The Rift

[Hawkwings]

ooh... Let's see if they can bluff them into believing the Mon Calamari are the Forerunners

[Comando293]

Curses and praise be upon on the suspense. *applaudes*

[LordShaithis]

The Vader/Aayla stuff is first-rate, but I have to admit I'm basically skipping past the random adventures of characters from videogames I've never played. I can't help feeling like this is a really good SW fic, saddled with the urge to include Trek/Halo/Starcraft/whatever.

[Noble Ire]

The Vader/Aayla stuff is first-rate, but I have to admit I'm basically skipping past the random adventures of characters from videogames I've never played. I can't help feeling like this is a really good SW fic, saddled with the urge to include Trek/Halo/Starcraft/whatever.

That certainly is your perrogative, and I thank you for the complement. It is true, earlier on, a lot of the character did seem extraneous, even to me, but I hope I'm beginning to draw that plot line together better. I'm going to try to give at least some of them more individual importance and relevance fairly soon.

Ah, and thanks for your continued readership, Hawkwings and Comando.

[Noble Ire]

Chapter Forty Two

Blasted energy sink. The damn thing had been acting up since the escape from the Hoth system, and despite all efforts to fix it, firing the upper quad cannon always triggered its quick degeneration and eventual overload. No matter how many times he gutted the system and replaced it, the problem came back. Perhaps the old girl was trying to tell him something.

Han Solo, face smeared with grease and eyes obscured by bulky goggles, blew out a long sigh and settled back on his haunches to survey the docking bay below. His place on the upper hull of the Millennium Falcon afforded the smuggler turned general a good view of the Republica’s main flight deck, although at the moment there wasn’t much to see, just a few astromechs and nervous-looking mechanics hovering around some of the Alliance fightercraft that lined the chamber’s walls. Normally, the area would be far more lively, but Han had gathered from some commotion among the crew nearby that the ship had been on alert since it had exited that… whatever that thing that had made him black out was. Given his security clearance, Han probably could have ascertained what exactly was going on simply by patching in with ship’s operations via his com link, but at the moment, the Corellian wasn’t in much of a mood to care about anything but his old, battered freighter. Thinking about much else still brought up bad feelings, humiliating feelings, and Han didn’t feel like being humiliated, even just to himself, at the moment.

Turning his attention back to the open panel beneath his feet, the man rummaged through a gear case next to him and removed a pair of wide radiator fins, tarnished and dinged, but still very much usable. He placed the first of them in the opening and shoved it into the slot left vacant by the part he had just removed. When he attempted to seal the fin into place however, the tool he was holding simply fizzled, doing nothing more than spraying a fine mist of sparks over his already dirty pants. Han stared incredulously at the thin, tubular implement for a moment before he realized that it was, in fact, not an electromagnetic sealer. Growling, he tossed the unneeded hydrospanner aside rose to his feet.

“Chewie, toss me the mag wrench!” he called out over the side of his starship, down to an unseen assistant. A brief moment later, another tube, boxier than the first, sailed up from below, smacking into Han’s chest and landing awkwardly on the crook of his left elbow. The man let out a grunt of thanks to the Wookiee below before hunching down to return to his work. However, before he thumbed the ignition switch on the device, Han looked back up, sliding the goggles obscuring his vision onto his forehead. Two men, one of them in an unusually flamboyant uniform, had just entered the docking bay, and had paused to close and seal the entry bulkhead. Han wasn’t too knowledgeable of Alliance shipboard procedure, but on Imperial warships, only security could lock down an entry point with prior notice or emergency. And the pair below definitely weren’t security.

As they started to move again, Han noticed that one of them, a tech (by the look of his uniform) holding a non-descript case in one hand, was walking very close behind the other man, careful not to let his arms stray far from the small of the leading man’s back. Though he wasn’t speaking, and was too far off for Han to get a good look at his face, the leading man seemed quite uncomfortable and stiff.

