cell indicator flashing a dangerously low number in red. Behind him, the creatures kept on coming, slashing at the walls, the floor, and each other with clawed feet to get at their selected prey. The closest were a mere dozen meters from the Chief, and they probably would be far closer if the beings didn’t periodically jam the hallway with the sheer weight of their numbers, stalling the horde until the ones farther back could leap over the stalled leaders. They weren’t very smart, the Chief noted as he picked off one of them, but they made up for it with sheer numbers and persistence unshaken by mounting casualties.
Without warning, one of the shadowed doors between the Chief and the others exploded open, revealing a mass of flesh and living armor which burst forth into the hall, nearly knocking the spartan off his feet and causing his shields to flicker slightly. The Chief quickly regained his footing and tried to aim his guns at the new threat, but before he could, a blow like the impact of a small tank smashed against his chest, almost completely draining his shields and sending him flying a meter down the hall. Just barely to keep on his feet, the soldier, noting that the phaser had slipped from his grasp, opened up on the thing. As the bolts found they’re marks at points along the thing’s head and torso, the Chief caught a good look at it; a humanoid mass of reddish scales and sinew, one of the creatures that had attacked the Enterprise, to great effect. It was smaller than the creatures he had seen on the Federation flagship, but was horrific and menacing nonetheless. Suddenly, as the being reeled from the blaster wounds, Master Chief remembered just how the boarders had inflicted the most damage on the ship, and flung himself as far away as he could, leaping to cover the still fleeing Federation officers.
An instant later, a huge explosion rocked the area and chunks of superheated flesh and metal rammed into the Chief’s already weakened shielding. Staggering, the soldier pushed forward, feeling a burning sensation spread over his back. The three in front of him had been mostly shielded from the blast, but a few fragments of shrapnel had apparently penetrated his shielding and the body glove under his armor plating. As he urged the somewhat dazed Worf and Ogawa forward, he fervently hoped that the medical officer had something with her that could seal the hole long enough for him to pass through the breached part of the ship.
The flood of alien creatures, halted momentarily by the other creature’s detonation, were on the move again, swarming over hole that the blast had made, as eager as ever to set upon their fleeing prey. Emboldened even further by the lack of fire from the Chief’s now empty blaster, they surged forth hungrily, rapidly overtaking the bedraggled rescue team. Even as the hallway they were in ended and the turbolifts were in sight, the foremost of the creatures leapt at the Spartan’s back with mindless glee. Unfortunately for the creature, a thin ribbon of red energy swept over its body, and the thing found that half its head was missing.
Standing at the end of the passage, Riker and Data stood, they’re weapons spitting out covering fire upon the rushing force. As Worf and the others came within arm’s reach, the commander flipped a switch on his rifle, and the weapon’s pulses intensified dramatically in speed, shredding the hunting animals as they came too close, and giving the one’s behind them momentary pause. Taking advantage of the lull, Data and the Chief urged the others into the waiting compartment, Riker behind them, his weapon still spraying fire on the packed wall of hissing death.
As the commander backed into the packed lift, a bellow resounded down the hallway, and another of the humanoids came into view. This one was large than the first, its huge clawed arms smashing aside lesser creatures as it strode towards the turbolift, tiny, obscured eyes fixed on its inhabitants. “I think now would be a good time to leave,” Worf said earnestly, his eyes fixed on the lumbering monstrosity. Data punched the inner door control, and the barrier slid shut just as the beast reached the lift bank. With a loud bang, the thing bashed its fists against the doors, leaving two huge dents in the metal, but before it could strike again, the lift shot upwards, leaving Engineering behind.
After he had caught his breath, Riker glanced over at Worf, who was propping the unconscious survivor against the wall, and grinned jokingly. “Why Mr. Worf, you actually sounded a little frightened back there.” The Klingon glared at him. “No sir, I…” He was cut off as a tremendous explosion erupted from far below them, sending shockwaves though the lift tunnel and forcing the compartment’s inhabitants into the walls roughly. “I was simply stating the course of action I found most reasonable considering the situation. Was there a flaw in my reasoning?” Riker glanced at the floor unnerved and then shook his head in silence.
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The gardens that lay in the north western quadrant of the Imperial Palace were a truly anachronistic thing indeed, a patch of life and greenery amid a sea of cold machinery and durasteel. There was no doubt that the late Palpatine was quite twisted and insane behind his outer façade of cold control, and his whims were quite often very erratic, as evidenced by the patch of vibrant beauty that Darth Vader now walked through, deep in thought. In the fading light of Coruscant’s distant sun, the odd colorations and forms of various plants from a dozen alien worlds melded into a living tapestry. Of course the elegant beauty of the place was completely lost on the dark lord, but somehow being surrounded by life helped his thoughts flow more clearly, something he was in dire need of after the chaotic events of the last few weeks.
As he walked down a trim cobblestone path, Vader reflected on the meeting that had occurred earlier in the day, deep within the fortress of steel that towered above him. He had debriefed Captain Meterin Coloth in person relating to his encounter with the wormhole, and the crew of this USS Enterprise. It was certainly not common procedure for the ruler of the Galactic Empire to personally conference with a lowly Star Destroyer captain, but Vader had taken a special interest in the unique situation, especially after encountering several of the beings who were supposedly extra-galactic in origin. Vader flexed his right hand slowly, recalling the strange reptilian creature that had beaten him off the bridge during the destruction of the rebellion at Sullust. Not destruction, he reminded himself, a few rebel ships had escaped the fray, but most of its leadership and its fleet had been wiped from the face of the galaxy, as had the rebel forces that remained in the Mon Calamari system. There were survivors, but they would soon be eliminated, and the galaxy, his galaxy would at last be at peace.
According to the Captain’s report, the rift that the Enterprise had emerged from had collapsed not long after the capture of the Federation ship’s crew. The thousand or so prisoners Coloth had taken were now enroot to a secret Ubiqtorate detention facility where they would be more thoroughly interrogated and held until a further use was determined for them. A notable exception from those incarcerated was the ship’s command staff, who with the aid of a squad of rebel terrorists had escaped the ship before Vader’s arrival. The dark lord had considered executing the captain for his failure and the loss of information that it would bring, but he had decided against it. With the rift now gone, any knowledge garnered from the prisoners would most likely have been useless, the loss had not been too great. It was a shame though, Vader reflected, if the portal had remained open, it might have meant a whole knew domain for the Empire to dominate, a place in need of Vader’s brand of order, and the teachings of the Sith.
There had been another attendant at the briefing, and although she had not spoken at all throughout, she had garnered far more of Vader’s interest. Aayla Secura was powerful in the force, more so than he had first suspected. She was also progressing down the true path, away from the weakness of the Old Jedi, far more quickly than he had anticipated. There was a deep darkness in her that could be set free, if she could harness it, Aayla Secura would make a formidable Lady of the Sith indeed. A worthy apprentice.
At that thought, a chill ran down his spin, and Vader paused, his mind shifting towards different matters almost as if by its own volition. He thought again of the medical chamber buried deep within the palace, his son floating between life and death in a bacta tank. An image of the man’s face drifted into his thoughts, lifeless and tallow, and suddenly felt an emotion he was quite unaccustomed to well up from deep within his cold heart. Regret.
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With a hiss and electrical clatter, two blades of energy met at the center, on blood red, the other bright green. As the pair strained and pushed against one another, their combined luminescence cast the figures wielding them in an eerie glow. Nightmare mask enhanced by the contrasting energies before him, Darth Vader stared down at his son, who looked back, his face set with concentration and sorrow. Luke Skywalker’s grip tightened on his saber hilt and he pushed forward, hoping that the ebony titan would give ground. However, Vader stood there immovable, his right fist clenched around the red weapon, while the other hung at his side at the ready.
The two stood there like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Their gaze was a duel in itself, the clash of two irreconcilable beliefs, the strife between a father and son long at long and terrible odds. Neither would give ground, there was only defeat or victory, and were both determined to gain the latter. After what seemed like a century, Luke’s arms finally began to buckle, and he was forced to break his saber free of Vader’s, stepping back to gain better footing. Vader saw the move, broke his saber free at the same instant, and lunged in too strike again.
Hammer blow after hammer blow, the red blade came down again on Luke, and each time he deflected and parried, trying to push back at his father, but with each strike he fell back even further. As he desperately intercepted each slash and jab, the young Jedi’s resolve began to flicker. He was too powerful; only seconds into the fight Luke was already giving ground. Maybe he hadn’t been ready, perhaps Vader and the Dark Side that drove him were more powerful, greater than anything Luke could hope to achieve. Sweat began to bead on the man’s forehead, and he fell back even further.
Then, in the back of his mind, he felt a comforting presence; he could feel the force flowing through him anew. A gentle hand brushed against him, and he could feel the fatigue in his limbs melt away, muscles and tendons alive with the warmth and strength of the force. Perhaps Master Obi-wan and Yoda were still with him. Reinvigorated and with new hope, Luke switched his tactics.
As Vader brought his saber down again, instead of falling back to meet it, the Jedi ducked and evade the blow, bringing his saber around to attack the sith’s undefended side. Taking the new move in stride, Vader brought his blade down to block his flank, pulling it in closer too him. Luke now pressed forward lunging while the dark lord was off balance, sending his blade high at Vader’s head. Again, he easily parried, but it cost his position, and Darth Vader was forced to step back. Luke continued the assault, his weapon humming as he swung the blade at his opponent again and again, high and low, forcing Bader to adjust to every attack. As if only now feeling the threat his son posed, Vader’s movements became suddenly more focused and increased in speed, and Luke’s advanced was slowed, but he still had the upper hand, for now.
The combatants continued the deadly dance, weapons thrumming with energy as they met again and again. The two moved out into the open center of the docking bay, trading advances and retreats, each testing their opponent for weaknesses and looking for missteps. As he parried a horizontal chop from his son, Vader spied a large supply crate lying against the wall a dozen meters away, and with the smallest nod of the head and a simple thought, the heavy object hurtled towards Luke. His senses alert for such attacks, Vader had used them during their previous combat on Bespin, the young Jedi anticipated the attack, and leapt into the air just as the crate slammed into the deck plate below him, screeching as it skidded along the floor.
Angling his flight with the force, Luke’s jump propelled him several meters into the air, and with a well timed flip, he landed behind his father, saber ready to begin the attack anew. However, the sith had sensed the move from his son, and was already turned to face him, and so they’re duel continued without pause.
“I can feel the power of the force surging within you Luke,” Vader intoned as Luke deftly avoided one of his lunges. “Let it flow freely, feel the darkness that lies underneath and take hold of it. It will give you far greater power than you can possibly imagine, and clarity of mind.”
“I know what the dark side has to offer, and I know what it shall do if I take that power,” Luke responded, dodging to the side as Vader tried to force him up against the hull of a dormant shuttle. “The dark side destroys all who touch it, corrupts them until all they can feel is anger and hatred. It is not the path to clarity and peace, only chaos and death lie down that road.” As he spoke, Luke’s offensive picked up momentum, his own words giving him new faith.
“Your mind is still polluted by the teachings of that old fool. Think Luke, they would have you destroy your own father; topple an Empire that has at last brought order to a decaying galaxy. What kind of truth is that? What peace can this conflict bring? The so called light of the force is a lie, something pulled over your eyes by slaves to the old order, desperate to keep their own power even at the cost of the destruction of us all.” Vader’s blade sliced into Luke’s, and once more they were locked, tying father and son together once more. “Think my son, what are you feelings telling you? This blind devotion to a failed order is wrong, it will destroy you. Embrace the darkness Luke; you know it is the only true path.”
As he stood locked in combat in mortal combat there, Luke’s resolve began to wane again. The little voice in the back of his head that had been there since he had learned of his true parentage emerged, whispering to him that perhaps Vader was right. Yoda and Obi-wan had sent him to destroy his father at all costs, that didn’t seem to be enlightened, the path to peace and wisdom. They were so adamant that Anakin could not be turned; perhaps they were afraid of what Luke might see if he tried, perhaps his father really had discovered the true will of the force. Luke’s saber dipped lower as he felt the surety that had strengthen him before fade, the demons of confusion and conflict taking there place.
Behind his bleak mask, Vader smiled. He too could feel the conflict in his son. Perhaps it was yet possible to turn him, Obi-wan’s poison had to taken hold fully. There was no desire in Vader to destroy his son. Darth Vader prepared to speak again, to push Luke further down the dark path, but suddenly Luke burst into motion, wrenching his blade free of the lock and bring it up to attack again. Vader could feel the seeds of anger and doubt spreading their roots quickly through his mind. As Vader moved his own weapon to intercept the blow, he reflected that perhaps this was a better method than talk after anyways. Luke had to taste the power the dark side could offer before he would fully be ready to take his place by Vader’s side.
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“My Lord?”
The sith looked up to find himself still in the garden, now standing at the edge of the plot of greenery, staring out over a windy precipice that was the edge of the palace rampart down at the city far below. Vader was irritated with himself; once again he had allowed his mind to wander away, unchecked by his meditations. He should be focused on driving away the doubt and contemplation that had cropped up since the destruction of the Emperor, not encouraging it. This was no way for a lord of the Sith to behave, it was weak, almost Jedi-like.
From behind, he heard the nervous rustling of clothing and turned; Aayla Secura stood there, watching him uncomfortably from a respectful distance. “What is it?” he asked, his voice brooding. The Twi’lek woman straightened sharply and lowered her gaze. “You had informed me to meet you hear at sunset. I am eager to begin my training.” Vader could feel that she was afraid of him. This was satisfactory, fear was key to control, if an underling did not fear and respect their master, they were susceptible to doubt, insubordination, and treachery. He also felt ambition from her, and latent power. These things were also gratifying; if molded properly, she would make a fine sith indeed. And then there was anger, he was glad to see it had not faded when they had destroy the Emperor, without anger and the need for vengeance, a sith would be weak, without purpose. Her anger was undirected with Palpatine now gone, Vader needed to give her an outlet to allow it to grow.
His cap buffeting in the mild wind, Vader began to march toward her, his hand moving to the saber at his side. If she was to become one with the dark, she would need to know how to fight as a sith. However, before he had gone a meter, he paused, his senses alerting him towards the palace. Something was amiss. Aayla looked on in confusion as her new master stared past her.
“There is an intruder in this place, nearby,” Vader said, more to himself than to his apprentice. It was barely imperceptible to him, but he could detect a being nearby, full of hatred and malice. Directed at him. The being was not strong in the force, but he could feel it with the intruder none the less. He probed deeper, trying to locate the creature, but it was difficult; whatever it was, it was skilled at shielding its thoughts. However, as he tried to trace the being, he was able to make out one thought, too strong in its mind to hide.
You will kill Darth Vader.
Deep with in the interior of the battle scarred Mon Calamari cruiser Republica, Protoss High Templar Tassadar sat in deep meditation. Perched upon a supply crate nestled within one of the ship’s large cargo bays, the weary being focused all his extensive energies on recovery, and introspection. The confrontation with the human known as Darth Vader, even though it had happened nearly a week previous, had left him drained both physically and mentally, and recuperation had been slow. The twisted entity possessed powers great and powerful, different than anything he had ever encountered before, and perhaps surpassing even his own psionic abilities. If he had not been able to muster the final blast of energy that had delayed the fight, Vader would have most likely broken through his defenses.
The existence of creatures that could wield this strange new power, the “Force” as he had heard the young Jacen Solo describe it, was troubling; it defied the principles and knowledge set down by the Order of the Templar over the millennia of the Protoss Empire’s existence. Tassadar had always been the most opened-minded of the Protoss Conclave, learning the forbidden ways of the Dark Templar, and eventually even splitting with the Conclave and its Judicators when the tides of war with the hated Zerg demanded it. Even so, the idea that humans could attain such power made him uneasy, it reminded him of…her.
As his thoughts wandered the stars and his body regenerated, the Templar became aware of a familiar sensation, nearby and growing in intensity. It sickened him. It was like a quiet scraping in the back of his skull, a feeling he knew all too well. His mind switched focus, folding back in towards himself, searching for the source of the disturbance. Vaguely, he could see the blasted hull of a disk-like starship, the movement of beings inside it. Suddenly, a torrent of twisted thought and emotion hit him, and Tassadar’s deep eyes shot open.
The Zerg were near, and they were hungry.
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“How much longer Data?” Commander Riker asked, calling over his shoulder as he worked at a wall-mounted computer terminal, illuminated by the sputtering light fixture that hung above. Behind him, Data too worked at an interface, bypassing corrupted circuits and fragmented data in the Steamrunner’s main computer, each file and bit of information he recovered quickly copied by a data jack that sat plugged into the damaged network.
“The Cornwall’s computer database has been heavily corrupted, and there are several firewalls in place here that I have never encountered before,” the android replied, using the ship’s proper name, information he had gleaned from analysis of its navigational logs. “However, I believe that I can access most of the pertinent information available in the ship’s scientific and navigational logs within the next three minutes.” Riker grunted in acknowledgement and returned his attention to the search he had tasked himself with, accessing the most recent of the ship’s active duty logs. He had to know what had happened to the ship, what had driven the Cornwall through the wormhole and killed her crew.
The Commander entered a series of manual commands, the computer interface’s voice response unit was offline, and attempted to gain access to her operational status and command logs over the week before her warp core had gone offline. Most of the information was inaccessible; Riker wasn’t in a very good position to locate the data anyways, working from a secondary maintenance terminal was hampering his efforts, and he had never been as adept at computer operation as some of the others in his crew. However, after bypassing a few dead end network pathways, he finally brought up the main log chronicling the period he wanted to investigate. The stardates on most of the log entries were obviously showing up incorrectly, listing random dates years in the future, and some files were not tagged at all, but Riker was able to open up a file, fairly recent, and play it.
A small display panel set into the terminal flickered to life with a burst of static, the random blur quickly fading away replaced by the image of a Vulcan male, perhaps as old as Riker himself. “Captain Koltopek of USS Cornwall recording, stardate 53…” the image burst into static momentarily, and then recovered at diminished visual clarity. “…reports that we are still unable to contact Starbase Twenty Two, or the Sigma Aberon colony. It is possible that they have been taken and if that is the case, than it is likely the subspace communications network in this region is already down. Nevertheless, I am attempting to contact Admiral Colti; if the second fleet is still operational, they may require the Cornwall and the Endurance to rendezvous to aid in a…” the log cut out in another burst of static, leaving Riker to ponder what he had just seen. The recording had not been clear, and as was Vulcan custom the Captain showed no sign of emotion, but even the small fragment he had heard suggested something big was happening in Federation space.
Riker glanced back at Data, who was still working diligently, then at his wrist chronometer, and then turned back to the log entries. He cycled down, trying each one in turn, finding most corrupted beyond comprehension. Finally he came to the last entry and accessed it, and to his surprise, the display panel lit up. Through the sheen of static that disrupted the picture, the commander could make out a figure illuminated by red emergency lights. Over the speaker a klaxon blared and crewmen shouted back and forth, nearly drowning out the log’s subject. “Acting Captain Travers,” the figure said over the encroaching static. “We are fleeing the Ereldel system…most of the fleet gone, we still don’t know what they did to…of the Endurance is unknown, Ops thinks they didn’t make to warp.”
The figure paused; wiping his face free of some grime that Riker could not make out, but he guessed was blood. “We’ll make for the nebula in sector 88-43; we might lose them if we can get in there. If this recording ever makes its way back…that this crew has served with skill and loyalty far beyond what any commanding officer could hope for, and I am glad to have served…” The man again paused, looking off-screen this time. “What? Where?” Seal off those decks, we have to give Engineering more time! Alert every non essential crewman, prepare to repel boarders.”
With that, the log blinked out, and the computer’s entry memory ended, culminating the list of mostly useless logs with a note indicating that main power had gone offline. Riker sighed, the sensation of dread growing ever stronger within him. “Alright Data, take what you’ve got, we have to get off this ship. Our departure window is disappearing fast,” the commander said as he sealed his atmosphere suit’s helmet back in place. Before he could continue however, Riker heard a loud clunk from behind him, accompanied by a series of odd hisses. Startled, Riker whirled around and immediately recoiled in surprise; Data was kneeling upon the floor, pinning a mass of red and purple against the floor.
From his vantage point, Riker could see that the mass was in fact one of the creatures that his team had discovered littering the hallway around the turbolift, but this one was very much alive. Thrown on its back, the dog-sized beast thrashed widely, hissing loudly as its huge clawed forelegs lash about aimlessly, their upper sections constricted by Data’s hands. His face a mask of concentration, the android slowly focused his weight on the creature, bending its forelegs down towards its slick carapace, and the creature began to hiss and screech more loudly. At last, with one final push, Data compressed the thing’s legs into its chest, and with a sickening crunch, the being went limp.
Gapping slightly, Riker rushed forward to help the officer to his feet. “What happened?” he asked quickly as Data collected the data jack from the computer terminal he had been operating. “While you were completing the analysis of the terminal, I noticed that this creature was moving towards us from that corridor at a rapid rate.” Data nodded to the hallway directly across from their work station, its distant end shadowed in the darkness of failed emergency lighting. “It lunged at you, so I took the most logical course of action, and intercepted it before it could reach you.” Riker gulped and glanced down at the beast again, his danger senses now blaring. “Thanks Data. I think now would be a good time to leave.”
The two officers set off at a run down the passageway from which they had come, a hall only a few dozen meters from the turbolift bank. As they ran, Riker tapped into his helmet’s comm and tried to raise Worf, but before he had time to say anything, he found himself shoved into the wall as Data wheeled around and placed himself behind his commanding officer. From the direction they had just come, two more creatures were speeding forward, all four legs tearing at the floor as they propelled themselves towards their targets, jabbering with animalistic glee. One of them leaped forward towards Data, and he intercepted it in midair, his fist meeting its neck with a loud wet thud. However, the other being pushed forward as well and dove at the android even as its comrade fell to the floor motionless.
Its mandibles snapping ferociously, the beast knocked Data to the floor, and it proceeded to try and tear off the target’s head with its huge claws. A few feet from the fray, Riker sat back helpless for a moment as Data attempted to tear off the attacker, and then his gaze fell on the tattered corpse of a Federation security man draped out across the floor, a phaser rifle still clutched in his hands. Stumbling forward, Riker pried the weapon from the dead man’s grasp and rolled onto his back, desperately aiming towards Data and his attacker.
The creature was still on top of the android, scything its huge claws downwards at Data’s head. The Lt. Commander evaded as best he could, twisting his neck from side to side as he tried to gain purchase on the beast’s thrashing body. One of the claws cut too close, and a foot of sharpened bone sliced through Data’s clear visor, scraping his left cheek, and then withdrawing, wrenching the ruined helmet away with it. The creature arched its back and raised its claws to strike again, but before it could act, a pulse of red energy tore into its side and set the thing spinning onto the floor. It writhed for a moment, hissing and squealing as it clawed at the floor, and then fell silent.
Riker rushed over Data, and for the second time helped him to his feet. “Are you alright?” The android put one hand to his cheek, which was now missing a large chunk of synthetic gray flesh, revealing a slivery layer studded with blinking lights beneath. “The damage is only superficial, it should not impede my operation to any great extent,” Data responded coolly, inspecting his damaged helmet, which now sported a gapping hole in the visor. Such a loss might prove fatal for a human in this situation, but Data could survive exposure to hard vacuum, so the trip back to the shuttle would not be a problem. However, if the creature had struck only a few more inches to the left, Data was quite sure his cognitive and ambulatory functions would have been stalled, permanently. “I believe it is my turn to thank you.”
Riker nodded quickly and scanned the hallway behind and in front of them warily, his gun held at the ready. “Call us even. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
The pair tore down the battle scarred passage, navigating their way around exposed wiring and heaps of decomposing bodies, increasingly aware of the growing din that was forming all around them; the sound of a thousand tiny feet scraping deck plates. Swinging around a bend in the path, Riker and Data at last arrived back at the turbolift bank. Mercifully, the hall was vacant of any living specimens of the strange alien things, but the commander didn’t count on it staying that way. Before they continued on, Data inspected a wall panel and tapped in a few commands, triggering a large blast door to fall into place between them and passage they had just exited. It was a stroke of good fortune, but it wouldn’t last for long; on their way though the upper decks, the team had spotted blast doors like this one torn into pieces, and Riker could now guess what had destroyed them.
The lift that had carried them before stood ready, its doors still open, but Riker noticed that the rest of the team was not there waiting for him, and they had defiantly not already gone ahead. As Data secured their escape route, Riker again tried to raise Worf over the helmet’s comm unit. However his hails went unanswered, as did the ones directed at Ensign Ogawa and the Master Chief. Sighing in exasperation, Riker hefted his rifle and called to Data. “Commander Worf and his team aren’t responding, were going to have to go after them.” Data nodded, and after a moment of searching the floor, scooped up a blood stained hand phaser that lay discarded in the middle of the morbid battlefield. “Commander, I must remind you that we have only nine minutes and twenty one seconds before the shuttle departs, and the journey back to it from the upper levels will take at least three.”
“Then we’ll have to do this fast,” Riker replied, glancing around for any new signs of opposition. “Let’s go.”
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One pulse. And then two more. The creature slumped to the deck plate, its small head scored with three smoking fist-sized holes. Before it had even finished its death twitches though, it was engulfed by a wave of its brethren, clattering heedlessly over the body, all focused on what lay beyond. Several more beasts fell a mere meter beyond where the first fatality lay, but the rest pushed on forward, ignoring the losses and the red bolts hiss past their scabrous hides.
Master Chief ceased the hail of deadly fire for a moment to slam his only spare cartridge he had into his blaster pistol, his legs still propelling him away from the surging horde of alien creatures. Keeping pace alongside him, Lt. Commander Worf continued to lay down fire, the phaser he had requisitioned from the survivors’ hiding place sending beast after beast to the floor with controlled beams of crimson energy. The Chief appreciated the help the Klingon was providing, and the two warriors had been able to keep their small group ahead of the wave of attacking creatures, but both were running low on ammunition, and the enemy were moving more quickly than they were, slowed as they were by the tight passages. The Chief had is own impediment; just ahead of the two men, Ensign Ogawa pushed forward as quickly as she could, forced to bear the load of the unconscious survivor limp in her arms over her arm. The officer was performing admirably under the circumstances, but she simply could not move fast enough, and even now she was slowing, adrenaline powered muscles quickly giving way under the load.
His pistol loaded, Master Chief snapped off a few more shots before shouting to Worf over the din that the hunting pack was making. “Give me your weapon and take the survivor. I can hold them back while you shift the weight.” Worf glanced at the man’s opaque face plate, his frown visible even behind his suit’s visor. The Chief knew men and women like the Lt. Commander; they disliked letting off the guns when there was an enemy still alive in sight. He could respect the feeling, but he hoped that the officer could see that they had to move more or the alien horde would overwhelm them.
After a few more pulses from his weapon, Worf nodded and grunted over the comm, “Catch.” With his free hand, the spartan plucked the phaser out of the air as it flew, and brought both weapons to bear on their pursuers as Worf accelerated to catch up with Ogawa. Master Chief pulsed the phaser’s control stud, and nearly lost the weapon as it belched its deadly wave of energy; it was slightly better designed than the side arms the soldier had seen on the Enterprise, but the thing was still an ergonomic nightmare, he was surprised that security officers didn’t kill themselves when they tried to use them. Adjusting his grip for the weapon’s unusual sleek shape, the Chief slowed his running rate slightly as Worf shifted the survivor to more evenly distribute the weight between himself and Ogawa.
Three more beasts fell under a hail of well aimed pulses and beams, but more simply took there place, joining with the main force from side passages, holes in the ceiling, and the doors that lined the walls. As soon as the four of them had left the coolant chamber, they had been swarmed by the first of the beings, who had apparently come from the darkened Main Engineering. Master Chief guessed that the hisses and shrieks the creatures were making were calling more of their kin to join the hunt, a signal that living prey had been found. They’re behavior was very similar to that of the accursed Flood, although the Spartan was thankful that at least these creatures went down far more easily than the parasitic bastards.
The Federation officers and their motionless charge turned down a side corridor and the Chief followed close behind, his weapons pulsing as they rapidly ran out of power. “We are almost to the lift,” Worf called out from ahead. Mentally, the Chief counted his ammo; the pistol in his hand had only four shots left, and the phaser most likely would not last any longer, its power cell indicator flashing a dangerously low number in red. Behind him, the creatures kept on coming, slashing at the walls, the floor, and each other with clawed feet to get at their selected prey. The closest were a mere dozen meters from the Chief, and they probably would be far closer if the beings didn’t periodically jam the hallway with the sheer weight of their numbers, stalling the horde until the ones farther back could leap over the stalled leaders. They weren’t very smart, the Chief noted as he picked off one of them, but they made up for it with sheer numbers and persistence unshaken by mounting casualties.
Without warning, one of the shadowed doors between the Chief and the others exploded open, revealing a mass of flesh and living armor which burst forth into the hall, nearly knocking the spartan off his feet and causing his shields to flicker slightly. The Chief quickly regained his footing and tried to aim his guns at the new threat, but before he could, a blow like the impact of a small tank smashed against his chest, almost completely draining his shields and sending him flying a meter down the hall. Just barely to keep on his feet, the soldier, noting that the phaser had slipped from his grasp, opened up on the thing. As the bolts found they’re marks at points along the thing’s head and torso, the Chief caught a good look at it; a humanoid mass of reddish scales and sinew, one of the creatures that had attacked the Enterprise, to great effect. It was smaller than the creatures he had seen on the Federation flagship, but was horrific and menacing nonetheless. Suddenly, as the being reeled from the blaster wounds, Master Chief remembered just how the boarders had inflicted the most damage on the ship, and flung himself as far away as he could, leaping to cover the still fleeing Federation officers.
An instant later, a huge explosion rocked the area and chunks of superheated flesh and metal rammed into the Chief’s already weakened shielding. Staggering, the soldier pushed forward, feeling a burning sensation spread over his back. The three in front of him had been mostly shielded from the blast, but a few fragments of shrapnel had apparently penetrated his shielding and the body glove under his armor plating. As he urged the somewhat dazed Worf and Ogawa forward, he fervently hoped that the medical officer had something with her that could seal the hole long enough for him to pass through the breached part of the ship.
The flood of alien creatures, halted momentarily by the other creature’s detonation, were on the move again, swarming over hole that the blast had made, as eager as ever to set upon their fleeing prey. Emboldened even further by the lack of fire from the Chief’s now empty blaster, they surged forth hungrily, rapidly overtaking the bedraggled rescue team. Even as the hallway they were in ended and the turbolifts were in sight, the foremost of the creatures leapt at the Spartan’s back with mindless glee. Unfortunately for the creature, a thin ribbon of red energy swept over its body, and the thing found that half its head was missing.
Standing at the end of the passage, Riker and Data stood, they’re weapons spitting out covering fire upon the rushing force. As Worf and the others came within arm’s reach, the commander flipped a switch on his rifle, and the weapon’s pulses intensified dramatically in speed, shredding the hunting animals as they came too close, and giving the one’s behind them momentary pause. Taking advantage of the lull, Data and the Chief urged the others into the waiting compartment, Riker behind them, his weapon still spraying fire on the packed wall of hissing death.
As the commander backed into the packed lift, a bellow resounded down the hallway, and another of the humanoids came into view. This one was large than the first, its huge clawed arms smashing aside lesser creatures as it strode towards the turbolift, tiny, obscured eyes fixed on its inhabitants. “I think now would be a good time to leave,” Worf said earnestly, his eyes fixed on the lumbering monstrosity. Data punched the inner door control, and the barrier slid shut just as the beast reached the lift bank. With a loud bang, the thing bashed its fists against the doors, leaving two huge dents in the metal, but before it could strike again, the lift shot upwards, leaving Engineering behind.
After he had caught his breath, Riker glanced over at Worf, who was propping the unconscious survivor against the wall, and grinned jokingly. “Why Mr. Worf, you actually sounded a little frightened back there.” The Klingon glared at him. “No sir, I…” He was cut off as a tremendous explosion erupted from far below them, sending shockwaves though the lift tunnel and forcing the compartment’s inhabitants into the walls roughly. “I was simply stating the course of action I found most reasonable considering the situation. Was there a flaw in my reasoning?” Riker glanced at the floor unnerved and then shook his head in silence.
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The gardens that lay in the north western quadrant of the Imperial Palace were a truly anachronistic thing indeed, a patch of life and greenery amid a sea of cold machinery and durasteel. There was no doubt that the late Palpatine was quite twisted and insane behind his outer façade of cold control, and his whims were quite often very erratic, as evidenced by the patch of vibrant beauty that Darth Vader now walked through, deep in thought. In the fading light of Coruscant’s distant sun, the odd colorations and forms of various plants from a dozen alien worlds melded into a living tapestry. Of course the elegant beauty of the place was completely lost on the dark lord, but somehow being surrounded by life helped his thoughts flow more clearly, something he was in dire need of after the chaotic events of the last few weeks.