Movement in his peripheral vision caught Han’s attention, and he glanced over towards the shielded exit port, beyond which space looked as empty and cold as always. Several humanoids, most probably marines or security by the look of them, had suddenly appeared near the port, and were quietly weaving through the scattered elements of the Republica’s fighter complement towards the other new arrivals. Eyes narrowing, Han cast off his goggles, tapped his belt to make sure his holster was occupied, and climbed down the Falcon’s side, dropping the last meter. Chewbacca, who had been reattaching a plate of armor to the starship’s docking ramp, looked up in mild surprise, mouthing a question.

“Something’s going on,” Han replied, nodding across the docking bay. “And I don’t think we want to miss out on it.”

The shaggy Wookiee looked nonplused, but put aside his welding tool anyways and moved alongside his human companion, hunter’s eyes carefully appraising the large chamber.

Han in the lead, his right hand hovering over his hip holster, the two rounded a nearby Y-Wing, which brought them out into the relatively clear liftoff lane that dominated the bay’s center. Across the chamber, the suspicious pair were quickly skirting along a crate-strewn wall, both looking extremely nervous. The suddenly apparent marines, at least five of them now were surreptitiously forming a cordon near the atmosphere shielded exit portal, careful to stay behind the various starfighter hulks to obscure themselves from view.

Chewbacca growled in warning.

“I see ‘em, Chewie,” Hand replied, not taking his eyes off the listless pair. “Whatever this is, it’s big.”

The two distant men rounded a pile of empty fuel casings, and the paused, the one in the rear drawing even closer to the oddly-dressed one. He seemed to whisper something in the others ear, and then, with a jerk, they were off again, this time headed towards Gallofree light passenger hopper, a small, unarmed shuttle equipped with a famously reliable hyperdrive. Han had scavenged parts out of them for the Falcon before, and he knew the model fairly well; if one was attempting a hasty escape, the little craft would serve quite well.

The two humans, now moving almost at a run, were almost to their target shuttle when the previously sealed bulkhead sprang open with a loud squeal and a dozen armed soldiers poured into the landing area, their weapons drawn and ready to fire. As the few techs who were still tending to the fighters sprang out of the way in agitated bewilderment, one of the soldiers, a middle-aged man with a knotted ponytail rushed up to the front of the squad, his own rifle quickly coming to bear on the nervous humans. On the other side of the bay, the other marines took this as a signal, and stepped out in the open in front of the fugitive pair, their own blasters ready to fire. The supposed technician took action immediately, dropping his case and grabbing the man in front of him by the neck, roughly pulling him up against a nearby supply crate, a blaster pistol now apparent in his hand.

The gruff leader of the reinforcements came to a halt ten meters from the cornered pair, his troopers fanning out around him, their weapons still primed. “Stand down, Flitch,” the ponytail human said, pain and resentment etched in his voice. “You’re outnumbered and surrounded. We’ve been tracking you for the last few minutes; you didn’ have a chance of getting out here. Now, lay down your blaster and let that man go, or my men will open fire.”

Flitch backed closer to the wall and jammed his pistol into the other man’s back. The oddly uniformed man let out a small whimper, and looked as though he was about to faint. “Come on, Major. You wouldn’t shoot one of your own men.” Flitch’s words were surprisingly icy and sharp, coming from such a young, smooth face, although the cold look in his eyes hardly made the tone surprising.

“Don’t bother, Imperial. The only reason my men didn’t shoot ya as soon as you were spotted is because you have intelligence that may be useful, and the captain would rather not make the maintenance droids peel your corpse off the deck. Still, that won’t stop ‘em for long if you don’t lay down your weapon, now. They’ve been anxious for a bit of vengeance since Sullust.” The major was right; every one of the Alliance security officers was ready to perforate the infiltrator with particle beams the instant the order was given.