As he walked down a trim cobblestone path, Vader reflected on the meeting that had occurred earlier in the day, deep within the fortress of steel that towered above him. He had debriefed Captain Meterin Coloth in person relating to his encounter with the wormhole, and the crew of this USS Enterprise. It was certainly not common procedure for the ruler of the Galactic Empire to personally conference with a lowly Star Destroyer captain, but Vader had taken a special interest in the unique situation, especially after encountering several of the beings who were supposedly extra-galactic in origin. Vader flexed his right hand slowly, recalling the strange reptilian creature that had beaten him off the bridge during the destruction of the rebellion at Sullust. Not destruction, he reminded himself, a few rebel ships had escaped the fray, but most of its leadership and its fleet had been wiped from the face of the galaxy, as had the rebel forces that remained in the Mon Calamari system. There were survivors, but they would soon be eliminated, and the galaxy, his galaxy would at last be at peace.
According to the Captain’s report, the rift that the Enterprise had emerged from had collapsed not long after the capture of the Federation ship’s crew. The thousand or so prisoners Coloth had taken were now enroot to a secret Ubiqtorate detention facility where they would be more thoroughly interrogated and held until a further use was determined for them. A notable exception from those incarcerated was the ship’s command staff, who with the aid of a squad of rebel terrorists had escaped the ship before Vader’s arrival. The dark lord had considered executing the captain for his failure and the loss of information that it would bring, but he had decided against it. With the rift now gone, any knowledge garnered from the prisoners would most likely have been useless, the loss had not been too great. It was a shame though, Vader reflected, if the portal had remained open, it might have meant a whole knew domain for the Empire to dominate, a place in need of Vader’s brand of order, and the teachings of the Sith.
There had been another attendant at the briefing, and although she had not spoken at all throughout, she had garnered far more of Vader’s interest. Aayla Secura was powerful in the force, more so than he had first suspected. She was also progressing down the true path, away from the weakness of the Old Jedi, far more quickly than he had anticipated. There was a deep darkness in her that could be set free, if she could harness it, Aayla Secura would make a formidable Lady of the Sith indeed. A worthy apprentice.
At that thought, a chill ran down his spin, and Vader paused, his mind shifting towards different matters almost as if by its own volition. He thought again of the medical chamber buried deep within the palace, his son floating between life and death in a bacta tank. An image of the man’s face drifted into his thoughts, lifeless and tallow, and suddenly felt an emotion he was quite unaccustomed to well up from deep within his cold heart. Regret.
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With a hiss and electrical clatter, two blades of energy met at the center, on blood red, the other bright green. As the pair strained and pushed against one another, their combined luminescence cast the figures wielding them in an eerie glow. Nightmare mask enhanced by the contrasting energies before him, Darth Vader stared down at his son, who looked back, his face set with concentration and sorrow. Luke Skywalker’s grip tightened on his saber hilt and he pushed forward, hoping that the ebony titan would give ground. However, Vader stood there immovable, his right fist clenched around the red weapon, while the other hung at his side at the ready.
The two stood there like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes. Their gaze was a duel in itself, the clash of two irreconcilable beliefs, the strife between a father and son long at long and terrible odds. Neither would give ground, there was only defeat or victory, and were both determined to gain the latter. After what seemed like a century, Luke’s arms finally began to buckle, and he was forced to break his saber free of Vader’s, stepping back to gain better footing. Vader saw the move, broke his saber free at the same instant, and lunged in too strike again.
Hammer blow after hammer blow, the red blade came down again on Luke, and each time he deflected and parried, trying to push back at his father, but with each strike he fell back even further. As he desperately intercepted each slash and jab, the young Jedi’s resolve began to flicker. He was too powerful; only seconds into the fight Luke was already giving ground. Maybe he hadn’t been ready, perhaps Vader and the Dark Side that drove him were more powerful, greater than anything Luke could hope to achieve. Sweat began to bead on the man’s forehead, and he fell back even further.
Then, in the back of his mind, he felt a comforting presence; he could feel the force flowing through him anew. A gentle hand brushed against him, and he could feel the fatigue in his limbs melt away, muscles and tendons alive with the warmth and strength of the force. Perhaps Master Obi-wan and Yoda were still with him. Reinvigorated and with new hope, Luke switched his tactics.
As Vader brought his saber down again, instead of falling back to meet it, the Jedi ducked and evade the blow, bringing his saber around to attack the sith’s undefended side. Taking the new move in stride, Vader brought his blade down to block his flank, pulling it in closer too him. Luke now pressed forward lunging while the dark lord was off balance, sending his blade high at Vader’s head. Again, he easily parried, but it cost his position, and Darth Vader was forced to step back. Luke continued the assault, his weapon humming as he swung the blade at his opponent again and again, high and low, forcing Bader to adjust to every attack. As if only now feeling the threat his son posed, Vader’s movements became suddenly more focused and increased in speed, and Luke’s advanced was slowed, but he still had the upper hand, for now.
The combatants continued the deadly dance, weapons thrumming with energy as they met again and again. The two moved out into the open center of the docking bay, trading advances and retreats, each testing their opponent for weaknesses and looking for missteps. As he parried a horizontal chop from his son, Vader spied a large supply crate lying against the wall a dozen meters away, and with the smallest nod of the head and a simple thought, the heavy object hurtled towards Luke. His senses alert for such attacks, Vader had used them during their previous combat on Bespin, the young Jedi anticipated the attack, and leapt into the air just as the crate slammed into the deck plate below him, screeching as it skidded along the floor.
Angling his flight with the force, Luke’s jump propelled him several meters into the air, and with a well timed flip, he landed behind his father, saber ready to begin the attack anew. However, the sith had sensed the move from his son, and was already turned to face him, and so they’re duel continued without pause.
“I can feel the power of the force surging within you Luke,” Vader intoned as Luke deftly avoided one of his lunges. “Let it flow freely, feel the darkness that lies underneath and take hold of it. It will give you far greater power than you can possibly imagine, and clarity of mind.”
“I know what the dark side has to offer, and I know what it shall do if I take that power,” Luke responded, dodging to the side as Vader tried to force him up against the hull of a dormant shuttle. “The dark side destroys all who touch it, corrupts them until all they can feel is anger and hatred. It is not the path to clarity and peace, only chaos and death lie down that road.” As he spoke, Luke’s offensive picked up momentum, his own words giving him new faith.
“Your mind is still polluted by the teachings of that old fool. Think Luke, they would have you destroy your own father; topple an Empire that has at last brought order to a decaying galaxy. What kind of truth is that? What peace can this conflict bring? The so called light of the force is a lie, something pulled over your eyes by slaves to the old order, desperate to keep their own power even at the cost of the destruction of us all.” Vader’s blade sliced into Luke’s, and once more they were locked, tying father and son together once more. “Think my son, what are you feelings telling you? This blind devotion to a failed order is wrong, it will destroy you. Embrace the darkness Luke; you know it is the only true path.”
As he stood locked in combat in mortal combat there, Luke’s resolve began to wane again. The little voice in the back of his head that had been there since he had learned of his true parentage emerged, whispering to him that perhaps Vader was right. Yoda and Obi-wan had sent him to destroy his father at all costs, that didn’t seem to be enlightened, the path to peace and wisdom. They were so adamant that Anakin could not be turned; perhaps they were afraid of what Luke might see if he tried, perhaps his father really had discovered the true will of the force. Luke’s saber dipped lower as he felt the surety that had strengthen him before fade, the demons of confusion and conflict taking there place.
Behind his bleak mask, Vader smiled. He too could feel the conflict in his son. Perhaps it was yet possible to turn him, Obi-wan’s poison had to taken hold fully. There was no desire in Vader to destroy his son. Darth Vader prepared to speak again, to push Luke further down the dark path, but suddenly Luke burst into motion, wrenching his blade free of the lock and bring it up to attack again. Vader could feel the seeds of anger and doubt spreading their roots quickly through his mind. As Vader moved his own weapon to intercept the blow, he reflected that perhaps this was a better method than talk after anyways. Luke had to taste the power the dark side could offer before he would fully be ready to take his place by Vader’s side.
------------------------------------------------------------------
“My Lord?”
The sith looked up to find himself still in the garden, now standing at the edge of the plot of greenery, staring out over a windy precipice that was the edge of the palace rampart down at the city far below. Vader was irritated with himself; once again he had allowed his mind to wander away, unchecked by his meditations. He should be focused on driving away the doubt and contemplation that had cropped up since the destruction of the Emperor, not encouraging it. This was no way for a lord of the Sith to behave, it was weak, almost Jedi-like.
From behind, he heard the nervous rustling of clothing and turned; Aayla Secura stood there, watching him uncomfortably from a respectful distance. “What is it?” he asked, his voice brooding. The Twi’lek woman straightened sharply and lowered her gaze. “You had informed me to meet you hear at sunset. I am eager to begin my training.” Vader could feel that she was afraid of him. This was satisfactory, fear was key to control, if an underling did not fear and respect their master, they were susceptible to doubt, insubordination, and treachery. He also felt ambition from her, and latent power. These things were also gratifying; if molded properly, she would make a fine sith indeed. And then there was anger, he was glad to see it had not faded when they had destroy the Emperor, without anger and the need for vengeance, a sith would be weak, without purpose. Her anger was undirected with Palpatine now gone, Vader needed to give her an outlet to allow it to grow.
His cap buffeting in the mild wind, Vader began to march toward her, his hand moving to the saber at his side. If she was to become one with the dark, she would need to know how to fight as a sith. However, before he had gone a meter, he paused, his senses alerting him towards the palace. Something was amiss. Aayla looked on in confusion as her new master stared past her.
“There is an intruder in this place, nearby,” Vader said, more to himself than to his apprentice. It was barely imperceptible to him, but he could detect a being nearby, full of hatred and malice. Directed at him. The being was not strong in the force, but he could feel it with the intruder none the less. He probed deeper, trying to locate the creature, but it was difficult; whatever it was, it was skilled at shielding its thoughts. However, as he tried to trace the being, he was able to make out one thought, too strong in its mind to hide.
You will kill Darth Vader.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
-
The Grim Squeaker
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 10315
- Joined: 2005-06-01 01:44am
- Location: A different time-space Continuum
- Contact:
Let me guess, Darth Secure vs Mara Jade ?
so far so great
?so far so great
Photography
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
-
Anomie
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 360
- Joined: 2005-07-03 05:55pm
- Location: Between the begining of time and the end of the universe
Damn, this is sweet!
When's the next chapter coming out?
(holds holds arm and crouches up and down like a crack junkie)
Come on, daddy needs his medicine.
When's the next chapter coming out?
(holds holds arm and crouches up and down like a crack junkie)
Come on, daddy needs his medicine.
You shall be the instrument of my vengence. Through you I shall scream out my wrath unto the heavens.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
I've been having some computer problems lately, and I've been working on a new short story anyways, so I really dont know when I can get another chapter in. I'll try for next week at some point damn lightning strike.Anomie wrote:Damn, this is sweet!
When's the next chapter coming out?
(holds holds arm and crouches up and down like a crack junkie)
Come on, daddy needs his medicine.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
-
Anomie
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 360
- Joined: 2005-07-03 05:55pm
- Location: Between the begining of time and the end of the universe
Luckily I never had that problem myself, but I once had my power supply catch on fire and nearly take out my computer.damn lightning strike.
Looking forward to when you can get the next chapter up.
You also said that you were working on other stories, if I may ask, what are they about?
You shall be the instrument of my vengence. Through you I shall scream out my wrath unto the heavens.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
Simply put, a Grunt having a very bad day.You also said that you were working on other stories, if I may ask, what are they about?
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
-
Anomie
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 360
- Joined: 2005-07-03 05:55pm
- Location: Between the begining of time and the end of the universe
HEY! You said that you were going to get to a new chapter during the week. Well the week has come and gone, and no new chapter. YOU LIED!
Seriously, take your time and bring us a good chapter.
Seriously, take your time and bring us a good chapter.
But that is what Aayla is for. Sure, I know that their different species, but that never stopped such things from happening on Star Trek, and ST is heavily involved in this fic.Don't kill off Mara. Vader can get her to marry Luke and ensure many granchildren strong in the force.
You shall be the instrument of my vengence. Through you I shall scream out my wrath unto the heavens.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
[quote]Don't kill off Mara. Vader can get her to marry Luke and ensure many granchildren strong in the force.[/quote]
But that is what Aayla is for. Sure, I know that their different species, but that never stopped such things from happening on Star Trek, and ST is heavily involved in this fic. :lol:[/quote]
But Luke and Mara would go very well after they are done trying to kill themselves. Plus I don't think Twi'Leks and Humans are genetically compatible.
But that is what Aayla is for. Sure, I know that their different species, but that never stopped such things from happening on Star Trek, and ST is heavily involved in this fic. :lol:[/quote]
But Luke and Mara would go very well after they are done trying to kill themselves. Plus I don't think Twi'Leks and Humans are genetically compatible.
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Anomie
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 360
- Joined: 2005-07-03 05:55pm
- Location: Between the begining of time and the end of the universe
Also, stupid newbie question, How do you get the line above a quote to say ______ wrote instead of quote?
I looked in the Announcment forum for some kind of guide to how to use posting features and couldn't find one. I must have missed it if it's there.
I looked in the Announcment forum for some kind of guide to how to use posting features and couldn't find one. I must have missed it if it's there.
You shall be the instrument of my vengence. Through you I shall scream out my wrath unto the heavens.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
-
Anomie
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 360
- Joined: 2005-07-03 05:55pm
- Location: Between the begining of time and the end of the universe
No, there not since their different species.Plus I don't think Twi'Leks and Humans are genetically compatible.
But like I said, that never stopped such things from happening in ST. You have human/vulcan hybrids, human/klingon, bajorn/cardassian, and a host of others that through some miracle of nature are somehow able to interbreed dispite being different species.
And I know that in a two part episode of TNG they explained it that all those different species are related due to some progienitor race that seeded each of their homeworlds with their own genetic material. But while that all might have started out with from the same genetic pool, through the millenia, genetic drift would have caused them to lose the ability to interbreed.
I just realized something while writing this. In that two parter, humans, and a host of other alpha quadrent species, are the descendents of a singular 'super species', but in All Good Things, Q shows Picard that humans, as well as all life on Earth arose from a 'primordal soup'. Way to go for consistency.
And another thing occured to me while writing the last paragraph. If the Q stopped all life from forming on Earth, than that would also mean that the Voth would never have come into being. Look at that, two sentiant species being wiped out for the supposed crimes of one.
You shall be the instrument of my vengence. Through you I shall scream out my wrath unto the heavens.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
Chapter Thirty Three
Even before the small rebel shuttle had set down in the Republica’s main landing bay, the dim starfield beyond the chamber’s entry port surged into a blur of bright streaks and then was replaced by a deep swirling blackness; they were at last in the safety of hyperspace again. As the ship’s hatch popped open and Riker stepped out, still in his survival suit, he could see that there were several people waiting for him there.
“Will,” Captain Picard said, stepping forward. “Were you able to obtain any information from the computer core?” With a hiss of pressurized oxygen, Riker removed his helmet and nodded. “Yes sir. And we located a survivor.” Out from the shuttle hatch, two more pressure-suited figures emerged, carrying between them an unconscious woman in a tattered Starfleet uniform. As they set her down on a nearby crate, the last two figures exited the ship, the Master Chief, and Ensign Ogawa, who tore off her helmet and rushed to the woman’s side, her tricorder out.
Jacen Solo, who had been standing with Picard along with a few other Federation crewmen, furrowed his brow and moved up along side the battered survivor. Even without Ogawa’s tricorder he could tell that she was starved, dehydrated, and emotionally damaged. Trying to ease her tortured mind through subtle force suggestion, he waved a passing mechanic over. “Contact the Medical bay, this woman needs immediate medical attention.” As the man ran off to transmit the message, the nurse sent Jacen an applicative nod and the two of them turned their attention back to the woman.
“Captain, I will require access to this ships computer systems to repair and compile the information we downloaded into a useable form,” Data said, handing Picard a pair of datapads. He glanced at them and nodded. “Yes, I’ll see if I can arrange something with Captain Ryceed.” Picard gave the electronic pads back to the android and turned to Riker, who had completely shed his atmosphere suit by now. “Did you discover what happened over there? Any clues to who or what did this?” Riker, Worf, and the Chief exchanged weary glances.
“Well sir, we had an encounter with the beings that disabled the ship,” the Commander began. “Vicious, animal-like things; there were dozens of them in the Engineering section, probably throughout the rest of the ship as well. After we collected what we could of the navigational memory and flight logs and Worf and the others located their survivor, they rushed us en mass, I’m sure we’d all be dead if we hadn't been able to get into one of the functioning turbolifts. From what I could gather from the Captain’s Log, the ship was attacked and boarded by this force, and then drifted through the wormhole after the crew had been wiped out.”
Picard stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This is disturbing. Were you able to pin point the wormhole’s position?” Riker shook his head. “There wasn’t time. However, Data hopes that the information is somewhere among the memory files we were able to download.”
“Captain, I believe that those thing were the same creatures that invaded the Enterprise.” This was from Master Chief, who had been standing silently up until that point, surreptitiously fingering a few patches of what looked like medical sealant along his lower back. Mildly surprised that he had spoken, Picard looked at the opaque faceplate intently. “Why do you say that?”
Riker frowned, reminded of his dark suspicions, and spoke up in the cyborg’s stead. “As we were fleeing the boarders on the Cornwall, several humanoid beings identical the ones that contributed to the Enterprise’s destruction pursued us. One of them detonated in the same way as was reported before, injuring Master Chief and nearly killing Worf and Ensign Ogawa.”
Riker watched as the Captain processed the news, and the veiled concern growing on his face suggested he had reached the same conclusion he had. The commander leaned in a bit closer, trying to obscure is his voice slightly. “Jean-Luc, from what few Log entries I watched, I believe there is a strong possibility that a serious situation has developed in the Alpha Quadrant during our absence. On top of that, the dates on some of those entries might…” Riker’s worried exposition was cut short as several new figures hurried towards them across the hangar deck.
Two medics, one human and the other a short, fan-eared Chandra-Fan, as well as a squat medical droid hurried past them and began to move the unconscious woman onto a hover stretcher. Walking jerkily behind them, a weary-looking Tassadar halted in front of Picard and the others. “I am gratified to see that you survived,” the Templar intoned physically, usually commanding voice tinged with continued exhaustion. “Tell me what you saw, I must confirm my depleted senses.”
Somewhat bewildered by the alien’s behavior, Riker repeated what he had told Picard moments ago, adding a more detailed description of their attackers at Tassadar’s request. When he had finished, the alien stood a moment in silence, and he faltered slightly, tipping over as though he was about to fall. Picard and Worf moved to steady him, but the Templar waved them off. “It is nothing, I am still weary.” He sighed. “Well, I am certain now. Commander, those creatures on that vessel were the Zerg, though how they arrived there, I do not know.”
The Starfleet officers looked at him quizzically. “The Zerg?” Picard asked. Tassadar stared at the man silently, as if lost in thought, and then shook his sizeable head. “No, not her, I am still too weak. We should continue this later, somewhere more private.” Picard was eager to hear what had so visibly disturbed the Templar, but he was right, and besides, the middle of a crowded hangar deck was no place for a debriefing or conference.
“Alright, we should be able to use one of the secondary conference chambers on deck nine, when it is convenient for you,” he said, gesturing diplomatically to Tassadar. The alien acknowledged the arrangement and moved slowly off, back to quiet meditation. Picard noticed that the Medics had already departed with the survivor, Jacen and Ogawa with them. “Mr. Data, Commander, lets see if we can gain access to the ship’s computer,” the Captain continued genially. “Mr. Worf, perhaps you and Master Chief should follow the others to sick bay. You seem a bit worse for wear.”
The group broke apart, setting off for different hatches and turbolifts as the mechanics and pilots who had watched the unusual gathering returned to their duties. As they dispersed, no paid any notice to a small, whitish box that perched in an alcove of one of the magnetic field regulators that protruded from the floor around the ship entry port. No one paid any notice as the tiny light on its otherwise featureless face stopped blinking, now instead glowing a solid, unchanging blue.
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Rays of solar light, dimmed by photogenic cells impregnated into the transparisteel through which they passed illuminated a man’s stern and clean-shave face with a gentle glow. Slowly, a smile crept across the man’s lips, his eyes glinting as he stared aimlessly into the blackness of empty space. “Have they jumped?”
Behind him, a younger, dark-skinned man snapped to attention. “Yes sir, only a few moments ago.” The man at the viewport nodded slowly. “Are we receiving the tracking signal?” The officer replied in the affirmative, and the man’s smile broadened, a feral grin. “Very good. Lieutenant, instruct the Broad Sword to investigate the area where the rebel vessel held position before entering hyperspace. Have her captain hold position there until I relay further orders.” The other man responded with a quick, respectful bow and proceeded to a nearby communications station.
The older man remained at the viewport, absorbing the soft stellar glow, elation swelling within him, anticipation for what would come, what his actions this day would earn him. With a lazy hand gesture, another junior officer approached and bowed briefly. “Order the helm to move us out of the star’s distortion field. Then relay a message to sector control in the Karasee system. Tell them,” he paused, relishing the words. “The hunt is over.”
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You can’t do this. He’s too powerful, you’re too weak. It’s not too late to get away. You must flee!
Trembling, the woman tried to suppress the seditious thoughts, and realigned her eye with the weapon’s sight. Magnified a dozen times and sharpened to crystal clarity, a single figure dominated the circular lens in front of the woman’s eye. Gulping to clear a knot that had formed in her throat, she cycled through the streamlined sight’s view modes, making certain that conditions were optimal, that the shot was clear. Infrared, thermal, magnetic, electronic, all registered the path as being clear; there was no doubt, it was the ideal shot. Normally, the woman would have squeezed the firing stud on the long, smooth sniper rifle she had propped up in front of her without hesitation, but this time, her mind was in conflict, killer instincts clouded.
Despite the cooling breeze that brushed her long mane of luxurious red hair, beads of sweat were still forming on her bare forehead. An empty feeling in her gut reminded the woman of what she had felt but a week before, a horrible, wrenching explosion, setting fire to her being. For a sort while, she had been adrift in a sea of agony, but the feeling she had been left with when the pain had passed was far worse. There was emptiness, a lack of control, of direction, of confidence. The only thing that had kept her going, the sole anchor to her past life was a simple command, burned into her consciousness.
You will kill Darth Vader.
Trying to calm herself with slow, rhythmic breathing, she closed her eyes, opened them again, and then focused her mind on the objective. Voices of reason, of self-preservation still intruded on her focus, but she ignored them, the order, the last order of a great man, must be carried out. The target was moving now, the opportunity would disappear in a few moments, it was now or never. Using what concentration she could still muster to steady her trigger finger, she fired.
An angled projectile hurtled from the rifle’s bore and crossed the long distance from the attacker to her target in only a fraction of a second. Not even the most advanced combat droid in existence could dodge or even detect the bullet before it impacted, and certainly no mere organic. However, this target was not bound by the limitations imposed by simple technology and biology; the force was with him. Even before the deadly round had traveled a meter, the figure had sensed the danger it posed, and with nearly incomprehensible speed, turned to face it and raised a gloved hand.
The projectile surged through the dusk air unopposed until it was inches from the kill, but then it halted. The tiny sensor buried in the projectile’s nose sensed the loss of momentum, waited for the estimated milliseconds necessary for armor penetration, and then triggered its own tiny detonator. However, during the minute period of time that it took for this procedure to occur, the bullet had been propelled by an invisible force a dozen meters away, out into the abyss above the vast Coruscant cityscape. Several grams of baridium ignited, and for a brief moment, a vibrant, orb-like blossom of explosive energy hung in the dim sky, and then faded.
The woman cursed violently, and rather than attempt another futile shot, quickly disassembled the rifle, shoved it into a large pocket on the back of her slender black bodysuit. Dropping silently down from her now compromised vantage point onto an empty walkway below, she set off quickly, alert for guards and security sensors, a cold chill settling in her gut. The single order still rang in her mind, ordering her to go back, attack the figure, the Dark Lord of the Sith, again. To terminate his miserable existence. No, she thought furiously, now is not the time. There are other ways, other times. Right now, escape is paramount; nothing else can be accomplished today.
It was a foolish plan, the woman reflected as she pried open a service hatch set to one side of the walkway and slipped through it, into one of the main power regulation nexuses that dotted the interior of the outer ramparts of the Imperial Palace. Perhaps before the horrible feeling, the sensation of Emperor Palpatine’s death, when she could still wield the force and help guide the projectiles from that weapon, perhaps then, the desperate plan might have worked, but now it was an ineffectual gesture. She would have to think of another method of attack, something Vader could not foresee, but she would find a way. That traitorous abomination would be destroyed. He had robbed her of her life, of her livelihood, her purpose in life, the only man she had ever really known, and most of all; he had robbed her of the force.
Mara Jade, assassin and Emperor’s Hand, slipped over a series of pulsing power conduits slipped down a crawlway hidden by a false monitor panel, guided by knowledge of secret routes earned from being in the Emperor’s highest confidence. Pausing to gather her bearings, she climbed down a narrow, wall-mounted ladder and located a hatch on the lower floor, one that would lead into the inhabited portions of the grand palace, frequented by guards, stormtroopers, and techs. From there, it was only a short run to a secondary landing bay, from which she could commandeer an escape vessel and fade away into the crowded sky lanes of the city beyond.
Drawing a blaster pistol from a hip holster, Mara placed an ear to the hatch, and sure it was clear, slipped out into the hall beyond. The passage was vacant, brightly lit, and constructed in the same spartan, metallic style as the inner workings of imperial warships. Mara knew she would have to navigate the place quickly to avoid detection, and raced off, her padded boots making little sound on the bare durasteel floor.
From around a bend in the hall, she could hear the rhythmic footsteps of imperial stormtroopers, no doubt now on alert. Thinking quickly, the assassin tried one doorway, found it sealed, and then tried the next. It slid open easily, and Mara ducked inside just as the glistening white helmet of an imperial soldier came into view. Inside the chamber, a small monitoring station, a lone brown-clad officer was rising from his chair in alarm, hand fumbling for his sidearm and mouth open, beginning a call for help. Mara surged into motion, crossing the room in the blink of an eye and impacting the man’s stomach with an elbow. He staggered and gasp, his cry cut short, but before he could back away or pull his pistol loose, Mara delivered several more blows, knocking away the weapon and throwing the officer off balance in a single, fluid motion. With a final hammer blow to the jaw, she knocked the man to the floor, motionless. The struggle took only six seconds.
The rest of the journey to the hangar was uneventful; Mara ran into no other guards and was able to easily disable the security cams in her path with codes she had been given while in service of the late Emperor. She was uneasy; the escape was going too well, it had to be a trap. Perhaps she should double back, exit the palace through the waste removal systems far below. No, she reassured herself, it was too late for that, and besides, no one knew about the shortcut though the power nexus, she had discovered it for herself. Even Vader was not powerful enough to track her accurately from this distance, she thought, feeling a measure of confidence return.
Mara Jade soon reached an intersection, one of the paths leading to the landing bay and escape. However, she took the other; Mara knew that the palace would be in lockdown right now, and all the hangar doors would be sealed. She found the flight control room door nearby unlocked, and made short work of the techs guarding, laying them out cold before they even noticed her presence. Pulling one of the unconscious men off a control panel that sat beneath a viewport that overlooked the bay, she entered a few hurried commands into the security control computer, and found that it was indeed in lock down.
Racking her memory, Mara tried one bypass code, and then another, the hairs on the back of her neck raising in warning as the seconds ticked by. At last, one of the codes worked, and the noise of machinery rumbled from the chamber below as the hangar blast door raised, revealing the towers of the Imperial City below, glinting with the last rays of a setting sun. Smiling slightly, Mara backed away from the control room viewport and pulsed three blaster bolts into with her pistol. The thin transparisteel shattered easily, and the lithe woman sprang onto a thin ledge that ran under the shattered pane. Holstering her weapon, Mara glanced around the bay below; empty save for a pair of small, parked cargo skiffs. Satisfied it was clear, she grabbed a tubular power casing that ran the height of the wall and slid nimbly down, falling the last meter and hitting the ground running.
Crossing the hangar deck in mere seconds, she halted at the nearest skiff and began to furiously enter a code into its locking interface. After a few tries, there was a satisfying click from within the small cockpit section, and the entry hatch swung open. Now smiling broadly, Mara stooped and moved to enter the cockpit…then froze. Her danger sense, with the force or without, had just begun to blare madly, and she pivoted were she crouched, blaster pistol in hand again.
Striding through the entryway she had bypassed was none other than the Dark Lord of the Sith himself, her quarry. She faltered in shock and horror for a moment; how could she have been tracked so quickly? How could he have cornered her so easily? The moment of shock passed though, and her hunter’s instincts took over. Her pistol lit up three times in quick succession, and the trio of crimson bolts raced at the menacing black giant, how made no attempt to evade them. Instead, he simply held out his right hand, and the bolts splashed harmlessly off it, deadly force transmuted into harmless puffs of heat. Mara took the failure in stride, squeezing off a few more shots as she jumped up and flipped over the blunt nose of the skiff, seeking some cover there.
Darth Vader easily intercepted the new blasts with his palms and moved forward, gesturing at a fuel line that hung above the parked skiff. Immediately, the cable sprang to life, ripping from the wall and plummeting down onto the far side of the vehicle, a jet of foul-smelling liquid coming with it. However, Mara was no long there, instead she was edging swiftly along the far wall, diving behind empty cargo boxes as she aimed for the next skiff. Vader continued forward, not even bothering to increase the rate of his stride.
From one of the pockets of her bodysuit, Mara pulled three large orbs, priming two and tossing them at the Sith lord with unerring accuracy. With a bat of the dark cyborg’s hand, the two devices altered their paths, rocketing into the ceiling and detonating there with tremendous force, enough to cause the floor plating to rumble and leave a ten meter wide maw in the metal far above. “You underestimate me Mara Jade,” Vader said calmly.
Mara however was not listening; in fact, she seemed to have disappeared entirely, replaced by a cloud of white smoke that was belching from the third orb, which was spinning idly on the floor. With a wave of his hand the cloud dispersed, but the woman was still nowhere to be seen. Now Vader reached out with his feelings, could sense her still very nearby, afraid, desperate to get away. Pacing over to where the gas grenade had been dropped, Vader stared at the closest wall, where he noted a shadow flight from view inside a maintenance crawl space, its hatch cast roughly aside on the deck plate. “I tire of this,” Vader said to himself in a weary monotone, and with a flick of a gauntleted wrist, the struggling Mara Jade found herself being dragged back out into the open, left leg caught in an invisible grip.
Desperately, she tore a small vibroblade free from a sleeve inside one boot and threw it at his masked visage; he smacked the weapon out of the air with ease. His right hand formed a loose fist, and Mara was dragged into the air, floating by her neck a meter off the deck plate. She gasped and pried at her throat as it began to close off, her legs flailing madly in the air. Vader walked back to the center of the bay, floating her along with him in this state, saying nothing as her oxygen-deprived brain began to fade. After a few more agonizing seconds, the vise around her neck disappeared, and she tumbled unceremoniously to the hard floor.
Gasping for air, Mara propped herself up, vision clearing enough to see that there were others there now, several armed stormtroopers and Imperial Guardsmen, as well as a female Twi’lek who stared at her curiously. “I expected more from one of Palpatine’s hands,” Vader rumbled from behind her. “The conniving fool sent you to kill me? A futile attempt, from a delusional and insane old man.” Mara glared at the Dark Lord with hatred, trying to move against him, press the attack, but she found herself pinned to the floor, helpless. “You will pay for what you’ve done Vader,” she spat. “There are others, still loyal to our Emperor and what he believed in. They will reveal you, show the Empire what you truly are, a usurper to a throne you do not deserve, and eventually, they will find a way to kill you.”
Darth Vader glared down at her. “Foolish girl, it does not matter what the subjects of the Empire know, it does not matter if discover that I removed power from that insane creature’s grip personally. All that matters is that this Empire is whole again, the cancer clouding its true purpose removed, replaced by a strong leader, one who the people of this galaxy will obey absolutely. I have crushed the rebellion, and soon this domain will know order once more, the order of the Sith resurrected, untainted by Palpatine’s greed and paranoia. No Jade, this new order cannot be stopped, not by you, or any who would cling to the ways of an emperor now mercifully dead.”
He paused again, stooping down towards her. A single powerful hand grabbed her already bruised neck and wrenched her upright, so that she now stared straight into Vader’s masked eyes. “You will help me seek out those who would attempt to undo what I have done, give me the names of Palpatine’s most loyal confidantes. And then you will divulge all of the secrets that the old man imparted to you during your service. He knew of abilities, places, things that could prove to be of value to my new order, and I sense that he may have implanted some of that knowledge in you, whether you know of it or not.” Vader pulled her even closer, and Mara could clearly hear his deep, raspy breathing, not breaking rhythm even as he spoke. “And then, if you do all of what I have asked, then perhaps you shall live. I sense potential in you, talents Palpatine did not taint. Consider this my words Mara Jade, for they are your only path to absolution. Do not follow them, and you will die.”