Upon hearing the man’s identity, Han Solo whipped his DL-44 from its holster and moved swiftly to join the ranks of the security officers. He wasn’t about to allow any blasted Imp spy to escape, especially since he probably held information on the crew, and Leia. Besides, the Corellian still had a small debt to settle for an old friend…

Flitch’s gaze flashed from rifle muzzle to blaster barrel, from hardened Rebel face to face, and his jaw contorted into a tight grin. “I know what you all are. Filthy, bleeding-hearted, xeno-loving cowards. Sure, you’ll fight the Empire from the shadows, nipping at our heels, but when it comes down to it, you don’t have what it takes. I know you won’t shoot me now, not with this sniveling excuse for a man in front of me. One twitch of my finger, and what few guts he has will be spattered across your shirt.” At this, the hostage squirmed, but Flitch jammed his weapon’s barrel deeper into his back, and the resistance stopped.

“You see, that’s what really separates us from one another, Truul. I’ve seen how you work; for all your bravado and cunning, you’re still just like the rest of them, you can’t do what needs to be done to really get the job done, whatever it may be. That’s why the Empire controls this galaxy, and your pitiful Rebel Alliance is so inconsequential, a weak collection of sentimental old fools and traitors, too weak to live up to the Imperial name. We have what it takes to rule, and you don’t. It’s that simple. And it’s why you won’t kill me now. People like you can’t stomach collateral damage.”

Truul laughed, mirthless and bitter. “I don’t know what I ever saw in ya. Heck, I don’t know what in the Imps saw in you for that matter; can’t even make a stand without trying to comfort yourself with Imperial jabber and nonsense.” He leveled his blaster at the infiltrator’s head, sending fresh quakes through his hostage. “Not very perceptive either. Hostage or not, if you don’t drop that pistol right now, I’ll take off your head ‘m self.”

The two glared at each other for a long moment, and beads of sweat began to form on Truul’s brow. His lower lip quavering, the Imperial weakened his grip on the pistol fractionally. “Perhaps you’re a bit stronger than I had thought. Still, I wonder, are your convictions as steadfast as Charen’s were? If not, I’m afraid your bluster is a bit hollow.”

Truul was momentarily perplexed by the message, and before the infiltrator’s implication dawned on him, Flitch kicked lightly at the case lying at his feet. The impact knocked open its top flap, and a remote panel tumbled into view. “You were always slow.”

He stepped on the device.
--------------------------------------------------------------

Far beyond the confines of the crowded bridge, another explosion rocked the battered Mon Calamari warship, jarring everyone present from their amazed audience to Cortana’s dangerous deception.

“Report!” Ryceed demanded, clenching her teeth angrily.

Sensor and operations officers feverishly received and applied reports from across the ship’s monitoring grid, but in the brief moment it took them to collect and deliver the data, the captain realized that something had gone very wrong, again. The two Covenant warships had not fired upon them; they sat in the space beyond the Republica’s bow, still enthralled with the AIs attempt at godhood. Flitch must have struck again, or worse.

“Sir,” one of the sensor officers called out, his voice wavering slightly. “I’m picking up three contacts to starboard; an Imperial Star Destroyer and two frigates.”

Ryceed’s eyes widen in shock, and she shot an angered glance at Data and the other Federation officers. “How could they have followed us?”

Before Data or any of the others could respond, however, Ryceed had turned her attention away from them, and was furiously drawing projectors away from the alien fleet and towards new arrivals.

“Shield status!” Commander Gavplek demanded, moving to coordinate the command crew against the renewed threat.

“Holding at sixty percent capacity, commander. The first shots from the destroyer must have been underpowered from the transition through the wormhole. It looks like they’re ships suffered some damage from the passage, but they’re still operational.”

“I’m picking up a power spike from the destroyer’s forward batteries.”

Another explosion rocked the hull, this one more powerful than the first.

“We have to get out of here. The Republica can’t withstand that kind of firepower for long in her current state.” Gavplek watched with mounting concern as tactical displays lit up with more contacts, the Star Destroyer’s fighter complement.

Ryceed nodded, and turned to the projector Cortana’s image had previously occupied, which now generated a hastily modified version of the Rebel Alliance crest, torn from the warship’s communications computer to serve as an avatar for the “Forerunners”. “Cortana!”