With that, Darth Vader released her and gestured to one of the nearby stormtroopers. “Disarm her and move her to a holding cell.” The trooper and his subordinates moved to comply, and the Twi’lek, her eyes still fixed curiously on Mara, walked over to the Dark Lord.
Mara Jade watched helplessly as the white armored soldiers approached, blasters all aimed squarely at her head. As one trooper undid a pair of shackles from his belt, Mara watched Vader as the Twi’lek woman plied him with quiet inquiries. Pure hatred and fury curled her upper lip, but within despair was growing quickly, she had failed her master, and now she was the prisoner of the one she had tried to destroy. She would not let that monstrosity rip any of the Emperor’s secrets from her mind, would rather die. It was with that thought that she remembered one last weapon she had brought along, an implement of last resort. As the stormtrooper began to shackle one wrist, the other contorted, triggering a small, flimsy panel to slide into her palm. Adorned by a single red button, when triggered, the device would set off the permacrete detonators she had stowed in the soles of her boots. Their combined force would vaporize every solid object within twelve meters. She had this one last trail to go through, one last chance to fulfill her goal.
As the trooper moved for her other hand, Mara closed her eyes, took one last draft of cool city air, and moved her middle finger over the small, red button. It was over.
Mara Jade’s corpse fell to the floor in a heap of cauterized flesh. A slash that had swept from here abdomen, across her chest and severed her trigger arm had been the assassin’s undoing, and the deliverer of this final failure stood over her, breathing heavily. The stormtroopers and guardsmen stood back in disbelief and shock as Aayla Secura stared down at her kill in mild shock, blue lightsaber still glowing in her hands. Darth Vader stepped up alongside her and glared down on what could have been an invaluable resource of information. “Explain,” he ordered the Twi’lek coldly. Aayla deactivated her saber and looked at her master, eyes betraying a mix of exhilaration and fear. “I…I apologize my lord, but I sensed that she was a danger to us. Look at her palm, a detonator.”
Vader did not spare a glance at the severed limb, instead focusing on his apprentice. Neither spoke for a long, foreboding moment. “You did well,” Vader said at last, his low voice revealing no emotion. Aayla looked up, surprised. She had expected a rage, punishment for depriving Lord Vader of his prize. “However, you must learn that a killing blow is not always necessary, even if the dark side tells you it is right to take that life. To disarm and inspire fear and obedience in a foe can far more useful. Rage, fury, passion, instinct. All these are strong sources of power, but without control and focus, they can destroy what you hope to achieve along with an enemy. This is your first lesson. Remember it well.”
Darth Vader stalked off without another word, pondering his own message as Aayla remained behind, contemplating her first cold-blooded kill. Lord Vader was right, she could have simply cut off the woman’s arm to the same effect, and still have left the information Jade carried intact, but something had compelled her to take that life, and she had done so. And now, as she looked down at the once living being, a warmth began to ripple through her, permeating her very being with a strange new emotion, completely alien. The lust for blood and power. The very thing that a lifetime of Jedi training had screamed against, fought to suppress, was taking root within her, feeding the fire of the dark side that now burned within her heart. And it was glorious.
Even before the small rebel shuttle had set down in the Republica’s main landing bay, the dim starfield beyond the chamber’s entry port surged into a blur of bright streaks and then was replaced by a deep swirling blackness; they were at last in the safety of hyperspace again. As the ship’s hatch popped open and Riker stepped out, still in his survival suit, he could see that there were several people waiting for him there.
“Will,” Captain Picard said, stepping forward. “Were you able to obtain any information from the computer core?” With a hiss of pressurized oxygen, Riker removed his helmet and nodded. “Yes sir. And we located a survivor.” Out from the shuttle hatch, two more pressure-suited figures emerged, carrying between them an unconscious woman in a tattered Starfleet uniform. As they set her down on a nearby crate, the last two figures exited the ship, the Master Chief, and Ensign Ogawa, who tore off her helmet and rushed to the woman’s side, her tricorder out.
Jacen Solo, who had been standing with Picard along with a few other Federation crewmen, furrowed his brow and moved up along side the battered survivor. Even without Ogawa’s tricorder he could tell that she was starved, dehydrated, and emotionally damaged. Trying to ease her tortured mind through subtle force suggestion, he waved a passing mechanic over. “Contact the Medical bay, this woman needs immediate medical attention.” As the man ran off to transmit the message, the nurse sent Jacen an applicative nod and the two of them turned their attention back to the woman.
“Captain, I will require access to this ships computer systems to repair and compile the information we downloaded into a useable form,” Data said, handing Picard a pair of datapads. He glanced at them and nodded. “Yes, I’ll see if I can arrange something with Captain Ryceed.” Picard gave the electronic pads back to the android and turned to Riker, who had completely shed his atmosphere suit by now. “Did you discover what happened over there? Any clues to who or what did this?” Riker, Worf, and the Chief exchanged weary glances.
“Well sir, we had an encounter with the beings that disabled the ship,” the Commander began. “Vicious, animal-like things; there were dozens of them in the Engineering section, probably throughout the rest of the ship as well. After we collected what we could of the navigational memory and flight logs and Worf and the others located their survivor, they rushed us en mass, I’m sure we’d all be dead if we hadn't been able to get into one of the functioning turbolifts. From what I could gather from the Captain’s Log, the ship was attacked and boarded by this force, and then drifted through the wormhole after the crew had been wiped out.”
Picard stroked his chin thoughtfully. “This is disturbing. Were you able to pin point the wormhole’s position?” Riker shook his head. “There wasn’t time. However, Data hopes that the information is somewhere among the memory files we were able to download.”
“Captain, I believe that those thing were the same creatures that invaded the Enterprise.” This was from Master Chief, who had been standing silently up until that point, surreptitiously fingering a few patches of what looked like medical sealant along his lower back. Mildly surprised that he had spoken, Picard looked at the opaque faceplate intently. “Why do you say that?”
Riker frowned, reminded of his dark suspicions, and spoke up in the cyborg’s stead. “As we were fleeing the boarders on the Cornwall, several humanoid beings identical the ones that contributed to the Enterprise’s destruction pursued us. One of them detonated in the same way as was reported before, injuring Master Chief and nearly killing Worf and Ensign Ogawa.”
Riker watched as the Captain processed the news, and the veiled concern growing on his face suggested he had reached the same conclusion he had. The commander leaned in a bit closer, trying to obscure is his voice slightly. “Jean-Luc, from what few Log entries I watched, I believe there is a strong possibility that a serious situation has developed in the Alpha Quadrant during our absence. On top of that, the dates on some of those entries might…” Riker’s worried exposition was cut short as several new figures hurried towards them across the hangar deck.
Two medics, one human and the other a short, fan-eared Chandra-Fan, as well as a squat medical droid hurried past them and began to move the unconscious woman onto a hover stretcher. Walking jerkily behind them, a weary-looking Tassadar halted in front of Picard and the others. “I am gratified to see that you survived,” the Templar intoned physically, usually commanding voice tinged with continued exhaustion. “Tell me what you saw, I must confirm my depleted senses.”
Somewhat bewildered by the alien’s behavior, Riker repeated what he had told Picard moments ago, adding a more detailed description of their attackers at Tassadar’s request. When he had finished, the alien stood a moment in silence, and he faltered slightly, tipping over as though he was about to fall. Picard and Worf moved to steady him, but the Templar waved them off. “It is nothing, I am still weary.” He sighed. “Well, I am certain now. Commander, those creatures on that vessel were the Zerg, though how they arrived there, I do not know.”
The Starfleet officers looked at him quizzically. “The Zerg?” Picard asked. Tassadar stared at the man silently, as if lost in thought, and then shook his sizeable head. “No, not her, I am still too weak. We should continue this later, somewhere more private.” Picard was eager to hear what had so visibly disturbed the Templar, but he was right, and besides, the middle of a crowded hangar deck was no place for a debriefing or conference.
“Alright, we should be able to use one of the secondary conference chambers on deck nine, when it is convenient for you,” he said, gesturing diplomatically to Tassadar. The alien acknowledged the arrangement and moved slowly off, back to quiet meditation. Picard noticed that the Medics had already departed with the survivor, Jacen and Ogawa with them. “Mr. Data, Commander, lets see if we can gain access to the ship’s computer,” the Captain continued genially. “Mr. Worf, perhaps you and Master Chief should follow the others to sick bay. You seem a bit worse for wear.”
The group broke apart, setting off for different hatches and turbolifts as the mechanics and pilots who had watched the unusual gathering returned to their duties. As they dispersed, no paid any notice to a small, whitish box that perched in an alcove of one of the magnetic field regulators that protruded from the floor around the ship entry port. No one paid any notice as the tiny light on its otherwise featureless face stopped blinking, now instead glowing a solid, unchanging blue.
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Rays of solar light, dimmed by photogenic cells impregnated into the transparisteel through which they passed illuminated a man’s stern and clean-shave face with a gentle glow. Slowly, a smile crept across the man’s lips, his eyes glinting as he stared aimlessly into the blackness of empty space. “Have they jumped?”
Behind him, a younger, dark-skinned man snapped to attention. “Yes sir, only a few moments ago.” The man at the viewport nodded slowly. “Are we receiving the tracking signal?” The officer replied in the affirmative, and the man’s smile broadened, a feral grin. “Very good. Lieutenant, instruct the Broad Sword to investigate the area where the rebel vessel held position before entering hyperspace. Have her captain hold position there until I relay further orders.” The other man responded with a quick, respectful bow and proceeded to a nearby communications station.
The older man remained at the viewport, absorbing the soft stellar glow, elation swelling within him, anticipation for what would come, what his actions this day would earn him. With a lazy hand gesture, another junior officer approached and bowed briefly. “Order the helm to move us out of the star’s distortion field. Then relay a message to sector control in the Karasee system. Tell them,” he paused, relishing the words. “The hunt is over.”
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You can’t do this. He’s too powerful, you’re too weak. It’s not too late to get away. You must flee!
Trembling, the woman tried to suppress the seditious thoughts, and realigned her eye with the weapon’s sight. Magnified a dozen times and sharpened to crystal clarity, a single figure dominated the circular lens in front of the woman’s eye. Gulping to clear a knot that had formed in her throat, she cycled through the streamlined sight’s view modes, making certain that conditions were optimal, that the shot was clear. Infrared, thermal, magnetic, electronic, all registered the path as being clear; there was no doubt, it was the ideal shot. Normally, the woman would have squeezed the firing stud on the long, smooth sniper rifle she had propped up in front of her without hesitation, but this time, her mind was in conflict, killer instincts clouded.
Despite the cooling breeze that brushed her long mane of luxurious red hair, beads of sweat were still forming on her bare forehead. An empty feeling in her gut reminded the woman of what she had felt but a week before, a horrible, wrenching explosion, setting fire to her being. For a sort while, she had been adrift in a sea of agony, but the feeling she had been left with when the pain had passed was far worse. There was emptiness, a lack of control, of direction, of confidence. The only thing that had kept her going, the sole anchor to her past life was a simple command, burned into her consciousness.
You will kill Darth Vader.
Trying to calm herself with slow, rhythmic breathing, she closed her eyes, opened them again, and then focused her mind on the objective. Voices of reason, of self-preservation still intruded on her focus, but she ignored them, the order, the last order of a great man, must be carried out. The target was moving now, the opportunity would disappear in a few moments, it was now or never. Using what concentration she could still muster to steady her trigger finger, she fired.
An angled projectile hurtled from the rifle’s bore and crossed the long distance from the attacker to her target in only a fraction of a second. Not even the most advanced combat droid in existence could dodge or even detect the bullet before it impacted, and certainly no mere organic. However, this target was not bound by the limitations imposed by simple technology and biology; the force was with him. Even before the deadly round had traveled a meter, the figure had sensed the danger it posed, and with nearly incomprehensible speed, turned to face it and raised a gloved hand.
The projectile surged through the dusk air unopposed until it was inches from the kill, but then it halted. The tiny sensor buried in the projectile’s nose sensed the loss of momentum, waited for the estimated milliseconds necessary for armor penetration, and then triggered its own tiny detonator. However, during the minute period of time that it took for this procedure to occur, the bullet had been propelled by an invisible force a dozen meters away, out into the abyss above the vast Coruscant cityscape. Several grams of baridium ignited, and for a brief moment, a vibrant, orb-like blossom of explosive energy hung in the dim sky, and then faded.
The woman cursed violently, and rather than attempt another futile shot, quickly disassembled the rifle, shoved it into a large pocket on the back of her slender black bodysuit. Dropping silently down from her now compromised vantage point onto an empty walkway below, she set off quickly, alert for guards and security sensors, a cold chill settling in her gut. The single order still rang in her mind, ordering her to go back, attack the figure, the Dark Lord of the Sith, again. To terminate his miserable existence. No, she thought furiously, now is not the time. There are other ways, other times. Right now, escape is paramount; nothing else can be accomplished today.
It was a foolish plan, the woman reflected as she pried open a service hatch set to one side of the walkway and slipped through it, into one of the main power regulation nexuses that dotted the interior of the outer ramparts of the Imperial Palace. Perhaps before the horrible feeling, the sensation of Emperor Palpatine’s death, when she could still wield the force and help guide the projectiles from that weapon, perhaps then, the desperate plan might have worked, but now it was an ineffectual gesture. She would have to think of another method of attack, something Vader could not foresee, but she would find a way. That traitorous abomination would be destroyed. He had robbed her of her life, of her livelihood, her purpose in life, the only man she had ever really known, and most of all; he had robbed her of the force.
Mara Jade, assassin and Emperor’s Hand, slipped over a series of pulsing power conduits slipped down a crawlway hidden by a false monitor panel, guided by knowledge of secret routes earned from being in the Emperor’s highest confidence. Pausing to gather her bearings, she climbed down a narrow, wall-mounted ladder and located a hatch on the lower floor, one that would lead into the inhabited portions of the grand palace, frequented by guards, stormtroopers, and techs. From there, it was only a short run to a secondary landing bay, from which she could commandeer an escape vessel and fade away into the crowded sky lanes of the city beyond.
Drawing a blaster pistol from a hip holster, Mara placed an ear to the hatch, and sure it was clear, slipped out into the hall beyond. The passage was vacant, brightly lit, and constructed in the same spartan, metallic style as the inner workings of imperial warships. Mara knew she would have to navigate the place quickly to avoid detection, and raced off, her padded boots making little sound on the bare durasteel floor.
From around a bend in the hall, she could hear the rhythmic footsteps of imperial stormtroopers, no doubt now on alert. Thinking quickly, the assassin tried one doorway, found it sealed, and then tried the next. It slid open easily, and Mara ducked inside just as the glistening white helmet of an imperial soldier came into view. Inside the chamber, a small monitoring station, a lone brown-clad officer was rising from his chair in alarm, hand fumbling for his sidearm and mouth open, beginning a call for help. Mara surged into motion, crossing the room in the blink of an eye and impacting the man’s stomach with an elbow. He staggered and gasp, his cry cut short, but before he could back away or pull his pistol loose, Mara delivered several more blows, knocking away the weapon and throwing the officer off balance in a single, fluid motion. With a final hammer blow to the jaw, she knocked the man to the floor, motionless. The struggle took only six seconds.
The rest of the journey to the hangar was uneventful; Mara ran into no other guards and was able to easily disable the security cams in her path with codes she had been given while in service of the late Emperor. She was uneasy; the escape was going too well, it had to be a trap. Perhaps she should double back, exit the palace through the waste removal systems far below. No, she reassured herself, it was too late for that, and besides, no one knew about the shortcut though the power nexus, she had discovered it for herself. Even Vader was not powerful enough to track her accurately from this distance, she thought, feeling a measure of confidence return.
Mara Jade soon reached an intersection, one of the paths leading to the landing bay and escape. However, she took the other; Mara knew that the palace would be in lockdown right now, and all the hangar doors would be sealed. She found the flight control room door nearby unlocked, and made short work of the techs guarding, laying them out cold before they even noticed her presence. Pulling one of the unconscious men off a control panel that sat beneath a viewport that overlooked the bay, she entered a few hurried commands into the security control computer, and found that it was indeed in lock down.
Racking her memory, Mara tried one bypass code, and then another, the hairs on the back of her neck raising in warning as the seconds ticked by. At last, one of the codes worked, and the noise of machinery rumbled from the chamber below as the hangar blast door raised, revealing the towers of the Imperial City below, glinting with the last rays of a setting sun. Smiling slightly, Mara backed away from the control room viewport and pulsed three blaster bolts into with her pistol. The thin transparisteel shattered easily, and the lithe woman sprang onto a thin ledge that ran under the shattered pane. Holstering her weapon, Mara glanced around the bay below; empty save for a pair of small, parked cargo skiffs. Satisfied it was clear, she grabbed a tubular power casing that ran the height of the wall and slid nimbly down, falling the last meter and hitting the ground running.
Crossing the hangar deck in mere seconds, she halted at the nearest skiff and began to furiously enter a code into its locking interface. After a few tries, there was a satisfying click from within the small cockpit section, and the entry hatch swung open. Now smiling broadly, Mara stooped and moved to enter the cockpit…then froze. Her danger sense, with the force or without, had just begun to blare madly, and she pivoted were she crouched, blaster pistol in hand again.
Striding through the entryway she had bypassed was none other than the Dark Lord of the Sith himself, her quarry. She faltered in shock and horror for a moment; how could she have been tracked so quickly? How could he have cornered her so easily? The moment of shock passed though, and her hunter’s instincts took over. Her pistol lit up three times in quick succession, and the trio of crimson bolts raced at the menacing black giant, how made no attempt to evade them. Instead, he simply held out his right hand, and the bolts splashed harmlessly off it, deadly force transmuted into harmless puffs of heat. Mara took the failure in stride, squeezing off a few more shots as she jumped up and flipped over the blunt nose of the skiff, seeking some cover there.
Darth Vader easily intercepted the new blasts with his palms and moved forward, gesturing at a fuel line that hung above the parked skiff. Immediately, the cable sprang to life, ripping from the wall and plummeting down onto the far side of the vehicle, a jet of foul-smelling liquid coming with it. However, Mara was no long there, instead she was edging swiftly along the far wall, diving behind empty cargo boxes as she aimed for the next skiff. Vader continued forward, not even bothering to increase the rate of his stride.
From one of the pockets of her bodysuit, Mara pulled three large orbs, priming two and tossing them at the Sith lord with unerring accuracy. With a bat of the dark cyborg’s hand, the two devices altered their paths, rocketing into the ceiling and detonating there with tremendous force, enough to cause the floor plating to rumble and leave a ten meter wide maw in the metal far above. “You underestimate me Mara Jade,” Vader said calmly.
Mara however was not listening; in fact, she seemed to have disappeared entirely, replaced by a cloud of white smoke that was belching from the third orb, which was spinning idly on the floor. With a wave of his hand the cloud dispersed, but the woman was still nowhere to be seen. Now Vader reached out with his feelings, could sense her still very nearby, afraid, desperate to get away. Pacing over to where the gas grenade had been dropped, Vader stared at the closest wall, where he noted a shadow flight from view inside a maintenance crawl space, its hatch cast roughly aside on the deck plate. “I tire of this,” Vader said to himself in a weary monotone, and with a flick of a gauntleted wrist, the struggling Mara Jade found herself being dragged back out into the open, left leg caught in an invisible grip.
Desperately, she tore a small vibroblade free from a sleeve inside one boot and threw it at his masked visage; he smacked the weapon out of the air with ease. His right hand formed a loose fist, and Mara was dragged into the air, floating by her neck a meter off the deck plate. She gasped and pried at her throat as it began to close off, her legs flailing madly in the air. Vader walked back to the center of the bay, floating her along with him in this state, saying nothing as her oxygen-deprived brain began to fade. After a few more agonizing seconds, the vise around her neck disappeared, and she tumbled unceremoniously to the hard floor.
Gasping for air, Mara propped herself up, vision clearing enough to see that there were others there now, several armed stormtroopers and Imperial Guardsmen, as well as a female Twi’lek who stared at her curiously. “I expected more from one of Palpatine’s hands,” Vader rumbled from behind her. “The conniving fool sent you to kill me? A futile attempt, from a delusional and insane old man.” Mara glared at the Dark Lord with hatred, trying to move against him, press the attack, but she found herself pinned to the floor, helpless. “You will pay for what you’ve done Vader,” she spat. “There are others, still loyal to our Emperor and what he believed in. They will reveal you, show the Empire what you truly are, a usurper to a throne you do not deserve, and eventually, they will find a way to kill you.”
Darth Vader glared down at her. “Foolish girl, it does not matter what the subjects of the Empire know, it does not matter if discover that I removed power from that insane creature’s grip personally. All that matters is that this Empire is whole again, the cancer clouding its true purpose removed, replaced by a strong leader, one who the people of this galaxy will obey absolutely. I have crushed the rebellion, and soon this domain will know order once more, the order of the Sith resurrected, untainted by Palpatine’s greed and paranoia. No Jade, this new order cannot be stopped, not by you, or any who would cling to the ways of an emperor now mercifully dead.”
He paused again, stooping down towards her. A single powerful hand grabbed her already bruised neck and wrenched her upright, so that she now stared straight into Vader’s masked eyes. “You will help me seek out those who would attempt to undo what I have done, give me the names of Palpatine’s most loyal confidantes. And then you will divulge all of the secrets that the old man imparted to you during your service. He knew of abilities, places, things that could prove to be of value to my new order, and I sense that he may have implanted some of that knowledge in you, whether you know of it or not.” Vader pulled her even closer, and Mara could clearly hear his deep, raspy breathing, not breaking rhythm even as he spoke. “And then, if you do all of what I have asked, then perhaps you shall live. I sense potential in you, talents Palpatine did not taint. Consider this my words Mara Jade, for they are your only path to absolution. Do not follow them, and you will die.”
With that, Darth Vader released her and gestured to one of the nearby stormtroopers. “Disarm her and move her to a holding cell.” The trooper and his subordinates moved to comply, and the Twi’lek, her eyes still fixed curiously on Mara, walked over to the Dark Lord.
Mara Jade watched helplessly as the white armored soldiers approached, blasters all aimed squarely at her head. As one trooper undid a pair of shackles from his belt, Mara watched Vader as the Twi’lek woman plied him with quiet inquiries. Pure hatred and fury curled her upper lip, but within despair was growing quickly, she had failed her master, and now she was the prisoner of the one she had tried to destroy. She would not let that monstrosity rip any of the Emperor’s secrets from her mind, would rather die. It was with that thought that she remembered one last weapon she had brought along, an implement of last resort. As the stormtrooper began to shackle one wrist, the other contorted, triggering a small, flimsy panel to slide into her palm. Adorned by a single red button, when triggered, the device would set off the permacrete detonators she had stowed in the soles of her boots. Their combined force would vaporize every solid object within twelve meters. She had this one last trail to go through, one last chance to fulfill her goal.
As the trooper moved for her other hand, Mara closed her eyes, took one last draft of cool city air, and moved her middle finger over the small, red button. It was over.
Mara Jade’s corpse fell to the floor in a heap of cauterized flesh. A slash that had swept from here abdomen, across her chest and severed her trigger arm had been the assassin’s undoing, and the deliverer of this final failure stood over her, breathing heavily. The stormtroopers and guardsmen stood back in disbelief and shock as Aayla Secura stared down at her kill in mild shock, blue lightsaber still glowing in her hands. Darth Vader stepped up alongside her and glared down on what could have been an invaluable resource of information. “Explain,” he ordered the Twi’lek coldly. Aayla deactivated her saber and looked at her master, eyes betraying a mix of exhilaration and fear. “I…I apologize my lord, but I sensed that she was a danger to us. Look at her palm, a detonator.”
Vader did not spare a glance at the severed limb, instead focusing on his apprentice. Neither spoke for a long, foreboding moment. “You did well,” Vader said at last, his low voice revealing no emotion. Aayla looked up, surprised. She had expected a rage, punishment for depriving Lord Vader of his prize. “However, you must learn that a killing blow is not always necessary, even if the dark side tells you it is right to take that life. To disarm and inspire fear and obedience in a foe can far more useful. Rage, fury, passion, instinct. All these are strong sources of power, but without control and focus, they can destroy what you hope to achieve along with an enemy. This is your first lesson. Remember it well.”
Darth Vader stalked off without another word, pondering his own message as Aayla remained behind, contemplating her first cold-blooded kill. Lord Vader was right, she could have simply cut off the woman’s arm to the same effect, and still have left the information Jade carried intact, but something had compelled her to take that life, and she had done so. And now, as she looked down at the once living being, a warmth began to ripple through her, permeating her very being with a strange new emotion, completely alien. The lust for blood and power. The very thing that a lifetime of Jedi training had screamed against, fought to suppress, was taking root within her, feeding the fire of the dark side that now burned within her heart. And it was glorious.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Chapter Thirty Four
The Arbiter moved steadily through the brightly lit, even hallways that dominated the Rebel starship’s center section, glad to be stretching his powerful leg muscles. For the last week, he had cloistered himself in the quarters he had been given, a small chamber that had belonged to an Umbaran Lieutenant killed at Sullust. He had not hidden himself away out of disgust for the humans that dominated the star cruiser as others of his species might do, but rather to try and come to terms with what had occurred since his awakening in the sick bay of the Enterprise not so long ago.
He had had to come to terms with many things since his arrival; the Covenant teachings and propaganda about humans that turned out to be far from the truth, the strong possibility that the holy Prophets were intentionally lying to their subjects and all that that entailed, and the underlying frustration at his sudden inability to try and save his own galaxy and way of life, the possibility that if he ever was able to return home, he might find it destroyed, destroyed by the foolishness of those he once revered. This last issue was the most dire and troubling, but the chaos that followed his arrival had not allowed much time for reflection on what was occurring around the Forerunner artifact from which he had been torn. Since the Republica had fled the destruction of its fleet, the Arbiter had nothing to do but reflect.
The idea of joining the others as they too waited for the long, relatively quiet trip to be over has occurred to him, but he wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea, not yet. The humans and humanoids he had fought alongside over the last few weeks had earned his admiration and even respect, and his inability to save the woman Crusher had disturbed him more than he had expected it would, but still, the idea of trying to socialize with them, know them better, went against a lifetime of zealous hatred and prejudice, parts of himself that would take a long time to fully repress.
However, this occasion was different. He had been relayed a message that the Enterprise survivors and even some rebel personnel were going to discuss what had been found on a derelict starship before the last jump into hyperspace, and what it meant for their attempts to locate a new wormhole, a discussion he had been invited to. The message had not been specific, and the Arbiter was left to wonder what type of vessel it was, and what relevant information it could possibly contain.
As he made his way to the small conference chamber that had been approved for the meeting, the Arbiter was relieved to see that none of the Alliance soldiers and crewers who moved through the passages around spared more than a passing glance in his direction. He did not wish to participate in a conversation with a curious passerby, although he did take interest in what seemed to be a general shift in attitude among them, a change that was almost palpable in the air. Before the Imperial attack, the Rebels he saw had been enthusiastic, eager to strike a blow to their enemy that it might never recover from. Now though, every pilot and marine had a dower expression and the air of a defeated soul. Even their oddly-shaped automatons seemed subdued. Of course, he could be misinterpreting their behavior, the Elite reflected, he was not yet very good at relating with humans, or even accurately telling them apart all the time, but he had been around soldiers all his life, and he knew the shame and hopelessness that defeat could bring. He had experienced it personally more than once, and he still bore the scars under his reflective armor.
The Arbiter paused at a turbolift bank, and checked his bearings mentally. The design of the ship, while more familiar than the Federation vessel he had been on briefly, was still quite dissimilar from the Covenant warship layout he was used to and he had not become acclimated to it yet. After a few moments of trying to check the deck and section indicators that were mounted next to the lift control panel, conveniently not in a script he could read, the Arbiter reluctantly began searching the hallway for someone who might direct him to the appropriate part of the ship.
One crewman, a young-looking male human caught his eye as he approached the same bank of turbolifts the Arbiter was standing near. Making sure that the Federation Universal Translator tucked into a side compartment of his armor was functioning, the Arbiter moved into his path. “Where is the deck nine, section four conference chamber?” he asked the startled human bluntly. The man stared up at the warrior and gulped; it occurred to the Elite that this human looked familiar. “Um, on deck nine,” the man responded, grinning uneasily. The Arbiter stared at him, unblinking and stonily serious.
The man’s smile quickly faded, and his voice began to waver slightly. “Ah, well yes, you wouldn’t know where that is after all. Sorry.” Swiftly, he moved around the Elite’s imposing figure and opened the turbolift door. “Here, I’ll guide you there. I’m heading in that direction anyways.” Stooping, the Arbiter entered the small platform with the human, who then typed a few commands into the inner interface.
As the mobile compartment disengaged from its magnetic holding claps and shot through the Republica’s inner workings, the two occupants were silent. Staring down at the human next to him out of the corner of his eye, the Arbiter suddenly remembered who the man was; Flitch, one of the Rebels who had been part of Major Truul’s infiltration team on the Imperial Star Destroyer Torrent. He seemed to have changed since the rout at Sullust, at least to the Arbiter’s eyes. Outwardly, he carried the small resigned, defeated air that pervaded the ship’s crew, but there was something more to this one, more deeply ingrained emotion. Tainted as they were by eventual failure and disgrace, his years as a Covenant fleetlord had given him experience dealing with lesser officers, and he had paid more attention to those under his command than most in such a lofty position. To know the motivations and motives of one’s soldiers is to know how to make them follow orders without question.
The turbolift at last came to a stop and Flitch directed the Arbiter out of the compartment and down an empty hallway. “Pretty empty down here,” the soldier commented. “Not really surprising, not many people would be using any of the briefing or conference rooms at a time like this. Nothing to plan until we rendezvous with command again, if command even makes it.”
Empty small talk, the Arbiter noted silently, he is talking to disguise nervousness. But what was he nervous about? It could not be the Elite’s imposing presence; they had met before and fought alongside one another before. It could be general agitation caused by the uncertain future of the Rebellion; it was only natural that Flitch would be as uneasy as the rest of the crew. Still, something felt different about that man.
“Alright, the conference chamber is through there,” Flitch said, indicating to a tan-colored door at one side of the intersection the spread out from the end of the passage. “Glad I could be of assistance.” The Arbiter dipped his head marginally in a show of gratitude, but before he had completed even that simple gesture, the man was off, pacing quickly down an adjoining passage. The Elite looked the door over, but did not move toward it, instead turning to watch the human as he moved past a pair of off duty flight mechanics.
Instinct told the Arbiter that he should follow the man. It might not be proper procedure or even wise considering their tenuous situation to stalk a Rebel soldier, but he had not survived so long in the service of the Prophets by ignoring gut. The meeting could wait.
The two mechanics turned off the passage through a side door, leaving the area empty, save the Arbiter and his fast moving prey, which was almost to the end of the corridor. Running as swiftly as he could without alert Flitch, he halved the distance between them in only a few seconds and was a mere arm length away when the human reached the end of the hall and turned to the right. The Arbiter paused; if this man truly was hiding something, he might be more wary of pursuit than an average man. Finding the hidden switch inlaid in his reflective armor, the Arbiter scanned the area for potential witnesses and obvious security recorders and prepared to activate his personal cloak.
“Oh, hello.” Reginald Barclay said, steadying himself after his sudden halt. The Starfleet officer had emerged from around the corner Flitch had turned and almost collided with the three meter giant. The Arbiter swiftly withdrew his hand from the hidden switch and glared at Barclay in annoyance. “Sorry about that, almost running into you I mean,” the man continued. “I’m still having some trouble with this ships layout, and the computer panels and directional indicators around this place are hard to read, they give you a headache. I suppose it’s from being designed by the Mon Calamari, with their oddly positioned eyes.”
As Barclay prattled on, the Arbiter maneuvered past him and looked down the right hallway. Flitch had disappeared, and trying to find him again would be fairly useless. He turned back to Barclay, who was still talking, and let out a brief sigh. The human may have saved his life, and was certainly more competent than he had suspected when they had first met, but he was still very annoying. “So, I suppose your heading for the Captain’s conference. I was order to be there as well, but I can’t seem to locate it. The layout on the Enterprise was much more efficient.”
The Arbiter had found both starships’ designs equally alien and relatively inefficient, but he didn’t care to continue the conversation, instead gesturing down the hallway towards the intersection. “The chamber is down there. Follow.” The warrior set off without another word, mildly irritated, leaving Barclay wondering what he had done to earn such a stiff response.
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By the time the two arrived, most of those who had been invited were already assembled, arrayed in the large bank of chairs that formed a multi-rowed semi-circle around a raised speaking platform at the back of the room. Like many of the rooms on the ship, the small conference chamber was of a smooth and scalloped shape, brightly lit and focused around a deactivated display screen at hung above the central podium. Most of the people in attendance had a vested interest in what would be discussed, the half dozen or so remaining members of the Enterprise’s crew, Jacen Solo, and Tassadar, but with them were also a few of the Republica’s own complement. While she had allowed the requisitioning of one of the ship’s few meeting areas, Captain Ryceed had not been inclined to allow her passengers a completely private conference, and thus had authorized any off-duty officer who wished access to the meeting. Captain Picard, defacto leader of the small group, had agreed; the information that was to be relayed would hopefully reach Alliance ears anyways.
As the rest of the assemblage conversed quietly, Lt. Commander Data, Geordi La’Forge, and Commander Riker clustered around a computer station in a corner of the room, evidently making final checks on the information they had been able to salvage from the derelict ship’s computer. Captain Picard and Tassadar were across the chamber on the large podium talking to one another in hushed tones, the latter seated crossed-legged on the floor, his head nodding shakily as broadcasted his thoughts in the form of words.
The Arbiter, managing to extricate himself from Barclay, moved off to the gently curved back wall of the chamber and located a spot that he could lean against; his lanky Elite musculature made sitting in Mon Calamari-style chairs extremely uncomfortable. Looking to his left, he noted to his mild surprise that the Master Chief was present also, similarly ensconced only a few meters away, his ever present armor reflecting the light of the room dully. Who would think, the Elite mused silently, that he would have not hesitated to kill the human given the opportunity only a week short months ago. This creature, who had lead the team of human survivors that had infiltrated his command ship, fought his way to the bridge, and bested him in personal combat following the destruction of the first Halo station. He had nearly been killed that day, shoved unceremoniously into an escape pod and forced to watch from the depths of space, bleeding and battered, as his ship, the Ascendant Justice, was hijacked and used against its own fleet. He had vowed to himself that day that he would not rest until the human’s severed head lay in his hands, but circumstances had dictated otherwise. Stripped of his rank and very name for the colossal failure and forced into the death sentence that was being an Arbiter, and then finding himself thrust back with the very cause of his dishonor, made allies by cruel fate.
There was a force still inside him, one he had been repressing for weeks, a little voice that resided along with the repressed teaching of the traitorous Prophets, that still called out for vengeance, for him to seize the human’s, the Demon’s, neck and pry his wretched head free of its foundation. It was his right as a warrior, and the will of the Prophets. And why stop with just the one human; there was a ship full of them within his grasp, waiting to wash away his failure with their blood! The Arbiter’s eyes began to cloud with red and his jaw mandibles quivered with anticipation, rows of teeth eager to split human flesh. Slowly, almost involuntarily, his right hand edged toward the plasma hilt that hung from his waist, and he could almost see the triangle of blue flame bursting to life, carving a swath of holy vengeance before him from which none could escape. The heretics and non-believers would fall and with their deaths, he would be absolved.
No.
There was no absolution for him, and slowly, he realized he did not really wish for it. The Prophets had betrayed him; their very Covenant was built upon lies and half-truths. Their will no longer held any sway for with him, and no matter how hard the part of him that still believed in all that he once been resisted, no matter how much his baser instincts fought to break free, he would oppose them. And he would win. All that mattered now was for him to return to his own galaxy, save his people from the destruction that the Prophet’s treachery and blind faith would bring. His hand fell from the inactive blade.
The Master Chief had been and was still doing what he had no doubt been trained and bred to do, oppose the annihilation of his species, and the Arbiter would harbor no grudge for one with such an honorable goal. Their motives were one in the same.
The chamber’s entry door slid open, and Major Besteen Truul entered, looking weary and strained. Undoubtedly much of the difficult job of holding the ship’s dower crew together was in part on the charismatic officer’s shoulders, and yet he still found time to aid in the quest of those who had caused him so much trouble and loss. Slipping in just after the Major was another man, younger and better groomed, but similarly drained. It took the Arbiter’s untrained eye for human face a few moments to realize that the man was Flitch, who he had been tailing only minutes before. Not revealing any outward sign of surprise or unusual interest, the Elite watched the man carefully as he stopped to talk with Truul, take a datapad from him, salute and then exit. He appeared to be serving as the Major’s aide, hardly surprising considering the depleted crew strength and their past experience together. This might explain why Flitch had been behaving strangely before, out of his element in his current capacity but still, something about his demeanor was strange.
As Truul took a seat at the rear of the small chamber, Captain Picard straightened his worn uniform and approached the main platform’s oratory stand, apparently satisfied with the size of assembled crowd. Taking their cue, the three officers at the computer terminal gathered their data discs and pads and joined the Captain and Tassadar on the platform.
“As most of you know, before our last jump into hyperspace, the Republica’s command crew located a derelict ship adrift near our position. A Starfleet vessel.” At this, several of the attendees began to whisper excitedly. Picard paused, allowing the conversation to die off before continuing. “With Captain Ryceed’s approval, Commander Riker and a small away team docked with the ship and were able to retrieve several pertinent sensor and ship’s logs from its computer. From those files, they were able to determine the location and composition of the wormhole the ship used to travel here. I believe Mr. Data and Commander La’Forge have discovered several specifics about the anomaly that may help us use it to return to our respective home galaxies.”
The captain moved to the side, allowing Data to take a place at the main podium. “After repairing and accessing the navigational logs that Commander Riker’s team was able to recover from the Cornwall, I compared the starship’s flight pattern with the stellar imaging recorder built into the Cornwall’s passive scanning array.” The android inserted a small disc into a receptacle mounted onto the speaking stand, and the large display behind the speakers lit up, revealing a simplified starfield, crisscrossed by multicolored lines of digits that indicated trajectory, speed, and location for the tiny representation of a Starfleet Steamrunner-class vessel. “Twenty five hours, four minutes before being picked up by the Republica’s sensors, the star pattern displayed by the imaging logs changed drastically, altering from a configuration documented in the Parideian Cluster, Milky Way Galaxy, to the stellar configuration correspondent to the star system where the Cornwall was located. It is highly probable that is the point at which the starship passed through the wormhole.” The computer-generated Cornwall moved about a foot across the screen before suddenly disappearing. The entire image collapsed in on itself, closing on the point where the starship had disappeared, and then blossoming out along with the ship, the starfield in the background now completely different.
Geordi stepped up alongside Data. “The ship’s propulsion systems seem to have been knocked out either before or during the wormhole transit, but it still had sufficient inertia to be propelled a significant distance away from the exit point. Lt. Commander Data and I were able to extrapolate back from the Cornwall’s position when we located it, and using its heading and speed, we have a pretty good idea where the wormhole is.” This news sent a whisper of relief through those in attendance.
“Most of the scanning information from the transit through the wormhole was corrupted beyond usage,” Data continued. “However, from what we do know, it appears that this anomaly is much more stable than the one the Enterprise used to first come to this galaxy, and possibly much larger in dimension. It is highly likely that it is still in existence and will remain in that state for a relatively long period of time, but we lack the data necessary to make an accurate estimation.”
From the middle of the rows of seats, a weak voice wavered, cutting the android off. “Um, sirs? What about the energy feedback that the…uh, Enterprise received when it went through last time?” This was from Lieutenant Barclay, who was perched on the edge of his seat, looking surprisingly nervous. “How can we use the wormhole if it overloads the reactor of whatever ship is sent through it?”
Data took the question impassively. “During its passage through the wormhole, the Enterprise did receive critical damage to its warp core, but the boarders from the Columbus played a large part in the ship’s destruction. If the containment systems had been operating at full efficiency, unimpeded by the previous sabotage, it is possible that the damage to the warp core would not have been as severe. However,” The display changed once again, erasing the starfield and replacing it with a representation of a Mon Calamari Liberation-class star cruiser. The scalloped, grayish vessel was covered in a bright-hued field; a depiction of the starship’s shielding system. “The shielding technology employed by the Mon Calamari and the Galactic Empire surpasses the Federation equivalent by an order of magnitude or more. This should provide more protection for passage through the wormhole, and the hypermatter fusion reactors used by this galaxy’s civilizations should reduce the possibility of a core overload.”
Silently, Picard reflected how odd it was that only now that the enormous differences in technology used by this galaxy’s inhabitants was coming to their notice. The past weeks had been too hectic and confused to allow for any serious study of the alien hardware, but even a basic overview of Mon Calamari technology limited access to the computer systems had provided his science team revealed that they were centuries, millennia beyond the Federation, even the Borg. The thought filled Picard with a strange mix of emotion; on the one hand, he was relating with species whose technology and culture could prove to be the greatest boon humanity had seen since Zephrin Cochrane had activated the first warp drive, but on the other, he was looking at a force that could crush every power in the Alpha Quadrant effortlessly if it was turned to conquest, something the Empire seemed quite good at. Even the fundamental principles of this galaxy’s energy production and superluminal drive systems had been nearly beyond Data’s very comprehension. Yes, this technology was perhaps too advanced to find its way into Milky Way, even if its bearers were benevolent in nature. Still, he had a duty to his crew; he would see them home. Whatever problems that might develop afterwards would simply have to be confronted if and when they came.
“Still, there is a danger.” Geordi was speaking again. “The damage the wormhole inflicts seems to stem from redirection of the ship’s radiant energy from its engines, sensors, and shields back against it, something that even this ship’s defenses couldn’t fully repel.”
“That’s where I come in.” The audience, overwhelmed by the deluge of information that was being fed to them, was startled by the new voice, feminine and coolly confident, that seemed to be piping in over the room’s intercom. In a burst of static, a female figure, glowing bluish-purple, appeared on the display screen. “For those of you who have not met her, this is Cortana, a highly advanced Artificial Intelligence construct,” Commander Riker said, glancing sideways at the being’s chosen image.
“Highly advanced? You really know how to flatter a girl,” the construct shot back, playfully rolling her eyes. “Now, the wormhole. Working with Lt. Commander Data, I believe that I have discovered a way to safely traverse the anomaly. The phenomenon actually seems similar in nature the Slipspace drive used by the civilizations of my galaxy, and early UNSC scientists had to combat the energy feedback phenomenon to make our faster than light drives usable. It was discovered that certain low-band frequencies, broadcasted constantly during entry and exit of spatial rifts could help repel the feedback and even direct the in-transit starship more accurately. Our vessels do not employ energy shields, but the principle could still be applied by altering the intensity and diameter of the defensive screen in tune with the frequency. Such a pattern would effectively repulse any damaging discharges, and, if I’m right, even direct the wormhole’s exit coordinates.”
Deep within the Arbiter, a flicker of hope began to grow. He was no engineer, but he had been around Slipspace drives long enough to know that what the computer construct said was true. And, if he understood her implication correctly, there was still hope that he could return to the Covenant and save it from the destruction that the Prophets would bring upon it.
Data and the others paused the briefing, allowing those in attendance to mull over what had been said. While the oration by the android and A.I. was somewhat more technical than was warranted for the discussion, most understood that they new findings meant that perhaps there was a new hope, a chance to get home. Deanna Troi however, who was seat in the front row, seemed more concerned and distracted than optimistic.
“Excuse me,” she said. “But you said that the Cornwall was found derelict. Was there anyone onboard? I do remember feeling something…strange from outside the ship before we jumped into hyperspace.”
Picard sighed grimly and Riker frowned, nodding his head slowly. “We did encounter a single human survivor in the Engineering section. She’s recovering from exhaustion and a few minor injuries in the medical ward.” Jacen Solo arched an eyebrow. “But there were others there?” He frowned in concentration, as if trying to pull the answer from thin air. “A hostile force?” Riker nodded again in recognition.
“Yes. Animal-like things, dozens of them. They swarmed us as we were uploading the sensor logs, and my team barely escaped alive. From what little we could recover from the captain’s log, they were responsible for damaging the ship and killing most of her crew.” The commander exchanged a dour with the captain. “We also believe that the creatures that were on that ship are affiliated with the ones that captured the Columbus and destroyed the Enterprise.” Not surprisingly, this news sent a collective shiver through those who had been on the Starfleet flagship when it had died, and even the few bored Alliance officers in attendance edged forward in their seats, suddenly intrigued.
“Tassadar here has offered to enlighten us on what he believes these creatures may be,” Picard concluded, and he and the others stepped aside, revealing the tall, scaly alien, who was seated on the platform, propped up against the gently curving wall. Dark, orb-like eyes scanned the assemblage once, their reptilian pupils altering in shape and color as he prepared to speak.
“They are known to my people as the Zerg. Since the very beginnings of the Protoss Empire, they have plagued the galaxy, enveloping entire galactic sectors and spreading their influence over a thousand worlds. They are a pestilent race, existing only to consume living matter and assimilate it into their unholy swarm. Dozens of species have been absorbed in this fashion, forming new and terrible warriors, driven only by hunger and animalistic rage. The Zerg do not use technology, instead shaping the beings of the swarm into unimaginable and hideous forms that can fulfill any need. When they attack, no stratagem or intellect is used, they simply throw themselves wave after wave at the defenders until they break them down, and consume them. There can be no negotiation or treaty with them, not even surrender."
"Lesser Zerg, those that populate they’re near limitless horde, are thoughtless, brutal beasts, but there are higher forms, the ruthless Celebrates, and above them, the Overmind. For millennia untold this abomination has controlled the Swarm’s actions, his twisted and arcane intellect guiding them towards his ultimate goal. He will not rest until all other life is extinguished or absorbed, and only the Zerg remain."
"Since its formation, the Protoss Empire and the Order of the Templar have sought to stop this perversion and his Swarm, but such a foe is not easily defeated; he is as devious as his forces are strong. The Zerg and they’re master are resilient as well, and whenever one of their infested worlds burns under the bombardment of our fleets, the menace infects another. Still, the Protoss are strong, and we have held them at bay for many centuries, but the arrival of Terrans, humans, at the fringes of our space upset the balance. The Order and the fleet under my command attempted to keep the Swarm away from the newcomers, but internal strife among them made our efforts fruitless. The Overmind played them against us and assimilated many of their worlds and soldiers, so that when I was at last able to strike a truce with the humans, the Swarm was already overwhelming our defenses and befouling Aiur, our homeworld, with they’re presence. Even the Overmind himself was able to transplant himself onto the battlefields of my home and gloat over his impending victory. In last defense of my race, I attempted to fly one of our battlecruisers into the Overmind’s maw and strike it down once and for all by focusing my full psionic energy upon its malevolent heart.”
The High Templar’s commanding voice paused, and he looked away from the enraptured audience. “However, before my assault was complete, I was torn from Aiur, and found myself in this galaxy. I had hope that the impact of my flagship and the energy I had imbued into its hull would have been enough to destroy it and throw the Zerg into disarray, but perhaps I was mistaken.” After a moment of silence, Tassadar raised his head again, this time looking directly into Captain Picard’s eyes. “We can only hope that the Zerg presence in your galaxy is isolated and newly seeded. If that is so, there is yet hope for your people, but if this blight is allowed to take root, I fear that neither you nor I nor any other mortal force can save them.”
The Arbiter moved steadily through the brightly lit, even hallways that dominated the Rebel starship’s center section, glad to be stretching his powerful leg muscles. For the last week, he had cloistered himself in the quarters he had been given, a small chamber that had belonged to an Umbaran Lieutenant killed at Sullust. He had not hidden himself away out of disgust for the humans that dominated the star cruiser as others of his species might do, but rather to try and come to terms with what had occurred since his awakening in the sick bay of the Enterprise not so long ago.
He had had to come to terms with many things since his arrival; the Covenant teachings and propaganda about humans that turned out to be far from the truth, the strong possibility that the holy Prophets were intentionally lying to their subjects and all that that entailed, and the underlying frustration at his sudden inability to try and save his own galaxy and way of life, the possibility that if he ever was able to return home, he might find it destroyed, destroyed by the foolishness of those he once revered. This last issue was the most dire and troubling, but the chaos that followed his arrival had not allowed much time for reflection on what was occurring around the Forerunner artifact from which he had been torn. Since the Republica had fled the destruction of its fleet, the Arbiter had nothing to do but reflect.
The idea of joining the others as they too waited for the long, relatively quiet trip to be over has occurred to him, but he wasn’t quite comfortable with the idea, not yet. The humans and humanoids he had fought alongside over the last few weeks had earned his admiration and even respect, and his inability to save the woman Crusher had disturbed him more than he had expected it would, but still, the idea of trying to socialize with them, know them better, went against a lifetime of zealous hatred and prejudice, parts of himself that would take a long time to fully repress.
However, this occasion was different. He had been relayed a message that the Enterprise survivors and even some rebel personnel were going to discuss what had been found on a derelict starship before the last jump into hyperspace, and what it meant for their attempts to locate a new wormhole, a discussion he had been invited to. The message had not been specific, and the Arbiter was left to wonder what type of vessel it was, and what relevant information it could possibly contain.
As he made his way to the small conference chamber that had been approved for the meeting, the Arbiter was relieved to see that none of the Alliance soldiers and crewers who moved through the passages around spared more than a passing glance in his direction. He did not wish to participate in a conversation with a curious passerby, although he did take interest in what seemed to be a general shift in attitude among them, a change that was almost palpable in the air. Before the Imperial attack, the Rebels he saw had been enthusiastic, eager to strike a blow to their enemy that it might never recover from. Now though, every pilot and marine had a dower expression and the air of a defeated soul. Even their oddly-shaped automatons seemed subdued. Of course, he could be misinterpreting their behavior, the Elite reflected, he was not yet very good at relating with humans, or even accurately telling them apart all the time, but he had been around soldiers all his life, and he knew the shame and hopelessness that defeat could bring. He had experienced it personally more than once, and he still bore the scars under his reflective armor.
The Arbiter paused at a turbolift bank, and checked his bearings mentally. The design of the ship, while more familiar than the Federation vessel he had been on briefly, was still quite dissimilar from the Covenant warship layout he was used to and he had not become acclimated to it yet. After a few moments of trying to check the deck and section indicators that were mounted next to the lift control panel, conveniently not in a script he could read, the Arbiter reluctantly began searching the hallway for someone who might direct him to the appropriate part of the ship.
One crewman, a young-looking male human caught his eye as he approached the same bank of turbolifts the Arbiter was standing near. Making sure that the Federation Universal Translator tucked into a side compartment of his armor was functioning, the Arbiter moved into his path. “Where is the deck nine, section four conference chamber?” he asked the startled human bluntly. The man stared up at the warrior and gulped; it occurred to the Elite that this human looked familiar. “Um, on deck nine,” the man responded, grinning uneasily. The Arbiter stared at him, unblinking and stonily serious.
The man’s smile quickly faded, and his voice began to waver slightly. “Ah, well yes, you wouldn’t know where that is after all. Sorry.” Swiftly, he moved around the Elite’s imposing figure and opened the turbolift door. “Here, I’ll guide you there. I’m heading in that direction anyways.” Stooping, the Arbiter entered the small platform with the human, who then typed a few commands into the inner interface.
As the mobile compartment disengaged from its magnetic holding claps and shot through the Republica’s inner workings, the two occupants were silent. Staring down at the human next to him out of the corner of his eye, the Arbiter suddenly remembered who the man was; Flitch, one of the Rebels who had been part of Major Truul’s infiltration team on the Imperial Star Destroyer Torrent. He seemed to have changed since the rout at Sullust, at least to the Arbiter’s eyes. Outwardly, he carried the small resigned, defeated air that pervaded the ship’s crew, but there was something more to this one, more deeply ingrained emotion. Tainted as they were by eventual failure and disgrace, his years as a Covenant fleetlord had given him experience dealing with lesser officers, and he had paid more attention to those under his command than most in such a lofty position. To know the motivations and motives of one’s soldiers is to know how to make them follow orders without question.
The turbolift at last came to a stop and Flitch directed the Arbiter out of the compartment and down an empty hallway. “Pretty empty down here,” the soldier commented. “Not really surprising, not many people would be using any of the briefing or conference rooms at a time like this. Nothing to plan until we rendezvous with command again, if command even makes it.”
Empty small talk, the Arbiter noted silently, he is talking to disguise nervousness. But what was he nervous about? It could not be the Elite’s imposing presence; they had met before and fought alongside one another before. It could be general agitation caused by the uncertain future of the Rebellion; it was only natural that Flitch would be as uneasy as the rest of the crew. Still, something felt different about that man.
“Alright, the conference chamber is through there,” Flitch said, indicating to a tan-colored door at one side of the intersection the spread out from the end of the passage. “Glad I could be of assistance.” The Arbiter dipped his head marginally in a show of gratitude, but before he had completed even that simple gesture, the man was off, pacing quickly down an adjoining passage. The Elite looked the door over, but did not move toward it, instead turning to watch the human as he moved past a pair of off duty flight mechanics.
Instinct told the Arbiter that he should follow the man. It might not be proper procedure or even wise considering their tenuous situation to stalk a Rebel soldier, but he had not survived so long in the service of the Prophets by ignoring gut. The meeting could wait.
The two mechanics turned off the passage through a side door, leaving the area empty, save the Arbiter and his fast moving prey, which was almost to the end of the corridor. Running as swiftly as he could without alert Flitch, he halved the distance between them in only a few seconds and was a mere arm length away when the human reached the end of the hall and turned to the right. The Arbiter paused; if this man truly was hiding something, he might be more wary of pursuit than an average man. Finding the hidden switch inlaid in his reflective armor, the Arbiter scanned the area for potential witnesses and obvious security recorders and prepared to activate his personal cloak.
“Oh, hello.” Reginald Barclay said, steadying himself after his sudden halt. The Starfleet officer had emerged from around the corner Flitch had turned and almost collided with the three meter giant. The Arbiter swiftly withdrew his hand from the hidden switch and glared at Barclay in annoyance. “Sorry about that, almost running into you I mean,” the man continued. “I’m still having some trouble with this ships layout, and the computer panels and directional indicators around this place are hard to read, they give you a headache. I suppose it’s from being designed by the Mon Calamari, with their oddly positioned eyes.”
As Barclay prattled on, the Arbiter maneuvered past him and looked down the right hallway. Flitch had disappeared, and trying to find him again would be fairly useless. He turned back to Barclay, who was still talking, and let out a brief sigh. The human may have saved his life, and was certainly more competent than he had suspected when they had first met, but he was still very annoying. “So, I suppose your heading for the Captain’s conference. I was order to be there as well, but I can’t seem to locate it. The layout on the Enterprise was much more efficient.”
The Arbiter had found both starships’ designs equally alien and relatively inefficient, but he didn’t care to continue the conversation, instead gesturing down the hallway towards the intersection. “The chamber is down there. Follow.” The warrior set off without another word, mildly irritated, leaving Barclay wondering what he had done to earn such a stiff response.
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By the time the two arrived, most of those who had been invited were already assembled, arrayed in the large bank of chairs that formed a multi-rowed semi-circle around a raised speaking platform at the back of the room. Like many of the rooms on the ship, the small conference chamber was of a smooth and scalloped shape, brightly lit and focused around a deactivated display screen at hung above the central podium. Most of the people in attendance had a vested interest in what would be discussed, the half dozen or so remaining members of the Enterprise’s crew, Jacen Solo, and Tassadar, but with them were also a few of the Republica’s own complement. While she had allowed the requisitioning of one of the ship’s few meeting areas, Captain Ryceed had not been inclined to allow her passengers a completely private conference, and thus had authorized any off-duty officer who wished access to the meeting. Captain Picard, defacto leader of the small group, had agreed; the information that was to be relayed would hopefully reach Alliance ears anyways.
As the rest of the assemblage conversed quietly, Lt. Commander Data, Geordi La’Forge, and Commander Riker clustered around a computer station in a corner of the room, evidently making final checks on the information they had been able to salvage from the derelict ship’s computer. Captain Picard and Tassadar were across the chamber on the large podium talking to one another in hushed tones, the latter seated crossed-legged on the floor, his head nodding shakily as broadcasted his thoughts in the form of words.
The Arbiter, managing to extricate himself from Barclay, moved off to the gently curved back wall of the chamber and located a spot that he could lean against; his lanky Elite musculature made sitting in Mon Calamari-style chairs extremely uncomfortable. Looking to his left, he noted to his mild surprise that the Master Chief was present also, similarly ensconced only a few meters away, his ever present armor reflecting the light of the room dully. Who would think, the Elite mused silently, that he would have not hesitated to kill the human given the opportunity only a week short months ago. This creature, who had lead the team of human survivors that had infiltrated his command ship, fought his way to the bridge, and bested him in personal combat following the destruction of the first Halo station. He had nearly been killed that day, shoved unceremoniously into an escape pod and forced to watch from the depths of space, bleeding and battered, as his ship, the Ascendant Justice, was hijacked and used against its own fleet. He had vowed to himself that day that he would not rest until the human’s severed head lay in his hands, but circumstances had dictated otherwise. Stripped of his rank and very name for the colossal failure and forced into the death sentence that was being an Arbiter, and then finding himself thrust back with the very cause of his dishonor, made allies by cruel fate.
There was a force still inside him, one he had been repressing for weeks, a little voice that resided along with the repressed teaching of the traitorous Prophets, that still called out for vengeance, for him to seize the human’s, the Demon’s, neck and pry his wretched head free of its foundation. It was his right as a warrior, and the will of the Prophets. And why stop with just the one human; there was a ship full of them within his grasp, waiting to wash away his failure with their blood! The Arbiter’s eyes began to cloud with red and his jaw mandibles quivered with anticipation, rows of teeth eager to split human flesh. Slowly, almost involuntarily, his right hand edged toward the plasma hilt that hung from his waist, and he could almost see the triangle of blue flame bursting to life, carving a swath of holy vengeance before him from which none could escape. The heretics and non-believers would fall and with their deaths, he would be absolved.
No.
There was no absolution for him, and slowly, he realized he did not really wish for it. The Prophets had betrayed him; their very Covenant was built upon lies and half-truths. Their will no longer held any sway for with him, and no matter how hard the part of him that still believed in all that he once been resisted, no matter how much his baser instincts fought to break free, he would oppose them. And he would win. All that mattered now was for him to return to his own galaxy, save his people from the destruction that the Prophet’s treachery and blind faith would bring. His hand fell from the inactive blade.
The Master Chief had been and was still doing what he had no doubt been trained and bred to do, oppose the annihilation of his species, and the Arbiter would harbor no grudge for one with such an honorable goal. Their motives were one in the same.
The chamber’s entry door slid open, and Major Besteen Truul entered, looking weary and strained. Undoubtedly much of the difficult job of holding the ship’s dower crew together was in part on the charismatic officer’s shoulders, and yet he still found time to aid in the quest of those who had caused him so much trouble and loss. Slipping in just after the Major was another man, younger and better groomed, but similarly drained. It took the Arbiter’s untrained eye for human face a few moments to realize that the man was Flitch, who he had been tailing only minutes before. Not revealing any outward sign of surprise or unusual interest, the Elite watched the man carefully as he stopped to talk with Truul, take a datapad from him, salute and then exit. He appeared to be serving as the Major’s aide, hardly surprising considering the depleted crew strength and their past experience together. This might explain why Flitch had been behaving strangely before, out of his element in his current capacity but still, something about his demeanor was strange.
As Truul took a seat at the rear of the small chamber, Captain Picard straightened his worn uniform and approached the main platform’s oratory stand, apparently satisfied with the size of assembled crowd. Taking their cue, the three officers at the computer terminal gathered their data discs and pads and joined the Captain and Tassadar on the platform.
“As most of you know, before our last jump into hyperspace, the Republica’s command crew located a derelict ship adrift near our position. A Starfleet vessel.” At this, several of the attendees began to whisper excitedly. Picard paused, allowing the conversation to die off before continuing. “With Captain Ryceed’s approval, Commander Riker and a small away team docked with the ship and were able to retrieve several pertinent sensor and ship’s logs from its computer. From those files, they were able to determine the location and composition of the wormhole the ship used to travel here. I believe Mr. Data and Commander La’Forge have discovered several specifics about the anomaly that may help us use it to return to our respective home galaxies.”
The captain moved to the side, allowing Data to take a place at the main podium. “After repairing and accessing the navigational logs that Commander Riker’s team was able to recover from the Cornwall, I compared the starship’s flight pattern with the stellar imaging recorder built into the Cornwall’s passive scanning array.” The android inserted a small disc into a receptacle mounted onto the speaking stand, and the large display behind the speakers lit up, revealing a simplified starfield, crisscrossed by multicolored lines of digits that indicated trajectory, speed, and location for the tiny representation of a Starfleet Steamrunner-class vessel. “Twenty five hours, four minutes before being picked up by the Republica’s sensors, the star pattern displayed by the imaging logs changed drastically, altering from a configuration documented in the Parideian Cluster, Milky Way Galaxy, to the stellar configuration correspondent to the star system where the Cornwall was located. It is highly probable that is the point at which the starship passed through the wormhole.” The computer-generated Cornwall moved about a foot across the screen before suddenly disappearing. The entire image collapsed in on itself, closing on the point where the starship had disappeared, and then blossoming out along with the ship, the starfield in the background now completely different.
Geordi stepped up alongside Data. “The ship’s propulsion systems seem to have been knocked out either before or during the wormhole transit, but it still had sufficient inertia to be propelled a significant distance away from the exit point. Lt. Commander Data and I were able to extrapolate back from the Cornwall’s position when we located it, and using its heading and speed, we have a pretty good idea where the wormhole is.” This news sent a whisper of relief through those in attendance.
“Most of the scanning information from the transit through the wormhole was corrupted beyond usage,” Data continued. “However, from what we do know, it appears that this anomaly is much more stable than the one the Enterprise used to first come to this galaxy, and possibly much larger in dimension. It is highly likely that it is still in existence and will remain in that state for a relatively long period of time, but we lack the data necessary to make an accurate estimation.”
From the middle of the rows of seats, a weak voice wavered, cutting the android off. “Um, sirs? What about the energy feedback that the…uh, Enterprise received when it went through last time?” This was from Lieutenant Barclay, who was perched on the edge of his seat, looking surprisingly nervous. “How can we use the wormhole if it overloads the reactor of whatever ship is sent through it?”
Data took the question impassively. “During its passage through the wormhole, the Enterprise did receive critical damage to its warp core, but the boarders from the Columbus played a large part in the ship’s destruction. If the containment systems had been operating at full efficiency, unimpeded by the previous sabotage, it is possible that the damage to the warp core would not have been as severe. However,” The display changed once again, erasing the starfield and replacing it with a representation of a Mon Calamari Liberation-class star cruiser. The scalloped, grayish vessel was covered in a bright-hued field; a depiction of the starship’s shielding system. “The shielding technology employed by the Mon Calamari and the Galactic Empire surpasses the Federation equivalent by an order of magnitude or more. This should provide more protection for passage through the wormhole, and the hypermatter fusion reactors used by this galaxy’s civilizations should reduce the possibility of a core overload.”
Silently, Picard reflected how odd it was that only now that the enormous differences in technology used by this galaxy’s inhabitants was coming to their notice. The past weeks had been too hectic and confused to allow for any serious study of the alien hardware, but even a basic overview of Mon Calamari technology limited access to the computer systems had provided his science team revealed that they were centuries, millennia beyond the Federation, even the Borg. The thought filled Picard with a strange mix of emotion; on the one hand, he was relating with species whose technology and culture could prove to be the greatest boon humanity had seen since Zephrin Cochrane had activated the first warp drive, but on the other, he was looking at a force that could crush every power in the Alpha Quadrant effortlessly if it was turned to conquest, something the Empire seemed quite good at. Even the fundamental principles of this galaxy’s energy production and superluminal drive systems had been nearly beyond Data’s very comprehension. Yes, this technology was perhaps too advanced to find its way into Milky Way, even if its bearers were benevolent in nature. Still, he had a duty to his crew; he would see them home. Whatever problems that might develop afterwards would simply have to be confronted if and when they came.
“Still, there is a danger.” Geordi was speaking again. “The damage the wormhole inflicts seems to stem from redirection of the ship’s radiant energy from its engines, sensors, and shields back against it, something that even this ship’s defenses couldn’t fully repel.”
“That’s where I come in.” The audience, overwhelmed by the deluge of information that was being fed to them, was startled by the new voice, feminine and coolly confident, that seemed to be piping in over the room’s intercom. In a burst of static, a female figure, glowing bluish-purple, appeared on the display screen. “For those of you who have not met her, this is Cortana, a highly advanced Artificial Intelligence construct,” Commander Riker said, glancing sideways at the being’s chosen image.
“Highly advanced? You really know how to flatter a girl,” the construct shot back, playfully rolling her eyes. “Now, the wormhole. Working with Lt. Commander Data, I believe that I have discovered a way to safely traverse the anomaly. The phenomenon actually seems similar in nature the Slipspace drive used by the civilizations of my galaxy, and early UNSC scientists had to combat the energy feedback phenomenon to make our faster than light drives usable. It was discovered that certain low-band frequencies, broadcasted constantly during entry and exit of spatial rifts could help repel the feedback and even direct the in-transit starship more accurately. Our vessels do not employ energy shields, but the principle could still be applied by altering the intensity and diameter of the defensive screen in tune with the frequency. Such a pattern would effectively repulse any damaging discharges, and, if I’m right, even direct the wormhole’s exit coordinates.”