The image flickered for a moment, but did not disappear, and the captain could still discern the voice Cortana had concocted below the din of battle. Not willing to allow her any time to finish the game, Ryceed jabbed a few com controls, and the image abruptly disappeared. A moment later, Cortana glimmered into view, looking irritated and concerned. “I just lost my connection. What’s going...?” She paused, reacting to something Ryceed could see. “Oh. Imperial entanglements again.”

“I need full power back now! Get your man out of there, with that bomb.”

Not wasting time with a reply, Cortana closed her eyes and reached out through the ship’s systems once more, quietly hoping that things were not going as badly for the Chief as they usually did in situations like this.
-----------------------------------------------------------

Perfect.

Evidently, the Spartan super soldier reflected as he hung a dozen meters in the air by his fingertips, he had overreached a little bit. While inspecting the third of the injector pylons, he must have been careless, and loosened the grip on the column with his legs in an attempt to get a good look at the far side. Of course, he hadn’t been anticipating the tremor that disrupted his half-ton balance and sent him over the curve of the pillar, nearly to the floor below, but that wasn’t a good enough excuse. Nevertheless, he was in a situation now, and agonizing over how he got there would do no one any good, least of all him.

Ironically, the mishap had yielded unexpected results, as his spot light now rested upon a small, boxy object sealed to the column that the Chief was reasonably certain did not belong there.

Though the devices was easily within reach, he was now faced with a dilemma; he could try for the likely bomb and achieve his objective with efficiency and speed, but doing so would mean that he would have to support his entire half-ton weight with a single hand. The fall, should he lose his grip, would probably not kill the Spartan, but it would be extremely unpleasant, and he wasn’t sure how quickly he could recover from it. Irregardless, it would extend the length of his mission markedly, and time was of the essence now. There was nothing for it.

Inhaling deeply, the Spartan tightened the grip of his left hand. Enhanced bone and titanium servomotors strained, but the durasteel did not give way. Gritting his teeth and cursing the progression of armor technology, the Chief closed his eyes and tried again, pumping his left arm for all it was worth. With a brittle creak, small grooves formed on the pylon’s surface. Again, the Chief strained, and the deformations deepened. After a few more seconds of effort, there was a clear, hand-shaped indentation in the tubing, deep, but not deep enough to compromise the tube’s integrity.

Struck with the odd feeling that time was running out fast than it had been moments before, the Chief decided to test his hand hold, and slowly loosened his right grip. The Spartan swayed slightly as his bulk readjusted, and grunted to cope with the sudden, massive weight on his left arm, but he felt solid, and immediately turned his attention to the box.

It was only slightly larger than his hand, rectangular and featureless, save for two, small lights that blink a soft blue on one side. Careful to upset his balance, the Chief tapped on the device, testing for a control panel, but found none. Not eager to tempt fate anymore, the Spartan braced himself yet again, and attempted to call out for Hessun, who was still somewhere below, investigating the lower area of the chamber. However, as soon as he attempted to for, the first word, the Chief realized just how precariously he hung from the pylon. Even the small movement of his center mass required for him to place his lips near his helmet’s voice amplifier was met bay an uncomfortable creaking sound from the hand hold he had formed. Determined, the Spartan tried again, but this time, he felt his left hand actually slipped a millimeter.

Before he could formulate another possible course however, a sensation erupted in his brain, like cold fire, and his focus began to faze in and out momentarily. Cortana was coming. He attempted to brace himself for the usual sensory progression that heralded her returned, but he felt that the initial shock had already unsettled his grip again, and this time it wasn’t just by a millimeter.

As he felt himself begin to fall, time slowed down, as it often did in combat situations. Though his mind was clouded by Cortana’s insertion process, he could still think clearly enough to know he had two options. Fall with the device, and risk detonating it, or fall without it, and risk taking the time to remount the removal attempt. He was prepared to go with the later option, to reduce the chance of detonation, but in the last instant before he slipped off entirely, an emotion manifested itself, harbinger of the AI’s coming. Urgency.