Deep within the Arbiter, a flicker of hope began to grow. He was no engineer, but he had been around Slipspace drives long enough to know that what the computer construct said was true. And, if he understood her implication correctly, there was still hope that he could return to the Covenant and save it from the destruction that the Prophets would bring upon it.
Data and the others paused the briefing, allowing those in attendance to mull over what had been said. While the oration by the android and A.I. was somewhat more technical than was warranted for the discussion, most understood that they new findings meant that perhaps there was a new hope, a chance to get home. Deanna Troi however, who was seat in the front row, seemed more concerned and distracted than optimistic.
“Excuse me,” she said. “But you said that the Cornwall was found derelict. Was there anyone onboard? I do remember feeling something…strange from outside the ship before we jumped into hyperspace.”
Picard sighed grimly and Riker frowned, nodding his head slowly. “We did encounter a single human survivor in the Engineering section. She’s recovering from exhaustion and a few minor injuries in the medical ward.” Jacen Solo arched an eyebrow. “But there were others there?” He frowned in concentration, as if trying to pull the answer from thin air. “A hostile force?” Riker nodded again in recognition.
“Yes. Animal-like things, dozens of them. They swarmed us as we were uploading the sensor logs, and my team barely escaped alive. From what little we could recover from the captain’s log, they were responsible for damaging the ship and killing most of her crew.” The commander exchanged a dour with the captain. “We also believe that the creatures that were on that ship are affiliated with the ones that captured the Columbus and destroyed the Enterprise.” Not surprisingly, this news sent a collective shiver through those who had been on the Starfleet flagship when it had died, and even the few bored Alliance officers in attendance edged forward in their seats, suddenly intrigued.
“Tassadar here has offered to enlighten us on what he believes these creatures may be,” Picard concluded, and he and the others stepped aside, revealing the tall, scaly alien, who was seated on the platform, propped up against the gently curving wall. Dark, orb-like eyes scanned the assemblage once, their reptilian pupils altering in shape and color as he prepared to speak.
“They are known to my people as the Zerg. Since the very beginnings of the Protoss Empire, they have plagued the galaxy, enveloping entire galactic sectors and spreading their influence over a thousand worlds. They are a pestilent race, existing only to consume living matter and assimilate it into their unholy swarm. Dozens of species have been absorbed in this fashion, forming new and terrible warriors, driven only by hunger and animalistic rage. The Zerg do not use technology, instead shaping the beings of the swarm into unimaginable and hideous forms that can fulfill any need. When they attack, no stratagem or intellect is used, they simply throw themselves wave after wave at the defenders until they break them down, and consume them. There can be no negotiation or treaty with them, not even surrender."
"Lesser Zerg, those that populate they’re near limitless horde, are thoughtless, brutal beasts, but there are higher forms, the ruthless Celebrates, and above them, the Overmind. For millennia untold this abomination has controlled the Swarm’s actions, his twisted and arcane intellect guiding them towards his ultimate goal. He will not rest until all other life is extinguished or absorbed, and only the Zerg remain."
"Since its formation, the Protoss Empire and the Order of the Templar have sought to stop this perversion and his Swarm, but such a foe is not easily defeated; he is as devious as his forces are strong. The Zerg and they’re master are resilient as well, and whenever one of their infested worlds burns under the bombardment of our fleets, the menace infects another. Still, the Protoss are strong, and we have held them at bay for many centuries, but the arrival of Terrans, humans, at the fringes of our space upset the balance. The Order and the fleet under my command attempted to keep the Swarm away from the newcomers, but internal strife among them made our efforts fruitless. The Overmind played them against us and assimilated many of their worlds and soldiers, so that when I was at last able to strike a truce with the humans, the Swarm was already overwhelming our defenses and befouling Aiur, our homeworld, with they’re presence. Even the Overmind himself was able to transplant himself onto the battlefields of my home and gloat over his impending victory. In last defense of my race, I attempted to fly one of our battlecruisers into the Overmind’s maw and strike it down once and for all by focusing my full psionic energy upon its malevolent heart.”
The High Templar’s commanding voice paused, and he looked away from the enraptured audience. “However, before my assault was complete, I was torn from Aiur, and found myself in this galaxy. I had hope that the impact of my flagship and the energy I had imbued into its hull would have been enough to destroy it and throw the Zerg into disarray, but perhaps I was mistaken.” After a moment of silence, Tassadar raised his head again, this time looking directly into Captain Picard’s eyes. “We can only hope that the Zerg presence in your galaxy is isolated and newly seeded. If that is so, there is yet hope for your people, but if this blight is allowed to take root, I fear that neither you nor I nor any other mortal force can save them.”
Last edited by Noble Ire on 2005-10-13 03:16pm, edited 2 times in total.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
.
Sorry about the delay, the beginning of the school year has really eaten away at my writing time. And be sure to check out my Short Story, Flight Reflex, on these very boards.
Chapter Thirty Five
After the briefing had concluded and those assembled had dispersed, Jacen Solo found himself left with little to do but wait until the Republica reached the Alliance rendezvous point, estimated, barring the need for further evasion, to occur in early the next morning ship time. Most of the passengers had gone to their quarters to rest after the eventful day, and most of the crew was off duty as well, the cruiser having shifted into night watch an hour earlier. The young Jedi was not tired however, and after pausing in his quarters briefly to stow his lightsaber and eat a nutrient bar he had taken from the galley earlier, found himself wandering the empty, spartan halls of the ship’s crew section, strolling down random passages and slipping in and out of turbolifts. As he walked, his mind wandered, mulling over the information given at the conference and allowing his Force empowered senses to drift through the decks of the starship, picking up the general mood of the resting crew and the random snippet of thought or voice.
He could sense a wide variety species: human, Mon Calamari, Bothan, Sullustan, and their faint Force presence lent him a feeling of familiarity, the feeling of being home. And yet, he knew, he wasn’t home. Like the others, he was out of time and place, trapped for the moment in a world he didn’t belong, and in his case, it was even worse. Picard and his crew were simply in the wrong galaxy, an unknown and alien world, but Jacen was out of time, in a place he knew all to well, from the stories that his parents and other veterans of the Galactic Civil war who had raised him. But it was different now; events were not unfolding as they should have. The Emperor was not supposed to have been destroyed yet, the Alliance fleet should not have been routed at Sullust, Lando…
The man slammed his fist against a bare metal wall, overwhelmed by sudden emotion. Lando wasn’t supposed to have died. He had learned of the General’s death not long after the Republica had fled, and the news had convinced him to stay away from his father for the time being. Han took the loss of friend hard; Jacen had seen that first hand after Chewie had died.
Of course, the loyal Wookiee wasn’t dead in this place. He was still Han Solo’s best friend and copilot, freedom fighter and mediator to the tensions that often flared up between the Corellian and his future wife, Leia.
Oblivious to the empty hallway around him, Jacen slammed the other arm into the blank bulkhead and forced his forehead against the cool metal. No, Chewie was dead. He died at Sernpidal, in his world, the real world. This was a different place, a different reality, it couldn’t really be his past. Jacen Solo was the same, but everything else was different. No, the Alliance had never been routed, they had defeated the Empire at Endor, Palpatine had died on the second Death Star at the hands of his uncle and grandfather, Lando and Admiral Ackbar were still alive, Chewie was dead.
Anakin was dead.
Hot tears began to pour down Jacen’s cheeks, and he didn’t know why. Anakin, his brother, was still alive. He had been alive when Jacen had been torn from his… the real universe. Anakin wasn’t, couldn’t be dead. How could he even know such a thing? The Jedi attempted to focus on the thought, trace it to its source, but the image of his brother’s face, the usually boyish and happy visage pale and lifeless, quickly faded into the mist. Then another picture began to form, the smooth curve of a feminine chin, graceful nose, slender lekku…
Jacen wrenched his head away from the wall and furiously rubbed his tear-stained face. No more. He wouldn’t give in to the emotions further delving down this path of memory might bring, it was not the Jedi way. Reflection was essential to the life of a Jedi, but this was not the time, he was still trapped in this strange, alien galaxy, and it was alien; he might not be able to resist the dark emotions he was feeling again on the verge of conscious thought without the guidance of one more experienced in the ways of the Force. Whatever the circumstances of this unexpected sojourn and the conflict he had been embroiled in before it had Forced him to become, he was still a mere apprentice, and he wished for the wise and gentle guidance of Master Luke more than ever.
Withdrawing the wayward tendrils of his consciousness and sealing himself off from the multitude of beings onboard the ship, Jacen straightened his worn jumpsuit and resumed his solitary walk, trying to focus again on what he had learned at the briefing. He had to remain patient and collected until Picard and the others were able to return to the wormhole, and hopefully, send them all home. He was a Jedi, he could work through this.
After a few more minutes of aimless travel, Jacen recognized a wider hallway, and for no particular reason, turned down it. Even though he could not decipher the script that adorned blandly colored plaques and markers around the door which was placed prominently in one wall, he remembered the configuration; this was the ship’s primary Medbay. He had come to the place earlier that very day, helping the medics transport the Cornwall’s lone survivor from the hangar deck. He had left as soon as the doctors moved her to an analysis table, not wanting to be in the way, and had all but forgotten about the incident, but being back here made him oddly curious about the patient who was likely still in the facility. Considering briefly, Jacen decided he had nothing better to do at the moment, and approached the large, ovoid door, which slid open silently.
Beyond it was a short hallway complete with a small reception table, a computer terminal, and several door ways that must have lead to decontamination chambers and changing rooms. A thin transparisteel partition separated the room from the circular nexus of the complex, a dimly lit chamber filled with clean plastoid tables, equipment receptacles, and dormant medical droids. As Jacen took a few steps into the reception area, silver protocol appeared from out of nowhere and stepped into his path. “Greetings sir,” it said in an artificially friendly voice. “I am afraid that most of the medical staff is off duty right now. Do you require emergency attention?”
Jacen shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Is there another who is in need of the medical staff then? I could dispatch an emergency team to any point on this ship if needed.”
Again Jacen replied in the negative. The droid was perplexed, inclining its reflective head slightly to get a better look at the out of place human. “Then, if I may ask, what are you doing here sir? It is well past the last duty shift, and maintenance is not scheduled to make their rounds through her for another forty six minutes.”
Why am I here, he wondered silently. His mind had seemed to have unconsciously propelled him to the spot, and now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. There was that sense of curiosity about the survivor, but surely she was asleep now, even if the doctors had been able to bring her around again. What purpose was there and going to see her right now?
“I was wondering about one of the patients that arrived here today, a human woman, rescued from a derelict starship before we jumped into hyperspace,” he asked, trying to look over the droid’s shoulder.
“I am unfamiliar with the circumstances of her injury, but there was one woman brought in today that you may be referring to. She was treated for a variety of minor dermal injuries and given stimulants to alleviate a neurochemical imbalanced caused by stress and exhaustion. Her condition was stabilized and she is now resting in the main recovery ward. If you wish to see her or any other of our patients, you will have to await regular visiting hours, which begin at 8:00 hours.”
Jacen thanked the droid and swiftly exited, sensing that it was becoming annoyed at the breach of protocol. When the thick doors sealed themselves behind him, Jacen sighed and looked over the empty passageways around him absently. Perhaps he should try and get some sleep now, even if the walk hadn’t tired him out as he had hoped it would. Trying to remember the path he had taken to get there, the man set off, his mind still lingering on the woman in the recovery ward. Why was he so curious about her? He had only seen her for a few minutes while he had walked with the medics; she was young, perhaps a few years older than himself, of slight build, with frayed brown hair and soft features that had shown through the grim and dried blood that had obscured her face. In fact, despite her injuries and tattered condition, she had actually been quite attractive, looking very much like Tenel Ka, one of the Jedi students he had once trained with.
He felt his cheeks begin to warm, and immediately banished the thought. He didn’t even know her, and now was hardly the time to allow his hormones to get the better of him. All the same, thinking about her had cheered him up after the sense of emptiness his strange vision had brought on previously.
Rounding a corner, Jacen noted someone else in the hallway heading towards him, a woman dressed in a white Alliance uniform, with her hands tucked behind her back and head down, evidently thinking. Assuming she was just another crewer, Jacen continued to walk down the hall until the two had nearly crossed paths. Then, as she looked up to brush a few strands of russet hair from her face, he got a good look at her face. It was Leia Organa.
Jacen faltered, not sure of what he should do. He was still unsure as to how to deal with being around his mother and father as they had once had been, and despite his conviction that this world was not his own, he could not bring himself to think of them as entirely different people. Of course, if they were really his parents, interacting with them might be an exceedingly bad and perhaps even dangerous idea, but he couldn’t help but feel that they might be able to provide him comfort or guidance in this ordeal, as they always had done before.
“Are you alright?” Jacen froze, and saw that Leia had stopped, and was now looking up at him, curious as to why had suddenly paused near her. Jacen desperately cast around his head for some response. “I, ah, its nothing. I’m fine,” he mumbled, but Leia was still looking him over, taking in his worn dark tunic, which was devoid of any military insignia, and lingering over his face. “You look familiar. Have we met before?” she asked curiously. Jacen gulped, tried to hide it, and then shook his head. “I…I don’t believe so.”
“Strange,” Leia noted, and then shook away the thought, smiling brightly and extending a hand. “I am Leia Organa, of the Alliance High Council.” Trying to look natural while surreptitiously turning his face away from her, Jacen extend his own and shook hers. Without letting go, she maneuvered to face him again and stared even more closely. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Jacen shook his head again, more vigorously this time. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t think I’ve even seen in passing you before.” As soon as the words left his limps, Jacen wished he could take them back, and cursed his own inborn honesty and the difficulty with lying that entailed. A wry grin crossed Leia’s face. “Your not part of the Alliance are you? Are you one of the refugees from Sullust?”
Jacen was drawing a complete blank on facades he could put up to deflect her line of questioning, so he decided to change tactics. He would simply tell the truth. In moderation.
“Actually, I’m a guest on this ship, along with several others brought here by an Alliance agent. We met with the High Council just before the Imperial attack. I don’t recall seeing you there though.” Leia frowned. “No, I only arrived at the fleet a few hours before the ambush. I didn’t have much time to speak with the Council before we had to evacuate.” She sighed, and looked off into space sadly. “I don’t even know if there will even be a Council anymore when we reach the rendezvous point. We lost so much, so many good people…” she drifted off, sadness etched deeply into her soft face.
Jacen fidgeted uncomfortably as he looked at a side of his mother he was very familiar with, one that had dominated her ever since the Yuuzhan Vong invaded. The Rebels had thought that winning the war against the Empire would bring peace to the galaxy, but it didn’t, and the struggle would continue to rage for decades, only the players changed. Even more good people would be lost in the years to come.
Leia noticed that the young man was uncomfortable, and grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “So, you said that you spoke with the Council. Is there anything I should know, or can help you with?” Jacen considered. It would be difficult to explain mission of the Enterprise crew without revealing his own origins, but his mother was a part of the High Council, and if he was able to convince her that returning to the portal might aid the Alliance in its struggle, requisitioning a ship for the task would be far easier.
Jacen launched into a brief recounting of the circumstances leading up to his presence onboard the Republica and Captain Picard’s proposal to the Council, as well as its uncertain reaction. He was careful to avoid any detailed descriptions of the origins of those who had found their way to the Rebel fleet, especially himself, and thus the tale was shorter and less coherent than he had hoped it would be, but Leia did not seem to notice many the jumps and discrepancies. After he had finished, she stood silently in thought, allowing Jacen to regain some composure. “That was quite an extraordinary tale,” she said at last. “I can see how the Council might have been skeptical. However, if it is true, contact with this United Federation of Planets might provide the Alliance with resources and sanctuary we are in dire need of. When we rendezvous with the rest of the Fleet, I will attempt to bring this back to the Council’s notice, but I can’t promise anything. As you know, recent events have strained our resources considerably, perhaps past the breaking point.”
“I understand, and anything you can do to help us would be greatly appreciated,” Jacen said, relieved that she had not pushed for more details. However, Leia was still looking at him very curiously and he almost felt as though she was trying to tap into his mind. His mother, while strong in the Force, had always been too distracted by politics and war to ever fully train and exploit her innate abilities, but she still was able to use it to a limited extent, especially when it came to reading the emotions of her children. Jacen was sure that at this point in time, she was completely unaware of her own gift and would not be able to use it to probe him at all, but he was still very uneasy, afraid to let any damaging foreknowledge of her future slip to the forefront of his mind.
So absorbed were they in this unconscious fencing match that neither noticed that another person was approaching them until a voice rang down the hallway. “What are you doing out here this late Leia? Is everything all right?” It was a powerful voice, tinged heavily by a Corellian accent and years of inhaling leaking coolant fumes. Han Solo, dressed in his trademark worn vest and pilot’s leggings walked up behind Leia and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. Beads of sweat began to form on Jacen’s forehead, dealing with his mother alone had been hard enough, and Han was far more likely to press him for details if their conversation started up again.
Leia took his hand in her own, and turned back to smile up at the gruff smuggler turned general. “I’m fine Han. My meeting with Captain Ryceed took a little longer than I expected, that’s all.”
Satisfied, Han turned a suspicious gaze upon the young Jedi, who attempting to look as unassuming as possible and failing miserably. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly. “You don’t look like a crewman.” Leia rolled her eyes in mild exasperation and sent an apologetic smile Jacen’s way. “He’s a guest of the Council’s Han. His group got trapped here when the Imperials attacked.” The older man’s stretched lips into a tight line, and Jacen flinched, knowing that the general was still deeply scarred by Lando’s death.
Rather than lash out though, Han narrowed his eyes and looked Jacen over just as Leia had done. “You look familiar kid. Kind of remind me of a guy I met the last time we were on Ord Cestus. What’s your name?”
“I…uh…” Jacen stammered uneasily. “I’m Jacen.” Han cocked an eyebrow. “Jacen eh? Heh, I like the sound of that, got a nice ring to it. Where are ya from Jacen?”
Before the Jedi had time to think of an appropriately ambiguous answer though, Leia grabbed Han’s arm and began to drag him away. “Alright, that’s enough. No need to interrogate the poor man at this hour. Lets get back to our quarters.” Han resisted at first, but gave up without much of a fight, sighing and shaking his head. As she guided the man away, Leia called over her shoulder. “It’s been nice to meet you Jacen. I’ll let you know what the Council has to say when I see them.”
When the younger versions of his mother and father had disappeared from view, Jacen slumped into a nearby wall, exhausted. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to do that again. Still, it was nice to talk to them again, even if they were different than the people he remembered. Not too different though, he reflected as Han’s subdued behavior came to mind. He had seen that before. For all his bravado and legendary toughness, the loss of friends hit him just as hard as it would anyone, perhaps more so. And that was one trait he had passed on to his son.
Now very tired, Jacen righted himself and set off for his quarters, leaving the hall as empty and quiet as it had been a few minutes before.
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Darth Vader’s crimson blade emitted a piercing hiss as it cleaved easily through the docking chamber’s durasteel wall, leaving in its wake a wide swath of glowing molten metal. Molecules supercharged by the energy blade, flecks of the boiling wall spewed out, spattering against the Dark Lord’s armored carapace harmlessly and dousing the surrounding floor with a searing rain. Luke, who had only barely ducked beneath the powerful cut in time, ignored the burning pain as a few droplets burned through his flight suit, and rolled away from the scarred wall and flipping up backwards to right himself. He had little time to regain his balance however; Darth Vader and his lightsaber lunged through the air in a heat beat, impacting Luke’s own blade with the force of a cargo hauler and driving him back even further.
Too drained now to effectively parry or deflect Vader’s brutal strikes, Luke was forced to block each one as it came, his arms bearing the brunt of each blow. Vader was to powerful, and did not seem to tire even as the two combatants battled back and forth around the immense docking bay over and over again. Every nerve in the Jedi’s body cried out in anguish, and Luke could not calm them with the techniques Yoda had taught him, his every once of will and force energy was needed to keep Vader’s energy blade from cleaving away an arm or leg. There was no place to run or hide here, no cliff to try to force Vader over, or alley to try and disappear into as there had been during their last meeting. It was only father and son now, a battle of two uncompromising opponents, and whatever outcome would see the end of the conflict, it would not be a draw.
The young Jedi sensed that Vader was pushing him up against a support pylon, and ducked around Vader’s side, saber raised up high to block the inevitable reprisal. However, instead of bring his blade down against Luke’s, Vader’s free hand quivered slightly and the younger man was thrown back, rolling along the hard metal floor several times before regaining control. Not bothering to wipe the trickle of blood that began to pour down from the corner of his mouth, Luke propped himself up on one arm and used the other to fling his blade at Vader’s unguarded legs. Anticipating the take but unable to deflect it, Vader leapt two meters into the air, allowing the green disc of energy to fly harmlessly underneath, and landing just in time to see it arc back into Luke’s out-stretched hand.
“You have learned much since our last encounter,” Vader praised darkly, stalking towards Luke without breaking step, but the other blocked out the empty words, instead focusing on his opponent and his surroundings, searching for a way out, a bit of high ground. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his notice, but before he could register it fully, the Dark Lord was upon him again, red blade slashing inexorably forward. Luke strained against the blows, but this time he attempted to guide each strike so that Vader would push him closer to what he had seen. Ducking under a horizontal chop, Luke brought himself around the near invincible titan, and for a fleeting second before Vader maneuvered to face him again, Luke could see clearly what had caught his attention.
That was it!
Yes, maybe, just maybe, if he could move a few dozen meters down the hangar deck, to the far wall. Luke let his reaction time slip slightly, allowing Vader more time to aim and execute his hacking attacks. The Sith took the posture change in stride focusing his energy into individual, precision aimed slices and cuts rather than brutal, erratic flurries and jabs. Yes, Luke thought, think I’m weakening, push me back. As he continued to block and stumble backwards, the Jedi could feel the icy tendrils of Vader’s consciousness try to invade his own, searching for the source of Luke’s change in defense. Strengthening his mental walls as much as possible, he was able to stave of the incursion, but the effort exhausted him further. This last gambit had to work; he wouldn’t have the strength for another. The white, energizing glow of the light was fading fast from his perception, and nothing his old masters had taught him could rescue him now that he had been pushed so far. No, it was this, or failure, and whatever that would bring.
For the first time since the start of the fight, Luke forged forward, jabbing at his father’s chest plate and sweeping up under one of the cyborg’s powerful swipes. Burning energy nicked the material and Vader faltered, forced to pull back to a defensive posture. “There is still some fight left in you I see. You will make a powerful apprentice indeed.” Luke grinned grimly, and pressed forward again, but this time. Bader was ready, and set against Luke’s strikes with his own weapon, and forced them back towards the attacker, peeling away the Jedi’s offense as if it were skin of a muja fruit. Immediately, Luke was back on the defensive, loosing ground with each blow. Good.
After a few more exchanges of blows and a failed Force push on Luke’s part, he sensed they were nearing the wall he had chosen, one studded with large protrusions of machinery and conduits that extend up into the ceiling and branched into the floor. Allowing the Force to be his eyes, he made a mental picture of the surrounding area, and then gritted his teeth, bracing himself for what was to come.
Two more slashes, and they were at the wall, and ominous edifice that sloped up slightly into the armored ceiling high above. Moving to intercept a new flurry of savage blows, Luke’s back knocked against the hard surface, and knocked off guard, he let his saber dip slightly. The opening was only there for a moment, but Vader saw it, thrust forward, bringing his bulk within inches of Luke’s bloodied face. Moving faster than the eye could see, a gauntleted fist smashed into the side of the Jedi’s skull, and Luke went flying to the side, rolling uncontrollably for several long meters and finally coming to a halt, propped limply against the frame of an opening in the wall, a very large opening.
Struggling to retain consciousness as the resounding concussion still bounced around his skull, Luke found himself in a doorway perhaps two and a half meters wide, and twice that tall, one that lead into a long, closed hallway. At the end of the expanse, blue white energy coursed up and down a sheer wall along bits of exposed cable and between jutting power regulators. The huge arcs of energy twisted their way from a glowing pool on the floor along the wall and up into many waiting ports and mouths that fed pipes and conduits; this was the power distribution nexus for the entire deck.
Seemingly unaware of the sight behind him, Luke half stumbled, half crawled into the hallway, but Vader was approaching quickly, covering the distance between them in an eye blink. However, before the armored combatant could reach his quarry, Luke clenched his fist, and huge coil of cable came free from the surrounding wall, lashing down upon the Sith Lord, electrical energy sparking from its ruptured end. Caught off guard, Vader was only able to partially slow the snake-like coil, and was thrown back, letting loose a cry of anger and surprise. Luke did not pause to relish the small victory, instead dragging himself further away from the doorway until he reached a protruding control console and was able to drag his battered body upright. By that time, Vader had also recovered, and was striding forward, seemingly unscathed save for a large dent on his right shoulder plate, lightsaber poised to strike. Luke waited motionless, saber hanging limply from one hand as the dark lord casually tossed the detached cable aside with the flick of his wrist and then continued forward. Then, finally, Vader crossed the hallway’s threshold.
Even through the pain and turmoil in his body and heart, Luke couldn’t help a sad smile as he watched the Sith approach. “I’m sorry father,” he whispered, and then plunged his right hand into the open face of the control panel, artificial flesh and tendons of the fake hand Darth Vader had forced him to wear smashing through thin glass and plunging deep into the wring below. For a moment nothing moved saved the sparks that leapt up from the ruined console, and then with a titanic creak, thirty tons of durasteel crashed down upon the dark lord’s head. Luke got one last look at the dark robed man before the thick, solid containment blast door of the power nexus pushed him from view.
Luke gasped a sigh of resigned relief. The gambit had worked, and Darth Vader was now under clamped under enough weight to set an AT-AT off balance. Sorrow began to overtake him almost immediately however; he had not wished to destroy his father, but in that moment, his will to survive had taken hold, and he had reached out at his only possibility, the last possibility. He could have saved the man, Anakin, he knew there still was good within him, there had to be. Slowly withdrawing his artificial hand, now marred by a dozen deep cuts and revealing cold mechanical wiring underneath in some places, Luke collapsed to the floor, out of both exhaustion and grief. Tears began to stream from his eyes as he stared at the impassible, three meter thick blast door, and he absently released the grip on his lightsaber, which obediently retracted and fell silent.
Then Luke felt it. Faint at first, but then blossoming exponentially, the Jedi could sense a powerful presence in the Force nearby, his father. Luke’s heart jumped nearly into his throat; he was alive! His brash action had not doomed a redeemable man, his father. But the Jedi’s elation was short lived, as the presence in the Force continued to grow, swelling up far past what Luke had felt from Vader during their duel, doubling and then tripling to the extent that Luke almost had to close off his senses for fear of overload. And then, from deep within the solid block of durasteel that blocked Luke off from the hangar deck, a deep roar began to resound, basic and overwhelming, a sound the made the entire star destroyer resonate with power and made the air itself tremble. Slowly, impossibly, the block began to rise, screeching against its own massive weight and the grooves and gears that had guided it in its fall. Machinery in the ceiling above began to stress and snap, and the block rose even faster, now bulging out into the wall of the hallway itself, tearing a path in the metal. Finally, with a terrific roar, the entire assemblage tore free of its constraints, flying backwards out onto the flight deck, where it impacted and screeched along the polished floor for a dozen meters before coming to rest against a parked shuttle craft. And there, in the place the block had once occupied, a lone figure stood. His armor was bent and cracked in places, and his long flowing cap was torn, but Darth Vader was whole, burning with pure, dark emotion.
Luke gaped in shock and horror, stumbling back away from the shattered console and fumbling for his saber’s ignition control. “So, there is still emotion within you that Kenobi was not able to drive away. I felt your fear, your desperation, your anger Luke. Remember how good it felt to give into those impulses, how right it was. The Dark Side can give you that feeling and clarity again, and so much more.” A twisted sort of pride rang in Vader’s electronically distorted voice as he leapt out of a large depression that had appeared in the hard metal floor, easily a meter deep at its center point. Landing with a muffled thud, the dark lord moved towards Luke again, this time with a noticeable limp, but still very much mobile.
The battered Jedi tried to escape the unstoppable force, stumbling blindly backwards down the hallway, the thrumming sound of the power junction growing ever louder. Amid his confusion and pain, the little voice he had attempted to repress earlier reemerged, and could not help but again consider his father’s offer. It was now obvious that it would be impossible to defeat him in this contest; perhaps he should submit, join the Sith lord and learn the ways of the dark side. Yoda and Obi-Wan had taught him well, surely he would be able to repress the evil and selfish emotions that would attempt to consume him, and use his newly gained power to at last redeem his father. After all, if Anakin Skywalker was still alive deep with Darth Vader’s soulless brooding heart even after all this time, Luke could survive corruption long enough to formulate a new plan.
Even as he pondered this question, Yoda’s teachings warring against logic and self preservation, Vader came within striking range and easily smashed through Luke’s faltering and distracted defensive stance, sending his lightsaber spinning away. The silver hilt clanged against a tall regulator cone that was fixed amid a river of pure electrical energy and fell to the floor near the sea of arcing bolts and rivulets of charge that flowed around the floor adjoining the distribution wall. Disarmed and without hope of salvation, Luke stumbled further back, now only a few strides from the low pit that collected the pulsing waves of energy, and fell onto knees no longer able to support his weight. Through raw and tearing eyes, Luke stared up at Darth Vader who now stood only an arm span away, his red blade inches from the Jedi’s forehead.
“This is your last chance my son. Join me and bring order to the galaxy, or join the old fool in the emptiness of death.” The words were cold and absolute; these were truly Luke’s only options. As he stared up at his father’s emotionless nightmare mask, the last of the young Jedi’s resolve and discipline began to dissolve. There was no other way.
Without any warning, a piercing, angry whistle drowned out the sound of the power nexus and Vader’s own artificial breathing. Taken off guard, the dark lord spun to identify the noise, and was instantly hit by a wave coursing blue energy, which wrapped around his limbs and discharged against his ebony helmet, causing it to glow ghostly white. The towering cyborg stumbled back a few foot steps, and there, lightning still pouring from several apertures arrayed out from his tubular body, stood a little blue and white astromech droid. “R2,” Luke managed to mumble, so completely astonished that all thought of his impending fall to the darkness was banished. Blatting and whistling in rage and determination, the droid rolled forward, the energy wave intensifying to the point where Luke could barely look directly at it.
However, instead of succumbing to the increasing voltage, Darth Vader began to straighten himself, and the coursing serpent tongues of searing power ebbed down away from his torso and head, focusing in on his forearms and then hands, now free of their lightsaber hilt, dropped during the initial onslaught. The astromech did not relent, wailing with more emotion and determination than Luke had ever seen come from a droid, and intensified the blast further, bringing its own internal systems to the brink of failure. He did not care, protecting Luke was all that mattered, even if it meant facing an opponent he could not possibly defeat and still cared for, even after all these years.
As his own armor began to glow with a translucent light, Vader let loose a deafening roar, and the energy he had collected in his hands blasted back at R2-D2. The little droid was motionless for one moment as the energy began to lick its worn hull, let out a mournful sigh, and then rocketed backwards, its wheeled legs tearing away from the burning chassis. Blackened and scarred beyond recognition, the pieces of what had once been Luke Skywalker’s faithful servant and loyal friend landed in the deformed doorway, now little more than the more debris left behind in the wake of the combatant’s struggle.
No words could fully describe what the young Jedi felt in that moment; it was as if the pure sorrow and revulsion at seeing his friend being obliterated for nothing more than trying to save the life of his master had taken the form of a cleansing wave and wiped away all Luke’s hope, all of his desperate plans, Yoda and Obi-Wan’s teachings, his very will for living. All that was left was rage, rage at the monster that towered over him still. Anakin still lived one with in that twisted thing, but there was no hope of saving what little of the man remained, the evil was too dominate and pervading. And if Luke succumbed, he too would become like that thing, a entity of pure malevolence, without a single scrap of humanity or chance of redemption.
Drawing not on the light or the dark, Luke somehow found the strength to rise to his feet and look upon the Dark Lord as he casually summoned his lightsaber back into a gloved hand. “You have failed, my father,” Luke whispered icily. “I will never turn. You have shown me to what depths the Dark Side will truly lead.”
Vader’s opaque eyes looked down upon the man, who despite his many injuries, was standing taller and more resolutely than ever before. “Perhaps I was wrong after all,” he intoned simply, and then raising and igniting his crimson blade in a single motion, aimed a slash at Luke’s exposed legs. Mere inches from the torn flight suit however, the beam halted as if impacting some invisible wall and Vader glared back at his son’s grim, determined face. Luke’s eyes were fixed upon his fathers mask, and his hands were outstretched, contorted strangely, beckoning at the Sith’s straining blade. Grunting with exasperation, Darth Vader withdrew and then attacked again, this time forcing his weapon downward towards Luke’s forehead in a horizontal chop. Again, the red beam ground to a halt in midair, although this time the Jedi’s focus wavered, allowing the deadly thing to press forward a few more inches.
Luke felt Vader’s surprise through the force, and then something else; at last, the Dark Lord had smashed his internal defenses, and was probing his deepest, most secreted thoughts. “You have done well to hide her from me so long, my son, but I am afraid your failure is now complete. Obi-Wan may have blocked you fully from the true path, but I suspect that Leia will be more receptive to my teachings. You will not join me, but perhaps she will.” Luke felt as though Vader had just driven a lightsaber through his heart. Why did you tell me Ben? Why! Now Vader knew of the sister Luke had only just discovered he had, and without training Luke had been given, she would be consumed by the dark.
An arcane bellow ripped from the shattered man’s gut, and Vader’s saber flew back, almost decapitating him. The Dark Lord put up his other arm to deflect the blast, but he was forced away nevertheless, caught up in a torrent of raw Force energy. Luke did not know where this power had originated, but he no longer cared. Vader had to be stopped, whatever the cost. Palms rigid and angled at the cyborg, Luke slowly, and then more surely, began to take steps away from the surging cauldron of energy that lay behind, newly born wind rustling his hair and tattered clothes. Darth Vader faltered further, and Luke pressed, tightening his control over the torrent and using it to lash his foe, pounding him with coils of invisible force and overwhelming power. Beyond the wave, the Jedi could feel his father weakening fast, as if the new onslaught had taxed his energy reserves beyond the breaking point.
For the first time truly desperate, Vader pushed back, lending his own energies to the storm, and forcing Luke to loose ground again. Lip beginning to bleed between clenched teeth, the Jedi gathered up more of the knots of power and sent them again at the Dark Lord, but this time he was ready, and reflected them back, making Luke again step back to remain balanced. As this assault continued, neither combatant noticed the small silver hilt lying at the very edge of the expanse of electrified deck plate. Neither noticed as Luke’s failing efforts brought him closer to it. Neither noticed as his left boot came down upon its smooth, rounded surface. Then it was too late.
Suddenly falling backwards over the discarded lightsaber, Luke was unable to resist a new wave of invisible energy, and to his disbelief, felt an arc of lightning shoot up past his head, and then another, and then another. His body was consumed by a violent river of bluish light, and the pain that flamed across his body quickly gave way to numbness, and the darkness set on.
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Deep within the Imperial Palace, in the quiet solitude of a simple medical chamber, Darth Vader looked upon the barely living remains of his only son. In the darkness, his synthetic breath was quickened and irregular, reverberating softly though the liquid that sustained the Jedi’s immobile form. There, on that Star Destroyer, he had not acted quickly enough, he had been too slow and pulling his son from the nexus’s deadly embrace, and he had all but died for it, his mind now trapped in a coma the greatest physicians in the Empire could not remedy. Luke had not been felled in combat, or even chosen the path of noble sacrifice; he had succumbed to an accident. There, in that narrow hallway, Vader’s ambitions and plots had been forgotten, the dark side’s icy grip had weakened; a twisted man had held his broken son in his arms. There, on the cold, metal floor, for the first time in two decades, Darth Vader had wept.
Chapter Thirty Five
After the briefing had concluded and those assembled had dispersed, Jacen Solo found himself left with little to do but wait until the Republica reached the Alliance rendezvous point, estimated, barring the need for further evasion, to occur in early the next morning ship time. Most of the passengers had gone to their quarters to rest after the eventful day, and most of the crew was off duty as well, the cruiser having shifted into night watch an hour earlier. The young Jedi was not tired however, and after pausing in his quarters briefly to stow his lightsaber and eat a nutrient bar he had taken from the galley earlier, found himself wandering the empty, spartan halls of the ship’s crew section, strolling down random passages and slipping in and out of turbolifts. As he walked, his mind wandered, mulling over the information given at the conference and allowing his Force empowered senses to drift through the decks of the starship, picking up the general mood of the resting crew and the random snippet of thought or voice.
He could sense a wide variety species: human, Mon Calamari, Bothan, Sullustan, and their faint Force presence lent him a feeling of familiarity, the feeling of being home. And yet, he knew, he wasn’t home. Like the others, he was out of time and place, trapped for the moment in a world he didn’t belong, and in his case, it was even worse. Picard and his crew were simply in the wrong galaxy, an unknown and alien world, but Jacen was out of time, in a place he knew all to well, from the stories that his parents and other veterans of the Galactic Civil war who had raised him. But it was different now; events were not unfolding as they should have. The Emperor was not supposed to have been destroyed yet, the Alliance fleet should not have been routed at Sullust, Lando…
The man slammed his fist against a bare metal wall, overwhelmed by sudden emotion. Lando wasn’t supposed to have died. He had learned of the General’s death not long after the Republica had fled, and the news had convinced him to stay away from his father for the time being. Han took the loss of friend hard; Jacen had seen that first hand after Chewie had died.
Of course, the loyal Wookiee wasn’t dead in this place. He was still Han Solo’s best friend and copilot, freedom fighter and mediator to the tensions that often flared up between the Corellian and his future wife, Leia.
Oblivious to the empty hallway around him, Jacen slammed the other arm into the blank bulkhead and forced his forehead against the cool metal. No, Chewie was dead. He died at Sernpidal, in his world, the real world. This was a different place, a different reality, it couldn’t really be his past. Jacen Solo was the same, but everything else was different. No, the Alliance had never been routed, they had defeated the Empire at Endor, Palpatine had died on the second Death Star at the hands of his uncle and grandfather, Lando and Admiral Ackbar were still alive, Chewie was dead.
Anakin was dead.
Hot tears began to pour down Jacen’s cheeks, and he didn’t know why. Anakin, his brother, was still alive. He had been alive when Jacen had been torn from his… the real universe. Anakin wasn’t, couldn’t be dead. How could he even know such a thing? The Jedi attempted to focus on the thought, trace it to its source, but the image of his brother’s face, the usually boyish and happy visage pale and lifeless, quickly faded into the mist. Then another picture began to form, the smooth curve of a feminine chin, graceful nose, slender lekku…
Jacen wrenched his head away from the wall and furiously rubbed his tear-stained face. No more. He wouldn’t give in to the emotions further delving down this path of memory might bring, it was not the Jedi way. Reflection was essential to the life of a Jedi, but this was not the time, he was still trapped in this strange, alien galaxy, and it was alien; he might not be able to resist the dark emotions he was feeling again on the verge of conscious thought without the guidance of one more experienced in the ways of the Force. Whatever the circumstances of this unexpected sojourn and the conflict he had been embroiled in before it had Forced him to become, he was still a mere apprentice, and he wished for the wise and gentle guidance of Master Luke more than ever.
Withdrawing the wayward tendrils of his consciousness and sealing himself off from the multitude of beings onboard the ship, Jacen straightened his worn jumpsuit and resumed his solitary walk, trying to focus again on what he had learned at the briefing. He had to remain patient and collected until Picard and the others were able to return to the wormhole, and hopefully, send them all home. He was a Jedi, he could work through this.
After a few more minutes of aimless travel, Jacen recognized a wider hallway, and for no particular reason, turned down it. Even though he could not decipher the script that adorned blandly colored plaques and markers around the door which was placed prominently in one wall, he remembered the configuration; this was the ship’s primary Medbay. He had come to the place earlier that very day, helping the medics transport the Cornwall’s lone survivor from the hangar deck. He had left as soon as the doctors moved her to an analysis table, not wanting to be in the way, and had all but forgotten about the incident, but being back here made him oddly curious about the patient who was likely still in the facility. Considering briefly, Jacen decided he had nothing better to do at the moment, and approached the large, ovoid door, which slid open silently.
Beyond it was a short hallway complete with a small reception table, a computer terminal, and several door ways that must have lead to decontamination chambers and changing rooms. A thin transparisteel partition separated the room from the circular nexus of the complex, a dimly lit chamber filled with clean plastoid tables, equipment receptacles, and dormant medical droids. As Jacen took a few steps into the reception area, silver protocol appeared from out of nowhere and stepped into his path. “Greetings sir,” it said in an artificially friendly voice. “I am afraid that most of the medical staff is off duty right now. Do you require emergency attention?”
Jacen shook his head. “No, I’m fine.”
“Is there another who is in need of the medical staff then? I could dispatch an emergency team to any point on this ship if needed.”
Again Jacen replied in the negative. The droid was perplexed, inclining its reflective head slightly to get a better look at the out of place human. “Then, if I may ask, what are you doing here sir? It is well past the last duty shift, and maintenance is not scheduled to make their rounds through her for another forty six minutes.”
Why am I here, he wondered silently. His mind had seemed to have unconsciously propelled him to the spot, and now that he was here, he wasn’t quite sure what to do. There was that sense of curiosity about the survivor, but surely she was asleep now, even if the doctors had been able to bring her around again. What purpose was there and going to see her right now?
“I was wondering about one of the patients that arrived here today, a human woman, rescued from a derelict starship before we jumped into hyperspace,” he asked, trying to look over the droid’s shoulder.
“I am unfamiliar with the circumstances of her injury, but there was one woman brought in today that you may be referring to. She was treated for a variety of minor dermal injuries and given stimulants to alleviate a neurochemical imbalanced caused by stress and exhaustion. Her condition was stabilized and she is now resting in the main recovery ward. If you wish to see her or any other of our patients, you will have to await regular visiting hours, which begin at 8:00 hours.”
Jacen thanked the droid and swiftly exited, sensing that it was becoming annoyed at the breach of protocol. When the thick doors sealed themselves behind him, Jacen sighed and looked over the empty passageways around him absently. Perhaps he should try and get some sleep now, even if the walk hadn’t tired him out as he had hoped it would. Trying to remember the path he had taken to get there, the man set off, his mind still lingering on the woman in the recovery ward. Why was he so curious about her? He had only seen her for a few minutes while he had walked with the medics; she was young, perhaps a few years older than himself, of slight build, with frayed brown hair and soft features that had shown through the grim and dried blood that had obscured her face. In fact, despite her injuries and tattered condition, she had actually been quite attractive, looking very much like Tenel Ka, one of the Jedi students he had once trained with.
He felt his cheeks begin to warm, and immediately banished the thought. He didn’t even know her, and now was hardly the time to allow his hormones to get the better of him. All the same, thinking about her had cheered him up after the sense of emptiness his strange vision had brought on previously.
Rounding a corner, Jacen noted someone else in the hallway heading towards him, a woman dressed in a white Alliance uniform, with her hands tucked behind her back and head down, evidently thinking. Assuming she was just another crewer, Jacen continued to walk down the hall until the two had nearly crossed paths. Then, as she looked up to brush a few strands of russet hair from her face, he got a good look at her face. It was Leia Organa.
Jacen faltered, not sure of what he should do. He was still unsure as to how to deal with being around his mother and father as they had once had been, and despite his conviction that this world was not his own, he could not bring himself to think of them as entirely different people. Of course, if they were really his parents, interacting with them might be an exceedingly bad and perhaps even dangerous idea, but he couldn’t help but feel that they might be able to provide him comfort or guidance in this ordeal, as they always had done before.
“Are you alright?” Jacen froze, and saw that Leia had stopped, and was now looking up at him, curious as to why had suddenly paused near her. Jacen desperately cast around his head for some response. “I, ah, its nothing. I’m fine,” he mumbled, but Leia was still looking him over, taking in his worn dark tunic, which was devoid of any military insignia, and lingering over his face. “You look familiar. Have we met before?” she asked curiously. Jacen gulped, tried to hide it, and then shook his head. “I…I don’t believe so.”
“Strange,” Leia noted, and then shook away the thought, smiling brightly and extending a hand. “I am Leia Organa, of the Alliance High Council.” Trying to look natural while surreptitiously turning his face away from her, Jacen extend his own and shook hers. Without letting go, she maneuvered to face him again and stared even more closely. “Are you sure we haven’t met before?” Jacen shook his head again, more vigorously this time. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t think I’ve even seen in passing you before.” As soon as the words left his limps, Jacen wished he could take them back, and cursed his own inborn honesty and the difficulty with lying that entailed. A wry grin crossed Leia’s face. “Your not part of the Alliance are you? Are you one of the refugees from Sullust?”
Jacen was drawing a complete blank on facades he could put up to deflect her line of questioning, so he decided to change tactics. He would simply tell the truth. In moderation.
“Actually, I’m a guest on this ship, along with several others brought here by an Alliance agent. We met with the High Council just before the Imperial attack. I don’t recall seeing you there though.” Leia frowned. “No, I only arrived at the fleet a few hours before the ambush. I didn’t have much time to speak with the Council before we had to evacuate.” She sighed, and looked off into space sadly. “I don’t even know if there will even be a Council anymore when we reach the rendezvous point. We lost so much, so many good people…” she drifted off, sadness etched deeply into her soft face.
Jacen fidgeted uncomfortably as he looked at a side of his mother he was very familiar with, one that had dominated her ever since the Yuuzhan Vong invaded. The Rebels had thought that winning the war against the Empire would bring peace to the galaxy, but it didn’t, and the struggle would continue to rage for decades, only the players changed. Even more good people would be lost in the years to come.
Leia noticed that the young man was uncomfortable, and grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “So, you said that you spoke with the Council. Is there anything I should know, or can help you with?” Jacen considered. It would be difficult to explain mission of the Enterprise crew without revealing his own origins, but his mother was a part of the High Council, and if he was able to convince her that returning to the portal might aid the Alliance in its struggle, requisitioning a ship for the task would be far easier.
Jacen launched into a brief recounting of the circumstances leading up to his presence onboard the Republica and Captain Picard’s proposal to the Council, as well as its uncertain reaction. He was careful to avoid any detailed descriptions of the origins of those who had found their way to the Rebel fleet, especially himself, and thus the tale was shorter and less coherent than he had hoped it would be, but Leia did not seem to notice many the jumps and discrepancies. After he had finished, she stood silently in thought, allowing Jacen to regain some composure. “That was quite an extraordinary tale,” she said at last. “I can see how the Council might have been skeptical. However, if it is true, contact with this United Federation of Planets might provide the Alliance with resources and sanctuary we are in dire need of. When we rendezvous with the rest of the Fleet, I will attempt to bring this back to the Council’s notice, but I can’t promise anything. As you know, recent events have strained our resources considerably, perhaps past the breaking point.”
“I understand, and anything you can do to help us would be greatly appreciated,” Jacen said, relieved that she had not pushed for more details. However, Leia was still looking at him very curiously and he almost felt as though she was trying to tap into his mind. His mother, while strong in the Force, had always been too distracted by politics and war to ever fully train and exploit her innate abilities, but she still was able to use it to a limited extent, especially when it came to reading the emotions of her children. Jacen was sure that at this point in time, she was completely unaware of her own gift and would not be able to use it to probe him at all, but he was still very uneasy, afraid to let any damaging foreknowledge of her future slip to the forefront of his mind.
So absorbed were they in this unconscious fencing match that neither noticed that another person was approaching them until a voice rang down the hallway. “What are you doing out here this late Leia? Is everything all right?” It was a powerful voice, tinged heavily by a Corellian accent and years of inhaling leaking coolant fumes. Han Solo, dressed in his trademark worn vest and pilot’s leggings walked up behind Leia and placed a concerned hand on her shoulder. Beads of sweat began to form on Jacen’s forehead, dealing with his mother alone had been hard enough, and Han was far more likely to press him for details if their conversation started up again.
Leia took his hand in her own, and turned back to smile up at the gruff smuggler turned general. “I’m fine Han. My meeting with Captain Ryceed took a little longer than I expected, that’s all.”
Satisfied, Han turned a suspicious gaze upon the young Jedi, who attempting to look as unassuming as possible and failing miserably. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly. “You don’t look like a crewman.” Leia rolled her eyes in mild exasperation and sent an apologetic smile Jacen’s way. “He’s a guest of the Council’s Han. His group got trapped here when the Imperials attacked.” The older man’s stretched lips into a tight line, and Jacen flinched, knowing that the general was still deeply scarred by Lando’s death.
Rather than lash out though, Han narrowed his eyes and looked Jacen over just as Leia had done. “You look familiar kid. Kind of remind me of a guy I met the last time we were on Ord Cestus. What’s your name?”
“I…uh…” Jacen stammered uneasily. “I’m Jacen.” Han cocked an eyebrow. “Jacen eh? Heh, I like the sound of that, got a nice ring to it. Where are ya from Jacen?”
Before the Jedi had time to think of an appropriately ambiguous answer though, Leia grabbed Han’s arm and began to drag him away. “Alright, that’s enough. No need to interrogate the poor man at this hour. Lets get back to our quarters.” Han resisted at first, but gave up without much of a fight, sighing and shaking his head. As she guided the man away, Leia called over her shoulder. “It’s been nice to meet you Jacen. I’ll let you know what the Council has to say when I see them.”
When the younger versions of his mother and father had disappeared from view, Jacen slumped into a nearby wall, exhausted. He sincerely hoped he wouldn’t have to do that again. Still, it was nice to talk to them again, even if they were different than the people he remembered. Not too different though, he reflected as Han’s subdued behavior came to mind. He had seen that before. For all his bravado and legendary toughness, the loss of friends hit him just as hard as it would anyone, perhaps more so. And that was one trait he had passed on to his son.
Now very tired, Jacen righted himself and set off for his quarters, leaving the hall as empty and quiet as it had been a few minutes before.
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Darth Vader’s crimson blade emitted a piercing hiss as it cleaved easily through the docking chamber’s durasteel wall, leaving in its wake a wide swath of glowing molten metal. Molecules supercharged by the energy blade, flecks of the boiling wall spewed out, spattering against the Dark Lord’s armored carapace harmlessly and dousing the surrounding floor with a searing rain. Luke, who had only barely ducked beneath the powerful cut in time, ignored the burning pain as a few droplets burned through his flight suit, and rolled away from the scarred wall and flipping up backwards to right himself. He had little time to regain his balance however; Darth Vader and his lightsaber lunged through the air in a heat beat, impacting Luke’s own blade with the force of a cargo hauler and driving him back even further.
Too drained now to effectively parry or deflect Vader’s brutal strikes, Luke was forced to block each one as it came, his arms bearing the brunt of each blow. Vader was to powerful, and did not seem to tire even as the two combatants battled back and forth around the immense docking bay over and over again. Every nerve in the Jedi’s body cried out in anguish, and Luke could not calm them with the techniques Yoda had taught him, his every once of will and force energy was needed to keep Vader’s energy blade from cleaving away an arm or leg. There was no place to run or hide here, no cliff to try to force Vader over, or alley to try and disappear into as there had been during their last meeting. It was only father and son now, a battle of two uncompromising opponents, and whatever outcome would see the end of the conflict, it would not be a draw.
The young Jedi sensed that Vader was pushing him up against a support pylon, and ducked around Vader’s side, saber raised up high to block the inevitable reprisal. However, instead of bring his blade down against Luke’s, Vader’s free hand quivered slightly and the younger man was thrown back, rolling along the hard metal floor several times before regaining control. Not bothering to wipe the trickle of blood that began to pour down from the corner of his mouth, Luke propped himself up on one arm and used the other to fling his blade at Vader’s unguarded legs. Anticipating the take but unable to deflect it, Vader leapt two meters into the air, allowing the green disc of energy to fly harmlessly underneath, and landing just in time to see it arc back into Luke’s out-stretched hand.
“You have learned much since our last encounter,” Vader praised darkly, stalking towards Luke without breaking step, but the other blocked out the empty words, instead focusing on his opponent and his surroundings, searching for a way out, a bit of high ground. Out of the corner of his eye, something caught his notice, but before he could register it fully, the Dark Lord was upon him again, red blade slashing inexorably forward. Luke strained against the blows, but this time he attempted to guide each strike so that Vader would push him closer to what he had seen. Ducking under a horizontal chop, Luke brought himself around the near invincible titan, and for a fleeting second before Vader maneuvered to face him again, Luke could see clearly what had caught his attention.
That was it!
Yes, maybe, just maybe, if he could move a few dozen meters down the hangar deck, to the far wall. Luke let his reaction time slip slightly, allowing Vader more time to aim and execute his hacking attacks. The Sith took the posture change in stride focusing his energy into individual, precision aimed slices and cuts rather than brutal, erratic flurries and jabs. Yes, Luke thought, think I’m weakening, push me back. As he continued to block and stumble backwards, the Jedi could feel the icy tendrils of Vader’s consciousness try to invade his own, searching for the source of Luke’s change in defense. Strengthening his mental walls as much as possible, he was able to stave of the incursion, but the effort exhausted him further. This last gambit had to work; he wouldn’t have the strength for another. The white, energizing glow of the light was fading fast from his perception, and nothing his old masters had taught him could rescue him now that he had been pushed so far. No, it was this, or failure, and whatever that would bring.
For the first time since the start of the fight, Luke forged forward, jabbing at his father’s chest plate and sweeping up under one of the cyborg’s powerful swipes. Burning energy nicked the material and Vader faltered, forced to pull back to a defensive posture. “There is still some fight left in you I see. You will make a powerful apprentice indeed.” Luke grinned grimly, and pressed forward again, but this time. Bader was ready, and set against Luke’s strikes with his own weapon, and forced them back towards the attacker, peeling away the Jedi’s offense as if it were skin of a muja fruit. Immediately, Luke was back on the defensive, loosing ground with each blow. Good.
After a few more exchanges of blows and a failed Force push on Luke’s part, he sensed they were nearing the wall he had chosen, one studded with large protrusions of machinery and conduits that extend up into the ceiling and branched into the floor. Allowing the Force to be his eyes, he made a mental picture of the surrounding area, and then gritted his teeth, bracing himself for what was to come.
Two more slashes, and they were at the wall, and ominous edifice that sloped up slightly into the armored ceiling high above. Moving to intercept a new flurry of savage blows, Luke’s back knocked against the hard surface, and knocked off guard, he let his saber dip slightly. The opening was only there for a moment, but Vader saw it, thrust forward, bringing his bulk within inches of Luke’s bloodied face. Moving faster than the eye could see, a gauntleted fist smashed into the side of the Jedi’s skull, and Luke went flying to the side, rolling uncontrollably for several long meters and finally coming to a halt, propped limply against the frame of an opening in the wall, a very large opening.
Struggling to retain consciousness as the resounding concussion still bounced around his skull, Luke found himself in a doorway perhaps two and a half meters wide, and twice that tall, one that lead into a long, closed hallway. At the end of the expanse, blue white energy coursed up and down a sheer wall along bits of exposed cable and between jutting power regulators. The huge arcs of energy twisted their way from a glowing pool on the floor along the wall and up into many waiting ports and mouths that fed pipes and conduits; this was the power distribution nexus for the entire deck.
Seemingly unaware of the sight behind him, Luke half stumbled, half crawled into the hallway, but Vader was approaching quickly, covering the distance between them in an eye blink. However, before the armored combatant could reach his quarry, Luke clenched his fist, and huge coil of cable came free from the surrounding wall, lashing down upon the Sith Lord, electrical energy sparking from its ruptured end. Caught off guard, Vader was only able to partially slow the snake-like coil, and was thrown back, letting loose a cry of anger and surprise. Luke did not pause to relish the small victory, instead dragging himself further away from the doorway until he reached a protruding control console and was able to drag his battered body upright. By that time, Vader had also recovered, and was striding forward, seemingly unscathed save for a large dent on his right shoulder plate, lightsaber poised to strike. Luke waited motionless, saber hanging limply from one hand as the dark lord casually tossed the detached cable aside with the flick of his wrist and then continued forward. Then, finally, Vader crossed the hallway’s threshold.
Even through the pain and turmoil in his body and heart, Luke couldn’t help a sad smile as he watched the Sith approach. “I’m sorry father,” he whispered, and then plunged his right hand into the open face of the control panel, artificial flesh and tendons of the fake hand Darth Vader had forced him to wear smashing through thin glass and plunging deep into the wring below. For a moment nothing moved saved the sparks that leapt up from the ruined console, and then with a titanic creak, thirty tons of durasteel crashed down upon the dark lord’s head. Luke got one last look at the dark robed man before the thick, solid containment blast door of the power nexus pushed him from view.
Luke gasped a sigh of resigned relief. The gambit had worked, and Darth Vader was now under clamped under enough weight to set an AT-AT off balance. Sorrow began to overtake him almost immediately however; he had not wished to destroy his father, but in that moment, his will to survive had taken hold, and he had reached out at his only possibility, the last possibility. He could have saved the man, Anakin, he knew there still was good within him, there had to be. Slowly withdrawing his artificial hand, now marred by a dozen deep cuts and revealing cold mechanical wiring underneath in some places, Luke collapsed to the floor, out of both exhaustion and grief. Tears began to stream from his eyes as he stared at the impassible, three meter thick blast door, and he absently released the grip on his lightsaber, which obediently retracted and fell silent.
Then Luke felt it. Faint at first, but then blossoming exponentially, the Jedi could sense a powerful presence in the Force nearby, his father. Luke’s heart jumped nearly into his throat; he was alive! His brash action had not doomed a redeemable man, his father. But the Jedi’s elation was short lived, as the presence in the Force continued to grow, swelling up far past what Luke had felt from Vader during their duel, doubling and then tripling to the extent that Luke almost had to close off his senses for fear of overload. And then, from deep within the solid block of durasteel that blocked Luke off from the hangar deck, a deep roar began to resound, basic and overwhelming, a sound the made the entire star destroyer resonate with power and made the air itself tremble. Slowly, impossibly, the block began to rise, screeching against its own massive weight and the grooves and gears that had guided it in its fall. Machinery in the ceiling above began to stress and snap, and the block rose even faster, now bulging out into the wall of the hallway itself, tearing a path in the metal. Finally, with a terrific roar, the entire assemblage tore free of its constraints, flying backwards out onto the flight deck, where it impacted and screeched along the polished floor for a dozen meters before coming to rest against a parked shuttle craft. And there, in the place the block had once occupied, a lone figure stood. His armor was bent and cracked in places, and his long flowing cap was torn, but Darth Vader was whole, burning with pure, dark emotion.
Luke gaped in shock and horror, stumbling back away from the shattered console and fumbling for his saber’s ignition control. “So, there is still emotion within you that Kenobi was not able to drive away. I felt your fear, your desperation, your anger Luke. Remember how good it felt to give into those impulses, how right it was. The Dark Side can give you that feeling and clarity again, and so much more.” A twisted sort of pride rang in Vader’s electronically distorted voice as he leapt out of a large depression that had appeared in the hard metal floor, easily a meter deep at its center point. Landing with a muffled thud, the dark lord moved towards Luke again, this time with a noticeable limp, but still very much mobile.
The battered Jedi tried to escape the unstoppable force, stumbling blindly backwards down the hallway, the thrumming sound of the power junction growing ever louder. Amid his confusion and pain, the little voice he had attempted to repress earlier reemerged, and could not help but again consider his father’s offer. It was now obvious that it would be impossible to defeat him in this contest; perhaps he should submit, join the Sith lord and learn the ways of the dark side. Yoda and Obi-Wan had taught him well, surely he would be able to repress the evil and selfish emotions that would attempt to consume him, and use his newly gained power to at last redeem his father. After all, if Anakin Skywalker was still alive deep with Darth Vader’s soulless brooding heart even after all this time, Luke could survive corruption long enough to formulate a new plan.
Even as he pondered this question, Yoda’s teachings warring against logic and self preservation, Vader came within striking range and easily smashed through Luke’s faltering and distracted defensive stance, sending his lightsaber spinning away. The silver hilt clanged against a tall regulator cone that was fixed amid a river of pure electrical energy and fell to the floor near the sea of arcing bolts and rivulets of charge that flowed around the floor adjoining the distribution wall. Disarmed and without hope of salvation, Luke stumbled further back, now only a few strides from the low pit that collected the pulsing waves of energy, and fell onto knees no longer able to support his weight. Through raw and tearing eyes, Luke stared up at Darth Vader who now stood only an arm span away, his red blade inches from the Jedi’s forehead.
“This is your last chance my son. Join me and bring order to the galaxy, or join the old fool in the emptiness of death.” The words were cold and absolute; these were truly Luke’s only options. As he stared up at his father’s emotionless nightmare mask, the last of the young Jedi’s resolve and discipline began to dissolve. There was no other way.
Without any warning, a piercing, angry whistle drowned out the sound of the power nexus and Vader’s own artificial breathing. Taken off guard, the dark lord spun to identify the noise, and was instantly hit by a wave coursing blue energy, which wrapped around his limbs and discharged against his ebony helmet, causing it to glow ghostly white. The towering cyborg stumbled back a few foot steps, and there, lightning still pouring from several apertures arrayed out from his tubular body, stood a little blue and white astromech droid. “R2,” Luke managed to mumble, so completely astonished that all thought of his impending fall to the darkness was banished. Blatting and whistling in rage and determination, the droid rolled forward, the energy wave intensifying to the point where Luke could barely look directly at it.
However, instead of succumbing to the increasing voltage, Darth Vader began to straighten himself, and the coursing serpent tongues of searing power ebbed down away from his torso and head, focusing in on his forearms and then hands, now free of their lightsaber hilt, dropped during the initial onslaught. The astromech did not relent, wailing with more emotion and determination than Luke had ever seen come from a droid, and intensified the blast further, bringing its own internal systems to the brink of failure. He did not care, protecting Luke was all that mattered, even if it meant facing an opponent he could not possibly defeat and still cared for, even after all these years.
As his own armor began to glow with a translucent light, Vader let loose a deafening roar, and the energy he had collected in his hands blasted back at R2-D2. The little droid was motionless for one moment as the energy began to lick its worn hull, let out a mournful sigh, and then rocketed backwards, its wheeled legs tearing away from the burning chassis. Blackened and scarred beyond recognition, the pieces of what had once been Luke Skywalker’s faithful servant and loyal friend landed in the deformed doorway, now little more than the more debris left behind in the wake of the combatant’s struggle.
No words could fully describe what the young Jedi felt in that moment; it was as if the pure sorrow and revulsion at seeing his friend being obliterated for nothing more than trying to save the life of his master had taken the form of a cleansing wave and wiped away all Luke’s hope, all of his desperate plans, Yoda and Obi-Wan’s teachings, his very will for living. All that was left was rage, rage at the monster that towered over him still. Anakin still lived one with in that twisted thing, but there was no hope of saving what little of the man remained, the evil was too dominate and pervading. And if Luke succumbed, he too would become like that thing, a entity of pure malevolence, without a single scrap of humanity or chance of redemption.
Drawing not on the light or the dark, Luke somehow found the strength to rise to his feet and look upon the Dark Lord as he casually summoned his lightsaber back into a gloved hand. “You have failed, my father,” Luke whispered icily. “I will never turn. You have shown me to what depths the Dark Side will truly lead.”
Vader’s opaque eyes looked down upon the man, who despite his many injuries, was standing taller and more resolutely than ever before. “Perhaps I was wrong after all,” he intoned simply, and then raising and igniting his crimson blade in a single motion, aimed a slash at Luke’s exposed legs. Mere inches from the torn flight suit however, the beam halted as if impacting some invisible wall and Vader glared back at his son’s grim, determined face. Luke’s eyes were fixed upon his fathers mask, and his hands were outstretched, contorted strangely, beckoning at the Sith’s straining blade. Grunting with exasperation, Darth Vader withdrew and then attacked again, this time forcing his weapon downward towards Luke’s forehead in a horizontal chop. Again, the red beam ground to a halt in midair, although this time the Jedi’s focus wavered, allowing the deadly thing to press forward a few more inches.
Luke felt Vader’s surprise through the force, and then something else; at last, the Dark Lord had smashed his internal defenses, and was probing his deepest, most secreted thoughts. “You have done well to hide her from me so long, my son, but I am afraid your failure is now complete. Obi-Wan may have blocked you fully from the true path, but I suspect that Leia will be more receptive to my teachings. You will not join me, but perhaps she will.” Luke felt as though Vader had just driven a lightsaber through his heart. Why did you tell me Ben? Why! Now Vader knew of the sister Luke had only just discovered he had, and without training Luke had been given, she would be consumed by the dark.
An arcane bellow ripped from the shattered man’s gut, and Vader’s saber flew back, almost decapitating him. The Dark Lord put up his other arm to deflect the blast, but he was forced away nevertheless, caught up in a torrent of raw Force energy. Luke did not know where this power had originated, but he no longer cared. Vader had to be stopped, whatever the cost. Palms rigid and angled at the cyborg, Luke slowly, and then more surely, began to take steps away from the surging cauldron of energy that lay behind, newly born wind rustling his hair and tattered clothes. Darth Vader faltered further, and Luke pressed, tightening his control over the torrent and using it to lash his foe, pounding him with coils of invisible force and overwhelming power. Beyond the wave, the Jedi could feel his father weakening fast, as if the new onslaught had taxed his energy reserves beyond the breaking point.
For the first time truly desperate, Vader pushed back, lending his own energies to the storm, and forcing Luke to loose ground again. Lip beginning to bleed between clenched teeth, the Jedi gathered up more of the knots of power and sent them again at the Dark Lord, but this time he was ready, and reflected them back, making Luke again step back to remain balanced. As this assault continued, neither combatant noticed the small silver hilt lying at the very edge of the expanse of electrified deck plate. Neither noticed as Luke’s failing efforts brought him closer to it. Neither noticed as his left boot came down upon its smooth, rounded surface. Then it was too late.
Suddenly falling backwards over the discarded lightsaber, Luke was unable to resist a new wave of invisible energy, and to his disbelief, felt an arc of lightning shoot up past his head, and then another, and then another. His body was consumed by a violent river of bluish light, and the pain that flamed across his body quickly gave way to numbness, and the darkness set on.
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Deep within the Imperial Palace, in the quiet solitude of a simple medical chamber, Darth Vader looked upon the barely living remains of his only son. In the darkness, his synthetic breath was quickened and irregular, reverberating softly though the liquid that sustained the Jedi’s immobile form. There, on that Star Destroyer, he had not acted quickly enough, he had been too slow and pulling his son from the nexus’s deadly embrace, and he had all but died for it, his mind now trapped in a coma the greatest physicians in the Empire could not remedy. Luke had not been felled in combat, or even chosen the path of noble sacrifice; he had succumbed to an accident. There, in that narrow hallway, Vader’s ambitions and plots had been forgotten, the dark side’s icy grip had weakened; a twisted man had held his broken son in his arms. There, on the cold, metal floor, for the first time in two decades, Darth Vader had wept.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
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Anomie
- Padawan Learner
- Posts: 360
- Joined: 2005-07-03 05:55pm
- Location: Between the begining of time and the end of the universe
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
NOT R2!!! YOU COULDN"T HAVE! YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
All in all, a very good chapter. I love what your doing with Vader. Keep up the good work!
NOT R2!!! YOU COULDN"T HAVE! YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE!
NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!
All in all, a very good chapter. I love what your doing with Vader. Keep up the good work!
You shall be the instrument of my vengence. Through you I shall scream out my wrath unto the heavens.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
"Explosions fix everything" - Nabeshin - Excel Saga
"When you gaze too long into the abyss, the abyss comments on how you have no social life."
"We jumped the shark AND took its wallet" My friend commenting upon our groups dinner conversation.
CoVD:We are all but a part of a dream that Vin Diesel is having.
Church of Perverts: As the Lord commands, so shall we do. And do. And do.
-
The Grim Squeaker
- Emperor's Hand
- Posts: 10315
- Joined: 2005-06-01 01:44am
- Location: A different time-space Continuum
- Contact:
Nice, I see your'e following the theory that Palpatine was holding Vader back and with a real goal to attain he could regain some of his former potential?
Still very nice, keep em coming
Still very nice, keep em coming
Photography
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Genius is always allowed some leeway, once the hammer has been pried from its hands and the blood has been cleaned up.
To improve is to change; to be perfect is to change often.
Chapter Thirty Six
“Realspace reversion in ten seconds,” a comm officer reported from a crew station on the Republica’s bridge, his voice noticeably tinged by anxiety. Captain Ryceed nodded and rose from her command chair, careful to hide her own apprehension. They had been out of contact with the Rebellion for nearly a week, and she had no idea what might await the Republica at the Alliance redoubt. Assuming the Imperials hadn’t caught up with them, the command frigate Redemption, what was left of Rogue Squadron, and the few transports and gunships that had escaped Sullust would be awaiting them, but the hope was that there would be a greater force in waiting. The Imperial ambush had been premature, and there were still Alliance fleet assets elsewhere preparing to jump. Hopefully, the Redemption had been able to stop them from rendezvousing at Sullust and diverted the remaining fleet here. They may have lost the flagship and a large portion of the Sullust battle group, but the fleet elements from Mon Calamari and Arbra would still make the Alliance a viable military threat.
“Initiating reversion.”
Beyond the bridge’s armored viewport, the roiling darkness of hyperspace shimmered and then gave way to a vast field of stars, unbroken by planetary bodies or nebulae; the Alliance fall back position was fixed in the rarely-traveled emptiness between Hutt Space and the Brak sector, near an old deep-space observation station that had been converted into a Alliance supply depot, abandoned during the height of the Old Republic thousands of years ago.
“Are you picking up any Alliance signals?” Ryceed asked expectantly, probing the empty space beyond with narrowed eyes. The gesture was futile, even relatively close starships would be too far off to see without the optical enhancers built into the view port’s transparisteel sheath locked onto a target, but the captain persisted nonetheless. She had fought in more than one battle where her ship had literally jumped in on top of an enemy cruiser, and her experience told her that she might well be doing that now. Considering how close they had come to detection the previous day, it was possible that the remainder of the fleet had been ambushed or followed, and the only thing awaiting them here was the deadly green flame of a Star Destroyer’s broadside.
“Yes sir,” Ryceed’s executive officer replied, analyzing a sensor readout. “Several. Directly forward, 35 degrees above our axis.” Ryceed smiled slightly. At least it wasn’t a trap.
“Alter our heading towards the signals and get me a tight band transmission to the Redemption when we are in range.” As the XO acknowledged the order and moved off to oversee the bridge crew, the captain called up the ship’s imagining sensors on one of her command terminals and observed as the helm brought the Alliance fleet into view. They were only a few pinpricks of light at first, virtually indistinguishable from the surrounding stars, but as the cruiser changed course, and sped forward, the view quickly sharpened, viewscreen automatically focusing on and enlarging the center of the group of ships.
Ryceed’s eyes widened and she grabbed a nearby guard rail, squeezing it hard to regain focus. There, displayed before her, was the shattered hull of what had once been a MC-80 Star Cruiser, the mightiest weapon in the Rebel Starfleet. Now instead of a majestic, almost organic-looking hull adorned with its characteristic systems bulges, the ship was charred wreck, listing starboard lazily in the deathly quiet of space. Illuminated by its few functioning running lights, the cruiser’s hull was almost uniformly covered in huge swaths of black carbon burns, and sported numerous vast gashes, one of which nearly bisected the wreck, exposing two dozen decks to space. It looked like the carcass of a huge stellar monster of legend; it’s slowly rotting ribs jutting out into the cold vacuum. A single ion drive remained functioning, pulsing blue light wearily as it attempted to keep the vessel from spinning end over end into the blackness.
As the image began to pan back, revealing more of the fleet, other officers took notice, pausing to gape in horror at the image on the captain’s screen. There were six large ships in total, two MC-80s, a pair of smaller Mon Calamari vessels, a light cruiser and modified carrier, a retrofitted Lanowar Assault Cruiser, and finally the medical frigate Redemption. Every ship without exception seemed to have suffered damage, but the MC-80s had taken the worst of it, the second only in somewhat better repair than the drifting hulk it was holding position next to. Dozens of pinpricks, fighters, shuttles, and repair tugs of all designations darted around them, docking with the various ships or angling in towards the 500 meter half-wheel space station that lay in the midst of the motley assortment of ships.
“By the Force,” Commander Gavplek, Ryceed’s XO, whispered unbelievingly. “That’s the Camaas. Wasn’t she stationed at Mon Calamari?” Ryceed nodded, running one hand shakily through her short hair. The drifting wreck was indeed that ship; she was fast friends its commander, a Rodian named Gredic Farr. They had trained together in the Chandrilan Flight Academy, from which both had been recruited to join the Alliance. Looking at the burned hulk was beginning to turn her stomach in revulsion, and there was a spark of new fear coursing up her spine. If the Camaas was here, where was the rest of the Mon Calamari fleet division? There were nearly two dozen capital ships being held in reserve there. The sickened sensation spread into her chest.
Caught up in the devastation of what was to have been their only reinforcements, which had been expanded onto the main viewer just off the forward view port, the bridge crew barely noticed as one of the turbolifts at the rear of the chamber opened and Leia Organa, Han Solo, and C-3PO stepped out. “Oh dear,” the protocol droid mumbled, pausing almost as soon as he was out of the door, optical receptors attracted to the overhead sensor display. Han and Leia as well stopped and exchanged grim looks.
“Captain,” the princess called formally, climbing up to the raised command platform in a few quick strides. Snapping her head away from the spectacle, Ryceed offered a smart, if slightly delayed salute. “Ma’am.” Leia motioned for the captain to be at ease; she technically didn’t outrank the captain, but as a member of Mon Mothma’s High Council, she received preferential treatment from Alliance officers, especially the younger ones, who were generally highly enamored of the heroes of Yavin Four. Leia didn’t like the special consideration, but as a former galactic senator, she was used to it.
Leia gestured to the display screen. “Do you know what happened here?” Captain Ryceed frowned, and the shot a glare at a nearby communications officer. “Have you been able to get a tight beam to the Redemption yet?” The crewer punched a few digits into his consol, and then looked up. “Aye sir, the connection has been made. And it looks like there’s someone on the other end waiting. Holofeed.”
“Put it through.”
The holographic projector Cortana had occupied the previous day sparked to life and the shimmering image of a woman came into view, her face heavily lined and hair disheveled. Ryceed snapped another stiff salute and Leia gave a small conciliatory bow.
“Captain Imal Ryceed, I am relieved to see that you and your crew have arrived safely,” Mon Mothma said wearily. It was plain that she had not slept in days.
“As are we, Supreme Commander,” the captain replied, dropping her salute at a respectful speed, still at attention. Mon Mothma’s actual title was rarely used in the Alliance Hierarchy, but Ryceed was unusually formal for a Rebel officer, even a captain.
Mon Mothma’s projection turned to the princess. “And I am quite relieved to see you here at last Leia. Things have been going very badly here.” She looked as though she was going to continue, but the woman trailed of, staring sadly at nothing in particular. Leia stepped forward, her face earnest. “What happened here? Where is the rest of the fleet?” The Chief of State shook her head slowly. “This is it, everyone who made it here. The Imperial fleet launched a concerted attack on Mon Calamari before the fleet could jump away. Most of it was destroyed defending the planet, and only Captain Halder, Kre’fey and Farr’s ships were able to escape after it was clear the planet was lost.” Ryceed felt a lump forming in her throat at the mention of Farr’s name, but she held her tongue, and Mon Mothma continued.
“The battle group that the Council called in from Arbra sent back a recognition code when we called them here, but they should have arrived here yesterday, even if they took the longest and most secreted route. General Madine fears that they too have been ambushed and wiped out. The rest of the ships here are stragglers from Denlly 2 and Cerea, the only two other bases we were able to reach safely. We are trying to contact some of the raider squadrons in more distant sectors, but too much hyperwave activity from our remaining ships risks Imperial detection. It hardly matters though; most of our military forces were already at either Sullust or Mon Calamari. This may be all we have left.”
Leia listened in horror, but was able disguise her shock with a deep frown. This was hardly unexpected, but news of what might very well be the death knell of the Rebellion was still hard to bear. “What of the evacuees from Sullust? Have you been able to contact them? From Mon Calamari?” Mon Mothma shook her head solemnly. “As far as we know, no one outside of the three warships I mentioned escaped the surprise attack there. As for the Sullustans, it is highly likely that all of their ships were destroyed or captured soon after they jumped. Without our battleships to guide and defend them, there was little hope they would be able to flee for long. The few scouts we have dispatched indicate that this new Imperial operation is massive; two thousand reserve Star Destroyers have been activated in this quadrant alone. Lord Vader is pressing the advantage, and any sign or even the faintest clue of rebel activity is being investigated ruthlessly. I fear that we will not receive…” she halted, putting up a hand. “That is enough for now. This can be discussed later, with the Council. I have arranged a meeting to take place onboard the observation station at eleven hundred hours.”
Leia nodded, trying to look reassuring. “I’ll be there.” Mon Mothma smiled weakly. “Thank you Leia. I’m not sure how much longer I could have lasted without you here.”
The Supreme Commander turned back to Captain Ryceed. “Captain, I’m sure your ship requires supplies and repairs. Our resources are limited, but there is enough fuel and ammunition stored on this station for you to requisition what is needed. Ah, and there is a considerable number of wounded from the other ships here, and we have not been able treat and bed them all. If there is space in your own medical facilities, it is requested that you take on some of our more critical cases.”
“Certainly, Supreme Commander. I will send shuttles to the station for them at once.” Mon Mothma gave a tired look of recognition, and then squeezed shut and then opened her eyes, as if trying to stay awake. “Ah yes, Captain. Neild Farr of the Camaas is one of the patients I’ll have you take aboard. He suffered several injuries during the retreat, but he is in stable condition now.” Ryceed felt a small portion of the weight on her chest evaporate. How did she remember, or even know that the two were friends, especially at a time like this? Admiration for the woman growing, allowed a small smile. “That’s…good news. Thank you Ma’am.”
Looking more drained now than she had even minutes before, Mon Mothma reached for something out of the projector’s view, probably the control stud, but before she could end the transmission, the woman looked up again. “General Solo?”
Surprised, Leia and Ryceed looked over to find Han Solo standing between them, trying to look precise and military. “Chief of State, I was wondering if I could ask if General Skywalker is with your fleet group here.” Leia felt a shiver run down her spine. Yes, this had been bothering both of them since Sullust. Luke hadn’t arrived in the fleet before the Imperial attack, and neither had heard mention of him during the battle or retreat.
Mon Mothma shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. We had hoped he had docked with the Republica before we evacuated. Did you make contact before or during the battle?”
“No Ma’am, that’s the thing. If he didn’t rendezvous with your squadron, then he must not have been involved in the battle at all. When Leia… Princess Organa and I left Tatooine; Luke said he had to stop off some place before he met back up with the fleet. If he got there after we escaped…” There was no need to finish the thought. Even a pilot of Luke’s caliber couldn’t fight off Darth Vader and a fleet of Star Destroyers and Interdictors by himself.
Mon Mothma sighed, sounding increasingly haggard. “This is very troubling news. General Skywalker was a great asset to us, and I know both of you are very close to him. I will instruct our deep range patrols to keep an eye out for distress signals or snub fighter hyperspace signatures from the Sullust system, but I can’t promise anything. I am very sorry.”
Leia accepted the news and thanked Mon Mothma with a calm and even demeanor, but as she and Han rode the turbolift away from the bridge, Leia lost her composure and fell against the gruff Corellian for support. She wasn’t sure if either of them could withstand another loss like this.
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The Shuttles that had been dispatched from the Republica were given special clearance by Mon Mothma herself, and thus were able to bypass the motley collection of light freighters, Gallofree transports, and what few other support craft were left in the fleet, all waiting in long cues for docking privileges at the supply station’s two operational ports. Most of the smaller ships in the fleet were in varying states of undersupply and disrepair, and there were thousands of crewmen in fleet remnant in need of medical attention. The sickbay facilities on the larger starships, even the medical frigate, could not handle the strain, and thus a makeshift hospital had been set up in the facility’s main computer lab. It was a dangerous situation; there would be little time to evacuate the station if the Imperial fleet located them, and the facility was unarmed, but it had to be done. Risk or not, Mon Mothma had made it clear that every wounded Alliance soldier still able to be saved would be, she could not bear anymore blood on her hands, and massive die-offs amongst the personnel would be devastating for already weakened moral.
After the three boxy starships had landed in the crowded and noisy shuttle landing bay, the Republica’s chief physician and his team rushed off to the makeshift hospital area, while the other crewmen began to load much needed starship components and fuel onto their ships. Almost a dozen others had accompanied the crewers, come to see the High Council and discuss Captain Picard’s proposal. Leia Organa, with C-3PO in tow, had departed immediately for Mon Mothma’s temporary quarters, taking Major Truul and his aide with her. As one of the more senior and experienced infantry commanders left in the fleet, he would likely need to be close by if and when the Council called for a general command meeting to debate their options.
Left in the bay was Captain Picard himself, Commander Riker, Data, the Master Chief, with Cortana stored in his armor, and inexplicably, the Arbiter. The towering warrior, generally reclusive since the Battle of Sullust, had simply asked to accompany the small Federation delegation, but had not given the reason why. There had been little reason to refuse the request, at the very least he might decide to assist the Alliance crewmen load the shuttles, but there was something about him that was suspicious. Both Riker and the Spartan had kept a very close eye on the Elite during the short transit, but he had seemed to be behaving normal enough, for him, and was now causally watching Leia and Truul as they made their way through the crowd and disappeared through a doorway off the dock.
The Federation officers, instructed by Leia Organa, who was being surprisingly helpful for a person none of them had even seen before a few days ago, to stay on the station until she could arrange a new hearing for their cause, slowly drifted out of the throng of binary load lifters and harried Rebel officers and towards a relatively empty hallway. “I wonder how long we’ll have to wait here,” Riker said idly, propped up against a wall as he watched the Republica’s shuttles lift off, bearing new supplies and patients in need of surgery and bacta emersion.
“As long as it takes, number one,” Picard responded sternly. “This is a trying time for them, and we mustn’t impose more than we need too, at least not yet.”
The commander took the admonition with a grim nod, but another spoke up. “Perhaps it would be wise to try and speed up proceedings.” This from the AI construct Cortana, who spoke through the Master Chief’s own comm unit. “As you say yourself, the Alliance has a lot on its hands right now. If we just wait quietly, we might have to sit here until that wormhole collapses. The sooner we make our case again, the less likely it is we will be forgotten.”
Picard shook his head. “I assure you, I will not allow them to forget us. However, we must remember that the Alliance doesn’t have to do anything for us; we must convince them that it is in their best interest to give us a ship that can traverse that rift. If our entreaties are too forceful or hasty, we may lose any support we might have left among them, and will be sent back to the Republica, perhaps even imprisoned.”
Data nodded thoughtfully. “You should seriously consider Captain Picard’s warning. He is quite experienced with a wide variety of diplomatic and political situations, and has been involved in the construction of numerous successful treaties and compacts, including the Ceasefire implemented to end the Tejan/Oxygeen war, the Sheliak Compromise of Stardate…”
“Thank you Data, that’s enough,” the Captain said with a reassuring gesture, a bemused smile creasing his lips. The android quickly silenced itself, casting an inquisitive look at the Captain before straightening up and resuming his curious observation of the numerous Alliance officers who skirted around the small group as they passed.
The conversation had lulled for no more than fifteen seconds before the green cyborg spoke up again, this time in his own voice. “Where is the Elite?”
Caught off guard by the question, the others hurriedly looked to the area where the Arbiter had been standing before, against the wall a few feet behind Riker, only minutes before. Sure enough though, the spot was vacant, and there was no sign of the eight-foot titan.
“What the?” Riker mumbled, glancing down at both ends of the hallway to no avail.
“He was there exactly three minutes, nineteen seconds ago, the last time my vision passed over that area,” Data noted, almost incredulously. “I do not see how he could have evaded our notice when he left. Disguising such a body mass, even in a crowd such as this, would be extremely difficult.”
“Never underestimate one of them,” the Master Chief said darkly, shifting his weight into a more alert position for combat. “I once saw a single Elite cut down a squad of seven men in five seconds, just with his plasma blade. And the Arbiter is no ordinary foot soldier.” The Chief had developed a grudging respect for the alien over the last few weeks, but he still was perfectly willing to accept that it might turn on them again. Still, if the Arbiter did intend on escape or subterfuge, why would he do it now? The Elite had been left mostly to his own devices for days on the Republica, and had made no hostile moves. It didn’t add up.
“Whatever he’s doing, we have to find him, and fast,” Picard warned. “Even benign observation of this station’s inner workings without permission could be perceived as a threat, and we are on uncertain footing as it is.”
“If he’s intent on not being found, were probably not going to find him, at least not until he makes some offensive move,” Cortana noted. “His armor has a stealth system integrated into it that can disrupt most motion, thermal, and electrical scanners, as well as deflect light. The Chief’s motion sensor system wouldn’t be able to accurately pin point him, even without the number of people around us, and I doubt even Alliance internal sensors could pick him up, at least not without a concerted effort.”
Picard shook his head. “No, we can’t let the Alliance know unless absolutely necessary. Is there any other way we might be able to locate him?”
The AI paused, considering. “Well, he probably knows about just as little about the layout of this station as we do, so he can’t have gotten too far in here. It would help if I could guess at his motives, but if he’s trying to avoid detection, open, out of the way spaces would be my best bet, with low lighting.”
“Covenant personal cloaking shields create a visible ripple effect in good light, but in the dark, they are virtually impossible to see,” the Master Chief explained.
Picard frowned, deep in thought. There was little chance that spreading out to look for the Arbiter would succeed, and it might not even be necessary; after all, he had given no indication of hostile motives. Still, there was a danger, and even if the Elite meant no harm, if an Alliance marine discovered a member of Picard’s party operating under cloak in a secure portion of the station, his credibility, and their chances of getting home, would be forever lost. Silently, Picard dammed the foolish creature. They had been so close to another hearing before the council; why would he jeopardize that opportunity now?
“Alright, we’ll have to at least try and find him. Commander, I want you to stay here, just in case Leia Organa summons us before I return. Stall her and raise us on your comm. It should still function in here.” Picard’s own insignia chip had been seized during his time aboard the Torrent, but he had been able to requisition one from Lieutenant Jossa before they departed. “Commander Data, Chief, come with me. I think it would be best to begin our search from the docking bay. We might at least get a sense were he might have been able to head without alerting attention.”
The search, however, did not last very long. Almost as soon as Picard and his team had exited the hallway and waded back into the crowd of crewers and droids who hurried feverishly though the bay, loading and unloading shuttles and fightercraft, the Master Chief halted, staring incredulously at a large stack of ration containers that were being loaded into a waiting Calamarian transport. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Surprised by the soldier’s incredulous words, the Captain and Data both turned towards the spot, where, among a crew of burly humans and a lone wookiee who were focused on hefting the large tubes into the ship’s waiting maw, a tall, bluish gray creature stood, grappling with a metal box nearly his own size. “I believe our search is at and end,” Data commented, triggering an annoyed lance from his superior.
“What are you doing here?” Picard asked caustically after navigating his way though the tightly packed rows of crates and busy droids. Not even bothering to turn to face the human, the Arbiter braced himself against the weight of his charge, at least four hundred pounds of pastisteel and compressed food stuffs, and staggered over to the transports cargo hatch. With a low grunt, he raised the container up to neck height, and then shoved it onto the waiting deck of the transport, where it was quickly tagged and shoved into the ship’s main hold my grateful Alliance pilots. The Arbiter then flexed his smooth, toned muscles, sighed, and turned to the group.
“I have little patience for idle waiting. When it became apparent that the High Council was not going to grant us an audience immediately, I decided to assist the soldiers out her with their recovery. I trust I did nothing to endanger or inconvenience you.” The Elite’s response was formal and monotonous, but Picard could swear there was a hint of annoyance behind the words. Secretly, he felt the same; there had been far too much waiting since they had rendezvoused with the Alliance fleet. He longed to be back in command of a starship, to decide when and how things would be done. And, of course, he longed to be back home, no longer a wear passenger in a strange land, set amidst a conflict he could only begin to understand or appreciate. Picard was certain that the Arbiter shared mutual desires.
Nevertheless, they were still only unwilling visitors, unneeded baggage, and unless Picard could convince someone that they could offer something of value in return for passage back to the wormhole, they would remain leaves in the wind.
“No…no, it’s alright,” Picard said, shaking his head. “I would simply appreciate it if in the future you make your actions known to one of us before moving off elsewhere. We wouldn’t want there to be a misunderstanding of your motives on the part of the Alliance.”
The Arbiter fixed Picard in gaze with his large, golden eyes, and the human suddenly became very aware of just how small he was compared to the warrior. “I shall endeavor to comply with your request, Captain.” He placed special emphasis on the final word. Picard grew increasingly uneasy. The Elite had been reserved and compliant in the past, but he certainly was not one to be crossed, by friend or foe.
An uncomfortable silence hung over the group for a long moment, the Federation captain and former Covenant ship master locked in a contest of wills. Then, barely indistinguishable over the racket of the docking bay, Picard noticed the badge on his chest was chirping. Ending the uncomfortable moment with a grudging nod, he looked away and slapped the communication device. “Commander?”
“Captain, Major Truul has informed me that the Council will meet with us now. He says time is limited.”
Picard acknowledged the message and then turned to Data and the Chief. “We should go.”
As the two moved off to rejoin Riker in the far hallway, Picard turned back to the Elite, who still had him fixed in a penetrating stare. “I trust you want to accompany us.” The Arbiter inclined his head passively and strode off after Data and the cyborg, leaving Picard alone standing next to the transport, very glad to be out of his gaze.
“I’m not buying his story,” the Master Chief said, after making sure his external comm was off.
“Me neither,” Cortana agreed, using the optical sensors impregnated throughout the super soldier’s armor to monitor the Elite. “I can buy that he’s not a xenophobic zealot intent on killing you when your back is turned anymore, but I have a hard time picturing any high and mighty Elite lugging around cargo simply because they were bored. He’s up to something. You’ll be keeping an eye on him too?”
“And a gun sight, when I’m able.”
Cortana could never tell when the Chief was being sarcastic, but he rarely was.
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“If we are to act at all, we must do it soon!” The tall man slapped his open palm on the dark Dathomiri Pine table to emphasize his point. The gaunt and preoccupied faces observed him from around the huge wooden disc, unmoved by the display. “With each day that passes, Vader’s grip upon the Empire strengthens, and more of our contacts turn on us, flee, or disappear outright! We must to consolidate, reassert our authority as the rightful heirs of Palpatine’s power; as the only ones who can lawfully chose a new Emperor. If we…”
“You will speak of his Imperial highness with the proper respect,” Sate Pestage said icily, his voice little more than a whisper. The Grand Vizier, chief among Palpatine’s most trusted advisors, sat stiffly on a narrow, metallic chair, his arms draped limply on its control-studded supports. Dressed in a luxurious burgundy robe and large, domed hat that denoted his high status, Pestage looked very small and frail, as if his master’s death had crushed what little life was left in his dry bones. However, dark, beady eyes told a completely different story; the Vizier was still very alert, and very dangerous.
An uncomfortable silence filled the large chamber, and the speaker, his momentum robed, bowed in supplication. “I apologize, Grand Vizier; you know I meant no disrespect our majesty. The past few days have been trying for us all; I am afraid I have been too busy attempting to ensure the Empire’s future and our place in it. The effort has distracted me from paying proper respect to our fallen master.” The acid in the man’s tone was palpable. Pestage said nothing in response, only acknowledging the obvious condescension in the councilor’s words by narrowing his eyes on him, further furrowing an already crevassed brow.
Sure that no more objections were forthcoming from the Grand Vizier, the speaker sat lightly in a the large, splendid chair behind him and launched into another impassioned speech, regaling those assembled with a myriad of warnings, foreboding statistics, and half formed plans; everyone in the chamber had heard the dialogue before, and doubtless would again. The man went by the name of Ars Dagnor, who, like most of those listening, had been part of Palpatine’s inner circle of advisors. A tallow-skinned and pasty human of slight stature, Ars was surprisingly charismatic for his physical appearance, a skill that the late Emperor had employed more than once, both in private negotiation and to spread the propaganda that helped keep the vast multitudes of Imperial citizens in line.
Arrayed around the large table were six other men of similar ilk, all advisors and confidants of the Emperor, now with their position of power and influence in danger. None of them labored under the illusion that the new ruler of the Galactic Empire would take them on as his own staff, and some of the inner circle had even fled after Palpatine’s death, disappearing to one of the numerous retreat worlds and redoubts Palpatine had developed during his reign. Two in particular, Savuud Thimram and Gwellib Ap-Llewft, both minor Force users honed under the Emperor’s dark tutelage, had expressed a fear for their own lives before slipping away; Darth Vader’s seemingly ingrained resentment and anger towards most Force-users had only been barely contained and directed by Palpatine, and no one knew what he would do to those under the Empire’s sanction now that he was left to his own devices.
Most had stayed however, unwilling to relinquish the power they held and confident that with their contacts and influence, Vader might be undermined and subverted, perhaps even removed entirely. Dagnor was the chief advocate of this course, and the advisors Gam Rothwall and Janus Greejatus firmly with him, but the other four, Kren Blista-Vance, Hixa Torenvom, the ever silent Sim Aloo, and finally Sate Pestage himself were more doubtful, unsure of what course to take.
“But wouldn’t assassinating Vader at a time like this be risking a major upset in the military hierarchy?” Ars Dagnor cast annoyed glare at the portly Torenvom, angered at having one of his long-winded plots to eliminate the Dark Lord of the Sith interrupted.
“Of course it would mean upsetting the hierarchy Hixa. What else would you call the summary replacement of a head of state?”
Greejatus snickered.
Fleshy cheeks reddening slightly, the counselor pressed angrily forward. “You know what I meant Ars. Vader’s mobilization of our reserve fleets to finally eliminate the Rebellion has stretched our Forces out more than they have been for decades, and there are rumors that some of the lesser powers are taking advantage of it. I have received reports from one of my contacts near Bakura that the local holonet has lost contact with several of the colony worlds closest to Wild Space. The local Moff has voiced his fears that there may be a hostile force at work.”
Ars Dagnor let loose a loud, obnoxious sigh, and then shook his condescendingly. “You of all people Hixa should know that there is no power in this galaxy, alien or rebel, that could pose any serious threat to the Empire. The admiralty is well trained and loyal enough to operate effectively under any adverse circumstance, even a change in Emperor.”
“And what if civil war breaks out? Have you considered that?” Sate Pestage said softly, his calm tone and body language disguising his growing distain for the pompous blowhard across the table. “For all of our contacts and supposed influence, many in the military and government may chose to side with Vader if we make a move against him. You are correct, my friend, no external foe can threaten us, but we can easily tear ourselves apart.”
“And what exactly,” Ars responded slowly, his voice bearing the same acidic quality it had born during their previous exchange, “makes you believe that anyone would choose to follow Darth Vader, the night terror, murder of friend and foe alike, relic of the traitorous Jedi Order, over the closest friends and confidants of the late, benevolent Emperor? Propaganda proves its usefulness once again; Vader is seen by the unthinking masses as a mindless killer, a terror weapon to be used against those who violated the will and trust of the Emperor. All of Lord Palpatine’s more…questionable policies can be attributed to him, and the Emperor’s legacy can be left pristine and pure. Most in the higher echelons of power don’t even know that our Lord could wield the Force. He, and by extension us, are without fault or flaw. Supplanting Vader is more likely to earn us a place in the Week of Celebration than a civil war.”
“Besides, who ever said that anyone would have an opportunity to ally with him against us?” Greejatus intoned with a sickening grin. “If our glorious master could have been done in by filthy Rebel assassins, I’m sure we could think up an appropriate and expeditious fate for our supposed successor.”
“Please Greejatus, you don’t actually believe the official version of our Emperor’s demise, do you?” Blista-Vance scoffed, rolling his bloodshot eyes in contempt. “The Grand Vizier was forced to concoct that story himself; we all know who was really responsible.”
“Nevertheless, disposing of Vader will not be difficult when we decide upon the appropriate moment,” Ars Dagnor countered before anyone else could add to the increasingly heated discussion. “If anything, the Clone Wars and the subsequent Purge showed us that those who wield the Force are far from invincible. Darth Vader will die, and soon. I can promise this, and that we will be accepted with open arms as the saviors of the Empire after the deed is done.”
Pestage slumped back into his chair, disgusted with Dagnor’s arrogance and disregard for reason. It was becoming increasingly obvious, that for all his bluster, there was little the man would actually be able to accomplish if the discussed coup was ever to be implemented. It was best perhaps to cut their losses and run; Sate had been gifted a sizable portion of space by the Emperor for his loyal service, the multi-system Citruic Hegemony in which he could comfortably retire. And even if that place was rendered untenable, there were other worlds to which he could flee, secret places, places that even some of those around him now did not know of.
One of the circular chamber’s two doors slid silently open behind Sate Pestage, and a lone Stormtrooper captain entered, careful not to disrupt the proceedings. Ars paid him little heed, and began to converse in hushed tones with Greejatus, who was seated next to him. The soldier, commander of Sate’s personal guard, leaned down next to his ear and whispered something imperceptible. The vizier listened intently, his eyes slowly widening with shock as the trooper continued to relay the message. When he had finished and snapped back to attention, Pestage was bolt upright in his seat, swiftly gathering the few flimsi-sheets and datapads he had brought with him up from the table and sweeping them into the folds of his robe. The others looked on in bewilderment.
“Going somewhere, Grand Vizier?” Dagnor asked curiously as Pestage rose from his place at the table.
“I’m leaving Coruscant Ars, now. If any of you value your lives, I suggest you do the same. There is very little time.” He cast imploring looks at the two of his colleagues who might still see reason and inevitability; Dagnor and his cronies were beyond hope. With only a moment of hesitation, the silent Sim Aloo rose and took a place at Pestage’s side, but Hixa, after exchanging a nervous look with Ars, shook his head, double chin wobbling with the effort.
Sighing resignedly, Sate turned away from the table and began to make his way for the exit, Aloo and the Stormtrooper in tow. Before he made it out of the room however, a voice behind made him freeze.
“So it has come to this. Our grand vizier turning tail and running from certain victory like some xenu coward. How shameful, I never could understand what Palpatine ever saw in you. What has caused you to reveal your true colors at last, I wonder? Has Vader bought you out? Found an alien wench who will take even you to bed?”
A wave of fury washed over the Grand Vizier, but he was able to suppress it, allowing this to be his only response: “You will find out soon enough Ars. You will find out soon enough.” With that, not even bothering to turn to deliver the final message, Sate stalked out of the chamber, the door snapping silently shut after he and his companions had passed from view.
“Realspace reversion in ten seconds,” a comm officer reported from a crew station on the Republica’s bridge, his voice noticeably tinged by anxiety. Captain Ryceed nodded and rose from her command chair, careful to hide her own apprehension. They had been out of contact with the Rebellion for nearly a week, and she had no idea what might await the Republica at the Alliance redoubt. Assuming the Imperials hadn’t caught up with them, the command frigate Redemption, what was left of Rogue Squadron, and the few transports and gunships that had escaped Sullust would be awaiting them, but the hope was that there would be a greater force in waiting. The Imperial ambush had been premature, and there were still Alliance fleet assets elsewhere preparing to jump. Hopefully, the Redemption had been able to stop them from rendezvousing at Sullust and diverted the remaining fleet here. They may have lost the flagship and a large portion of the Sullust battle group, but the fleet elements from Mon Calamari and Arbra would still make the Alliance a viable military threat.
“Initiating reversion.”
Beyond the bridge’s armored viewport, the roiling darkness of hyperspace shimmered and then gave way to a vast field of stars, unbroken by planetary bodies or nebulae; the Alliance fall back position was fixed in the rarely-traveled emptiness between Hutt Space and the Brak sector, near an old deep-space observation station that had been converted into a Alliance supply depot, abandoned during the height of the Old Republic thousands of years ago.
“Are you picking up any Alliance signals?” Ryceed asked expectantly, probing the empty space beyond with narrowed eyes. The gesture was futile, even relatively close starships would be too far off to see without the optical enhancers built into the view port’s transparisteel sheath locked onto a target, but the captain persisted nonetheless. She had fought in more than one battle where her ship had literally jumped in on top of an enemy cruiser, and her experience told her that she might well be doing that now. Considering how close they had come to detection the previous day, it was possible that the remainder of the fleet had been ambushed or followed, and the only thing awaiting them here was the deadly green flame of a Star Destroyer’s broadside.
“Yes sir,” Ryceed’s executive officer replied, analyzing a sensor readout. “Several. Directly forward, 35 degrees above our axis.” Ryceed smiled slightly. At least it wasn’t a trap.
“Alter our heading towards the signals and get me a tight band transmission to the Redemption when we are in range.” As the XO acknowledged the order and moved off to oversee the bridge crew, the captain called up the ship’s imagining sensors on one of her command terminals and observed as the helm brought the Alliance fleet into view. They were only a few pinpricks of light at first, virtually indistinguishable from the surrounding stars, but as the cruiser changed course, and sped forward, the view quickly sharpened, viewscreen automatically focusing on and enlarging the center of the group of ships.
Ryceed’s eyes widened and she grabbed a nearby guard rail, squeezing it hard to regain focus. There, displayed before her, was the shattered hull of what had once been a MC-80 Star Cruiser, the mightiest weapon in the Rebel Starfleet. Now instead of a majestic, almost organic-looking hull adorned with its characteristic systems bulges, the ship was charred wreck, listing starboard lazily in the deathly quiet of space. Illuminated by its few functioning running lights, the cruiser’s hull was almost uniformly covered in huge swaths of black carbon burns, and sported numerous vast gashes, one of which nearly bisected the wreck, exposing two dozen decks to space. It looked like the carcass of a huge stellar monster of legend; it’s slowly rotting ribs jutting out into the cold vacuum. A single ion drive remained functioning, pulsing blue light wearily as it attempted to keep the vessel from spinning end over end into the blackness.
As the image began to pan back, revealing more of the fleet, other officers took notice, pausing to gape in horror at the image on the captain’s screen. There were six large ships in total, two MC-80s, a pair of smaller Mon Calamari vessels, a light cruiser and modified carrier, a retrofitted Lanowar Assault Cruiser, and finally the medical frigate Redemption. Every ship without exception seemed to have suffered damage, but the MC-80s had taken the worst of it, the second only in somewhat better repair than the drifting hulk it was holding position next to. Dozens of pinpricks, fighters, shuttles, and repair tugs of all designations darted around them, docking with the various ships or angling in towards the 500 meter half-wheel space station that lay in the midst of the motley assortment of ships.
“By the Force,” Commander Gavplek, Ryceed’s XO, whispered unbelievingly. “That’s the Camaas. Wasn’t she stationed at Mon Calamari?” Ryceed nodded, running one hand shakily through her short hair. The drifting wreck was indeed that ship; she was fast friends its commander, a Rodian named Gredic Farr. They had trained together in the Chandrilan Flight Academy, from which both had been recruited to join the Alliance. Looking at the burned hulk was beginning to turn her stomach in revulsion, and there was a spark of new fear coursing up her spine. If the Camaas was here, where was the rest of the Mon Calamari fleet division? There were nearly two dozen capital ships being held in reserve there. The sickened sensation spread into her chest.
Caught up in the devastation of what was to have been their only reinforcements, which had been expanded onto the main viewer just off the forward view port, the bridge crew barely noticed as one of the turbolifts at the rear of the chamber opened and Leia Organa, Han Solo, and C-3PO stepped out. “Oh dear,” the protocol droid mumbled, pausing almost as soon as he was out of the door, optical receptors attracted to the overhead sensor display. Han and Leia as well stopped and exchanged grim looks.
“Captain,” the princess called formally, climbing up to the raised command platform in a few quick strides. Snapping her head away from the spectacle, Ryceed offered a smart, if slightly delayed salute. “Ma’am.” Leia motioned for the captain to be at ease; she technically didn’t outrank the captain, but as a member of Mon Mothma’s High Council, she received preferential treatment from Alliance officers, especially the younger ones, who were generally highly enamored of the heroes of Yavin Four. Leia didn’t like the special consideration, but as a former galactic senator, she was used to it.
Leia gestured to the display screen. “Do you know what happened here?” Captain Ryceed frowned, and the shot a glare at a nearby communications officer. “Have you been able to get a tight beam to the Redemption yet?” The crewer punched a few digits into his consol, and then looked up. “Aye sir, the connection has been made. And it looks like there’s someone on the other end waiting. Holofeed.”
“Put it through.”
The holographic projector Cortana had occupied the previous day sparked to life and the shimmering image of a woman came into view, her face heavily lined and hair disheveled. Ryceed snapped another stiff salute and Leia gave a small conciliatory bow.
“Captain Imal Ryceed, I am relieved to see that you and your crew have arrived safely,” Mon Mothma said wearily. It was plain that she had not slept in days.
“As are we, Supreme Commander,” the captain replied, dropping her salute at a respectful speed, still at attention. Mon Mothma’s actual title was rarely used in the Alliance Hierarchy, but Ryceed was unusually formal for a Rebel officer, even a captain.
Mon Mothma’s projection turned to the princess. “And I am quite relieved to see you here at last Leia. Things have been going very badly here.” She looked as though she was going to continue, but the woman trailed of, staring sadly at nothing in particular. Leia stepped forward, her face earnest. “What happened here? Where is the rest of the fleet?” The Chief of State shook her head slowly. “This is it, everyone who made it here. The Imperial fleet launched a concerted attack on Mon Calamari before the fleet could jump away. Most of it was destroyed defending the planet, and only Captain Halder, Kre’fey and Farr’s ships were able to escape after it was clear the planet was lost.” Ryceed felt a lump forming in her throat at the mention of Farr’s name, but she held her tongue, and Mon Mothma continued.
“The battle group that the Council called in from Arbra sent back a recognition code when we called them here, but they should have arrived here yesterday, even if they took the longest and most secreted route. General Madine fears that they too have been ambushed and wiped out. The rest of the ships here are stragglers from Denlly 2 and Cerea, the only two other bases we were able to reach safely. We are trying to contact some of the raider squadrons in more distant sectors, but too much hyperwave activity from our remaining ships risks Imperial detection. It hardly matters though; most of our military forces were already at either Sullust or Mon Calamari. This may be all we have left.”
Leia listened in horror, but was able disguise her shock with a deep frown. This was hardly unexpected, but news of what might very well be the death knell of the Rebellion was still hard to bear. “What of the evacuees from Sullust? Have you been able to contact them? From Mon Calamari?” Mon Mothma shook her head solemnly. “As far as we know, no one outside of the three warships I mentioned escaped the surprise attack there. As for the Sullustans, it is highly likely that all of their ships were destroyed or captured soon after they jumped. Without our battleships to guide and defend them, there was little hope they would be able to flee for long. The few scouts we have dispatched indicate that this new Imperial operation is massive; two thousand reserve Star Destroyers have been activated in this quadrant alone. Lord Vader is pressing the advantage, and any sign or even the faintest clue of rebel activity is being investigated ruthlessly. I fear that we will not receive…” she halted, putting up a hand. “That is enough for now. This can be discussed later, with the Council. I have arranged a meeting to take place onboard the observation station at eleven hundred hours.”
Leia nodded, trying to look reassuring. “I’ll be there.” Mon Mothma smiled weakly. “Thank you Leia. I’m not sure how much longer I could have lasted without you here.”
The Supreme Commander turned back to Captain Ryceed. “Captain, I’m sure your ship requires supplies and repairs. Our resources are limited, but there is enough fuel and ammunition stored on this station for you to requisition what is needed. Ah, and there is a considerable number of wounded from the other ships here, and we have not been able treat and bed them all. If there is space in your own medical facilities, it is requested that you take on some of our more critical cases.”
“Certainly, Supreme Commander. I will send shuttles to the station for them at once.” Mon Mothma gave a tired look of recognition, and then squeezed shut and then opened her eyes, as if trying to stay awake. “Ah yes, Captain. Neild Farr of the Camaas is one of the patients I’ll have you take aboard. He suffered several injuries during the retreat, but he is in stable condition now.” Ryceed felt a small portion of the weight on her chest evaporate. How did she remember, or even know that the two were friends, especially at a time like this? Admiration for the woman growing, allowed a small smile. “That’s…good news. Thank you Ma’am.”
Looking more drained now than she had even minutes before, Mon Mothma reached for something out of the projector’s view, probably the control stud, but before she could end the transmission, the woman looked up again. “General Solo?”
Surprised, Leia and Ryceed looked over to find Han Solo standing between them, trying to look precise and military. “Chief of State, I was wondering if I could ask if General Skywalker is with your fleet group here.” Leia felt a shiver run down her spine. Yes, this had been bothering both of them since Sullust. Luke hadn’t arrived in the fleet before the Imperial attack, and neither had heard mention of him during the battle or retreat.
Mon Mothma shook her head. “I’m sorry, but no. We had hoped he had docked with the Republica before we evacuated. Did you make contact before or during the battle?”
“No Ma’am, that’s the thing. If he didn’t rendezvous with your squadron, then he must not have been involved in the battle at all. When Leia… Princess Organa and I left Tatooine; Luke said he had to stop off some place before he met back up with the fleet. If he got there after we escaped…” There was no need to finish the thought. Even a pilot of Luke’s caliber couldn’t fight off Darth Vader and a fleet of Star Destroyers and Interdictors by himself.
Mon Mothma sighed, sounding increasingly haggard. “This is very troubling news. General Skywalker was a great asset to us, and I know both of you are very close to him. I will instruct our deep range patrols to keep an eye out for distress signals or snub fighter hyperspace signatures from the Sullust system, but I can’t promise anything. I am very sorry.”
Leia accepted the news and thanked Mon Mothma with a calm and even demeanor, but as she and Han rode the turbolift away from the bridge, Leia lost her composure and fell against the gruff Corellian for support. She wasn’t sure if either of them could withstand another loss like this.
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The Shuttles that had been dispatched from the Republica were given special clearance by Mon Mothma herself, and thus were able to bypass the motley collection of light freighters, Gallofree transports, and what few other support craft were left in the fleet, all waiting in long cues for docking privileges at the supply station’s two operational ports. Most of the smaller ships in the fleet were in varying states of undersupply and disrepair, and there were thousands of crewmen in fleet remnant in need of medical attention. The sickbay facilities on the larger starships, even the medical frigate, could not handle the strain, and thus a makeshift hospital had been set up in the facility’s main computer lab. It was a dangerous situation; there would be little time to evacuate the station if the Imperial fleet located them, and the facility was unarmed, but it had to be done. Risk or not, Mon Mothma had made it clear that every wounded Alliance soldier still able to be saved would be, she could not bear anymore blood on her hands, and massive die-offs amongst the personnel would be devastating for already weakened moral.
After the three boxy starships had landed in the crowded and noisy shuttle landing bay, the Republica’s chief physician and his team rushed off to the makeshift hospital area, while the other crewmen began to load much needed starship components and fuel onto their ships. Almost a dozen others had accompanied the crewers, come to see the High Council and discuss Captain Picard’s proposal. Leia Organa, with C-3PO in tow, had departed immediately for Mon Mothma’s temporary quarters, taking Major Truul and his aide with her. As one of the more senior and experienced infantry commanders left in the fleet, he would likely need to be close by if and when the Council called for a general command meeting to debate their options.
Left in the bay was Captain Picard himself, Commander Riker, Data, the Master Chief, with Cortana stored in his armor, and inexplicably, the Arbiter. The towering warrior, generally reclusive since the Battle of Sullust, had simply asked to accompany the small Federation delegation, but had not given the reason why. There had been little reason to refuse the request, at the very least he might decide to assist the Alliance crewmen load the shuttles, but there was something about him that was suspicious. Both Riker and the Spartan had kept a very close eye on the Elite during the short transit, but he had seemed to be behaving normal enough, for him, and was now causally watching Leia and Truul as they made their way through the crowd and disappeared through a doorway off the dock.
The Federation officers, instructed by Leia Organa, who was being surprisingly helpful for a person none of them had even seen before a few days ago, to stay on the station until she could arrange a new hearing for their cause, slowly drifted out of the throng of binary load lifters and harried Rebel officers and towards a relatively empty hallway. “I wonder how long we’ll have to wait here,” Riker said idly, propped up against a wall as he watched the Republica’s shuttles lift off, bearing new supplies and patients in need of surgery and bacta emersion.
“As long as it takes, number one,” Picard responded sternly. “This is a trying time for them, and we mustn’t impose more than we need too, at least not yet.”
The commander took the admonition with a grim nod, but another spoke up. “Perhaps it would be wise to try and speed up proceedings.” This from the AI construct Cortana, who spoke through the Master Chief’s own comm unit. “As you say yourself, the Alliance has a lot on its hands right now. If we just wait quietly, we might have to sit here until that wormhole collapses. The sooner we make our case again, the less likely it is we will be forgotten.”
Picard shook his head. “I assure you, I will not allow them to forget us. However, we must remember that the Alliance doesn’t have to do anything for us; we must convince them that it is in their best interest to give us a ship that can traverse that rift. If our entreaties are too forceful or hasty, we may lose any support we might have left among them, and will be sent back to the Republica, perhaps even imprisoned.”
Data nodded thoughtfully. “You should seriously consider Captain Picard’s warning. He is quite experienced with a wide variety of diplomatic and political situations, and has been involved in the construction of numerous successful treaties and compacts, including the Ceasefire implemented to end the Tejan/Oxygeen war, the Sheliak Compromise of Stardate…”
“Thank you Data, that’s enough,” the Captain said with a reassuring gesture, a bemused smile creasing his lips. The android quickly silenced itself, casting an inquisitive look at the Captain before straightening up and resuming his curious observation of the numerous Alliance officers who skirted around the small group as they passed.
The conversation had lulled for no more than fifteen seconds before the green cyborg spoke up again, this time in his own voice. “Where is the Elite?”
Caught off guard by the question, the others hurriedly looked to the area where the Arbiter had been standing before, against the wall a few feet behind Riker, only minutes before. Sure enough though, the spot was vacant, and there was no sign of the eight-foot titan.
“What the?” Riker mumbled, glancing down at both ends of the hallway to no avail.
“He was there exactly three minutes, nineteen seconds ago, the last time my vision passed over that area,” Data noted, almost incredulously. “I do not see how he could have evaded our notice when he left. Disguising such a body mass, even in a crowd such as this, would be extremely difficult.”
“Never underestimate one of them,” the Master Chief said darkly, shifting his weight into a more alert position for combat. “I once saw a single Elite cut down a squad of seven men in five seconds, just with his plasma blade. And the Arbiter is no ordinary foot soldier.” The Chief had developed a grudging respect for the alien over the last few weeks, but he still was perfectly willing to accept that it might turn on them again. Still, if the Arbiter did intend on escape or subterfuge, why would he do it now? The Elite had been left mostly to his own devices for days on the Republica, and had made no hostile moves. It didn’t add up.
“Whatever he’s doing, we have to find him, and fast,” Picard warned. “Even benign observation of this station’s inner workings without permission could be perceived as a threat, and we are on uncertain footing as it is.”
“If he’s intent on not being found, were probably not going to find him, at least not until he makes some offensive move,” Cortana noted. “His armor has a stealth system integrated into it that can disrupt most motion, thermal, and electrical scanners, as well as deflect light. The Chief’s motion sensor system wouldn’t be able to accurately pin point him, even without the number of people around us, and I doubt even Alliance internal sensors could pick him up, at least not without a concerted effort.”
Picard shook his head. “No, we can’t let the Alliance know unless absolutely necessary. Is there any other way we might be able to locate him?”
The AI paused, considering. “Well, he probably knows about just as little about the layout of this station as we do, so he can’t have gotten too far in here. It would help if I could guess at his motives, but if he’s trying to avoid detection, open, out of the way spaces would be my best bet, with low lighting.”
“Covenant personal cloaking shields create a visible ripple effect in good light, but in the dark, they are virtually impossible to see,” the Master Chief explained.
Picard frowned, deep in thought. There was little chance that spreading out to look for the Arbiter would succeed, and it might not even be necessary; after all, he had given no indication of hostile motives. Still, there was a danger, and even if the Elite meant no harm, if an Alliance marine discovered a member of Picard’s party operating under cloak in a secure portion of the station, his credibility, and their chances of getting home, would be forever lost. Silently, Picard dammed the foolish creature. They had been so close to another hearing before the council; why would he jeopardize that opportunity now?
“Alright, we’ll have to at least try and find him. Commander, I want you to stay here, just in case Leia Organa summons us before I return. Stall her and raise us on your comm. It should still function in here.” Picard’s own insignia chip had been seized during his time aboard the Torrent, but he had been able to requisition one from Lieutenant Jossa before they departed. “Commander Data, Chief, come with me. I think it would be best to begin our search from the docking bay. We might at least get a sense were he might have been able to head without alerting attention.”
The search, however, did not last very long. Almost as soon as Picard and his team had exited the hallway and waded back into the crowd of crewers and droids who hurried feverishly though the bay, loading and unloading shuttles and fightercraft, the Master Chief halted, staring incredulously at a large stack of ration containers that were being loaded into a waiting Calamarian transport. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Surprised by the soldier’s incredulous words, the Captain and Data both turned towards the spot, where, among a crew of burly humans and a lone wookiee who were focused on hefting the large tubes into the ship’s waiting maw, a tall, bluish gray creature stood, grappling with a metal box nearly his own size. “I believe our search is at and end,” Data commented, triggering an annoyed lance from his superior.
“What are you doing here?” Picard asked caustically after navigating his way though the tightly packed rows of crates and busy droids. Not even bothering to turn to face the human, the Arbiter braced himself against the weight of his charge, at least four hundred pounds of pastisteel and compressed food stuffs, and staggered over to the transports cargo hatch. With a low grunt, he raised the container up to neck height, and then shoved it onto the waiting deck of the transport, where it was quickly tagged and shoved into the ship’s main hold my grateful Alliance pilots. The Arbiter then flexed his smooth, toned muscles, sighed, and turned to the group.
“I have little patience for idle waiting. When it became apparent that the High Council was not going to grant us an audience immediately, I decided to assist the soldiers out her with their recovery. I trust I did nothing to endanger or inconvenience you.” The Elite’s response was formal and monotonous, but Picard could swear there was a hint of annoyance behind the words. Secretly, he felt the same; there had been far too much waiting since they had rendezvoused with the Alliance fleet. He longed to be back in command of a starship, to decide when and how things would be done. And, of course, he longed to be back home, no longer a wear passenger in a strange land, set amidst a conflict he could only begin to understand or appreciate. Picard was certain that the Arbiter shared mutual desires.
Nevertheless, they were still only unwilling visitors, unneeded baggage, and unless Picard could convince someone that they could offer something of value in return for passage back to the wormhole, they would remain leaves in the wind.
“No…no, it’s alright,” Picard said, shaking his head. “I would simply appreciate it if in the future you make your actions known to one of us before moving off elsewhere. We wouldn’t want there to be a misunderstanding of your motives on the part of the Alliance.”
The Arbiter fixed Picard in gaze with his large, golden eyes, and the human suddenly became very aware of just how small he was compared to the warrior. “I shall endeavor to comply with your request, Captain.” He placed special emphasis on the final word. Picard grew increasingly uneasy. The Elite had been reserved and compliant in the past, but he certainly was not one to be crossed, by friend or foe.
An uncomfortable silence hung over the group for a long moment, the Federation captain and former Covenant ship master locked in a contest of wills. Then, barely indistinguishable over the racket of the docking bay, Picard noticed the badge on his chest was chirping. Ending the uncomfortable moment with a grudging nod, he looked away and slapped the communication device. “Commander?”
“Captain, Major Truul has informed me that the Council will meet with us now. He says time is limited.”
Picard acknowledged the message and then turned to Data and the Chief. “We should go.”
As the two moved off to rejoin Riker in the far hallway, Picard turned back to the Elite, who still had him fixed in a penetrating stare. “I trust you want to accompany us.” The Arbiter inclined his head passively and strode off after Data and the cyborg, leaving Picard alone standing next to the transport, very glad to be out of his gaze.
“I’m not buying his story,” the Master Chief said, after making sure his external comm was off.
“Me neither,” Cortana agreed, using the optical sensors impregnated throughout the super soldier’s armor to monitor the Elite. “I can buy that he’s not a xenophobic zealot intent on killing you when your back is turned anymore, but I have a hard time picturing any high and mighty Elite lugging around cargo simply because they were bored. He’s up to something. You’ll be keeping an eye on him too?”
“And a gun sight, when I’m able.”
Cortana could never tell when the Chief was being sarcastic, but he rarely was.
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“If we are to act at all, we must do it soon!” The tall man slapped his open palm on the dark Dathomiri Pine table to emphasize his point. The gaunt and preoccupied faces observed him from around the huge wooden disc, unmoved by the display. “With each day that passes, Vader’s grip upon the Empire strengthens, and more of our contacts turn on us, flee, or disappear outright! We must to consolidate, reassert our authority as the rightful heirs of Palpatine’s power; as the only ones who can lawfully chose a new Emperor. If we…”
“You will speak of his Imperial highness with the proper respect,” Sate Pestage said icily, his voice little more than a whisper. The Grand Vizier, chief among Palpatine’s most trusted advisors, sat stiffly on a narrow, metallic chair, his arms draped limply on its control-studded supports. Dressed in a luxurious burgundy robe and large, domed hat that denoted his high status, Pestage looked very small and frail, as if his master’s death had crushed what little life was left in his dry bones. However, dark, beady eyes told a completely different story; the Vizier was still very alert, and very dangerous.
An uncomfortable silence filled the large chamber, and the speaker, his momentum robed, bowed in supplication. “I apologize, Grand Vizier; you know I meant no disrespect our majesty. The past few days have been trying for us all; I am afraid I have been too busy attempting to ensure the Empire’s future and our place in it. The effort has distracted me from paying proper respect to our fallen master.” The acid in the man’s tone was palpable. Pestage said nothing in response, only acknowledging the obvious condescension in the councilor’s words by narrowing his eyes on him, further furrowing an already crevassed brow.
Sure that no more objections were forthcoming from the Grand Vizier, the speaker sat lightly in a the large, splendid chair behind him and launched into another impassioned speech, regaling those assembled with a myriad of warnings, foreboding statistics, and half formed plans; everyone in the chamber had heard the dialogue before, and doubtless would again. The man went by the name of Ars Dagnor, who, like most of those listening, had been part of Palpatine’s inner circle of advisors. A tallow-skinned and pasty human of slight stature, Ars was surprisingly charismatic for his physical appearance, a skill that the late Emperor had employed more than once, both in private negotiation and to spread the propaganda that helped keep the vast multitudes of Imperial citizens in line.
Arrayed around the large table were six other men of similar ilk, all advisors and confidants of the Emperor, now with their position of power and influence in danger. None of them labored under the illusion that the new ruler of the Galactic Empire would take them on as his own staff, and some of the inner circle had even fled after Palpatine’s death, disappearing to one of the numerous retreat worlds and redoubts Palpatine had developed during his reign. Two in particular, Savuud Thimram and Gwellib Ap-Llewft, both minor Force users honed under the Emperor’s dark tutelage, had expressed a fear for their own lives before slipping away; Darth Vader’s seemingly ingrained resentment and anger towards most Force-users had only been barely contained and directed by Palpatine, and no one knew what he would do to those under the Empire’s sanction now that he was left to his own devices.
Most had stayed however, unwilling to relinquish the power they held and confident that with their contacts and influence, Vader might be undermined and subverted, perhaps even removed entirely. Dagnor was the chief advocate of this course, and the advisors Gam Rothwall and Janus Greejatus firmly with him, but the other four, Kren Blista-Vance, Hixa Torenvom, the ever silent Sim Aloo, and finally Sate Pestage himself were more doubtful, unsure of what course to take.
“But wouldn’t assassinating Vader at a time like this be risking a major upset in the military hierarchy?” Ars Dagnor cast annoyed glare at the portly Torenvom, angered at having one of his long-winded plots to eliminate the Dark Lord of the Sith interrupted.
“Of course it would mean upsetting the hierarchy Hixa. What else would you call the summary replacement of a head of state?”
Greejatus snickered.
Fleshy cheeks reddening slightly, the counselor pressed angrily forward. “You know what I meant Ars. Vader’s mobilization of our reserve fleets to finally eliminate the Rebellion has stretched our Forces out more than they have been for decades, and there are rumors that some of the lesser powers are taking advantage of it. I have received reports from one of my contacts near Bakura that the local holonet has lost contact with several of the colony worlds closest to Wild Space. The local Moff has voiced his fears that there may be a hostile force at work.”
Ars Dagnor let loose a loud, obnoxious sigh, and then shook his condescendingly. “You of all people Hixa should know that there is no power in this galaxy, alien or rebel, that could pose any serious threat to the Empire. The admiralty is well trained and loyal enough to operate effectively under any adverse circumstance, even a change in Emperor.”
“And what if civil war breaks out? Have you considered that?” Sate Pestage said softly, his calm tone and body language disguising his growing distain for the pompous blowhard across the table. “For all of our contacts and supposed influence, many in the military and government may chose to side with Vader if we make a move against him. You are correct, my friend, no external foe can threaten us, but we can easily tear ourselves apart.”
“And what exactly,” Ars responded slowly, his voice bearing the same acidic quality it had born during their previous exchange, “makes you believe that anyone would choose to follow Darth Vader, the night terror, murder of friend and foe alike, relic of the traitorous Jedi Order, over the closest friends and confidants of the late, benevolent Emperor? Propaganda proves its usefulness once again; Vader is seen by the unthinking masses as a mindless killer, a terror weapon to be used against those who violated the will and trust of the Emperor. All of Lord Palpatine’s more…questionable policies can be attributed to him, and the Emperor’s legacy can be left pristine and pure. Most in the higher echelons of power don’t even know that our Lord could wield the Force. He, and by extension us, are without fault or flaw. Supplanting Vader is more likely to earn us a place in the Week of Celebration than a civil war.”
“Besides, who ever said that anyone would have an opportunity to ally with him against us?” Greejatus intoned with a sickening grin. “If our glorious master could have been done in by filthy Rebel assassins, I’m sure we could think up an appropriate and expeditious fate for our supposed successor.”
“Please Greejatus, you don’t actually believe the official version of our Emperor’s demise, do you?” Blista-Vance scoffed, rolling his bloodshot eyes in contempt. “The Grand Vizier was forced to concoct that story himself; we all know who was really responsible.”
“Nevertheless, disposing of Vader will not be difficult when we decide upon the appropriate moment,” Ars Dagnor countered before anyone else could add to the increasingly heated discussion. “If anything, the Clone Wars and the subsequent Purge showed us that those who wield the Force are far from invincible. Darth Vader will die, and soon. I can promise this, and that we will be accepted with open arms as the saviors of the Empire after the deed is done.”
Pestage slumped back into his chair, disgusted with Dagnor’s arrogance and disregard for reason. It was becoming increasingly obvious, that for all his bluster, there was little the man would actually be able to accomplish if the discussed coup was ever to be implemented. It was best perhaps to cut their losses and run; Sate had been gifted a sizable portion of space by the Emperor for his loyal service, the multi-system Citruic Hegemony in which he could comfortably retire. And even if that place was rendered untenable, there were other worlds to which he could flee, secret places, places that even some of those around him now did not know of.
One of the circular chamber’s two doors slid silently open behind Sate Pestage, and a lone Stormtrooper captain entered, careful not to disrupt the proceedings. Ars paid him little heed, and began to converse in hushed tones with Greejatus, who was seated next to him. The soldier, commander of Sate’s personal guard, leaned down next to his ear and whispered something imperceptible. The vizier listened intently, his eyes slowly widening with shock as the trooper continued to relay the message. When he had finished and snapped back to attention, Pestage was bolt upright in his seat, swiftly gathering the few flimsi-sheets and datapads he had brought with him up from the table and sweeping them into the folds of his robe. The others looked on in bewilderment.
“Going somewhere, Grand Vizier?” Dagnor asked curiously as Pestage rose from his place at the table.
“I’m leaving Coruscant Ars, now. If any of you value your lives, I suggest you do the same. There is very little time.” He cast imploring looks at the two of his colleagues who might still see reason and inevitability; Dagnor and his cronies were beyond hope. With only a moment of hesitation, the silent Sim Aloo rose and took a place at Pestage’s side, but Hixa, after exchanging a nervous look with Ars, shook his head, double chin wobbling with the effort.
Sighing resignedly, Sate turned away from the table and began to make his way for the exit, Aloo and the Stormtrooper in tow. Before he made it out of the room however, a voice behind made him freeze.
“So it has come to this. Our grand vizier turning tail and running from certain victory like some xenu coward. How shameful, I never could understand what Palpatine ever saw in you. What has caused you to reveal your true colors at last, I wonder? Has Vader bought you out? Found an alien wench who will take even you to bed?”
A wave of fury washed over the Grand Vizier, but he was able to suppress it, allowing this to be his only response: “You will find out soon enough Ars. You will find out soon enough.” With that, not even bothering to turn to deliver the final message, Sate stalked out of the chamber, the door snapping silently shut after he and his companions had passed from view.
The Rift
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Stanislav Petrov- The man who saved the world
Hugh Thompson Jr.- A True American Hero
"In the unlikely story that is America, there has never been anything false about hope." - President Barack Obama
"May fortune favor you, for your goals are the goals of the world." - Ancient Chall valediction
Awesome. Your fanfic has become one of my favourites.
It's cool how you got the naive Data working, which is interesting given we haven't seen him like that since early TNG.
I'm also wondering what the Elite is up to, and how he could have done something with so short an amount of time.
I also can't wait to see what Vader has planned for the malcontents. It's interesting that the Grand Vizier got warning from a stormtrooper -- clonetroopers were brainwashed, but stormtroopers are recruited and I always thought this "loyal only to the Emperor" only fanwank was bullshit given that stormtrooper recruits weren't clonetroopers and could concievably build loyalties and allegiances to others. I'm glad that a stormtrooper is bein shown as something more than mere mindless cannon-fodder and is helping the Vizier get the hell outta there, assuming Vader didn't take a personal preference and warned the Vizier ahead of time.
Brian
It's cool how you got the naive Data working, which is interesting given we haven't seen him like that since early TNG.
I'm also wondering what the Elite is up to, and how he could have done something with so short an amount of time.
Incredible moment. You seem to have gotten Picard's character just right, and he portrayed so far as a natural leader, one with depth, concentration, willpower and insight, especially in the diplomatic arena where Picard is supposed to be a master. So far whenever I read your dialogue, it seems to in-character that I actually "hear" Tassadar, Picard, Cortana, etc., speaking as I read, always a good sign that the character's dialogue is believable and what would be expected of them.An uncomfortable silence hung over the group for a long moment, the Federation captain and former Covenant ship master locked in a contest of wills.
I also can't wait to see what Vader has planned for the malcontents. It's interesting that the Grand Vizier got warning from a stormtrooper -- clonetroopers were brainwashed, but stormtroopers are recruited and I always thought this "loyal only to the Emperor" only fanwank was bullshit given that stormtrooper recruits weren't clonetroopers and could concievably build loyalties and allegiances to others. I'm glad that a stormtrooper is bein shown as something more than mere mindless cannon-fodder and is helping the Vizier get the hell outta there, assuming Vader didn't take a personal preference and warned the Vizier ahead of time.
Brian