An indeterminate amount of time later, probably not very long, the Master Chief was able to will his eyes open, and was met by the concerned (he presumed, Mon Calamari weren’t the easiest species to read) face of Commander Hessun. “Are you… alive?”

Shaking his head to clear it of post-fall static, he hefted himself up onto his knees, and a wave of pain swept over him. Decades of intensive training allowed him to immediately shunt away most of its effects, but enough irritation remained to make it clear that he was probably bleeding somewhere under his suit. A normal man’s body would have been shattered, a fact that likely had triggered the alien’s consternation, but the Chief was largely unscathed, he hoped, and was able to rise to his full height with only a certain amount of numbness.

“More or less.”

Feeling some weight, he glanced down at his right hand, in which rested the rectangular object, thankfully still completely intact. “I’ve found the infiltrator’s explosive.”

Hessun inspected it briefly, confirmed it was indeed what they were looking for, and placed it in a padded and armored satchel he had been carrying with him for just such a task.

As the Chief stretched his fingers to ensure that they were still functional, he noted the odd static in the back of his head, and felt Cortana’s presence. The maintenance field was still distorting her connection, but her intent was quite clear. “Come on, let’s get out of here. I have a feeling your captain will be needing this reactor pretty soon.”
-----------------------------------------------------------

“He’s found it.”

Ryceed offered a hasty nod to the again manifested AI and turned to her XO. “Restart the reactor core immediately. Dump every joule we’ve got into the shields, and get our sublights back online. We’ve got to get out of here, now.”

“You’ll have full power in two minutes, Captain.”

“One minute. We won’t last long this close to that destroyer, and the Republica certainly can’t fighter her off, not now.” To compound her point, another series of detonations rattled the bridge as a wave of TIE Bombers made their first pass over the ventral hull.

“Sir, if we do that, the damage to the hypermatter reactor could be…”

The captain cut him off with a slashing gesture. “There’s no time! We can worry about repairs later, just do it!”

Gavplek moved comply, the concern on his face erased by another explosion against the deflectors that nearly knocked him off his feet.

Ryceed wasted no time in turning to the wormhole station, where the Federation and Alliance crews still worked feverishly, typing in long strands of code and watching accelerated projections flash across vid screens.

“Can we go back through?”

Geordi ducked past a human lieutenant to assess a new stream of code that one of Data’s computer models was generating. “Three minutes, captain. We almost have it.”

Picard, still close to the action, perked up at the mention of the wormhole, his previous concerns surfacing. If the Imperial ships had somehow managed to follow them through the first time, what would stop them from doing it again? “Data, what about…”

New warning klaxons rang across the bridge, and a sensor officer called for the captain’s attention. “Sir, were picking up energy spikes from the alien vessels!”

“Angle reserve deflector power forward! Brace for impact!”

“No, sir!” The officer looked up and out the main view port in astonishment. “They’re not targeting us.”
------------------------------------------------------

Across the hulls of the sleek, turquoise starships, bulbous nodules turned their emitters towards forward and began to emanate a bright glow, one that quickly swelled and focused into the barrels at their fronts. Then, all in concert, the nodules released the charge, huge clouds of voluminous purple flame that hurtled through space, spreading long strands of superheated plasma in their wake. Though they moved at a rate slower than turbolaser bolts, the dense clouds moved quickly and inexorably, finding their marks with unerring precision. The first of the shots passed close to the Republica’s battered nose, exciting it’s already excited energy barrier, but clearing it with dozens of meters to spare. Instead, the blasts swept directly into several squadrons of Imperial starfighters, washing over them like a tsunami. The outlying flyers were able to spin away and regroup, but half a dozen, distracted by their original prey, were taken unawares, and evaporated into the cosmic nothingness, leaving behind nothing but their component molecules.

Another group of plasma fireballs hurtled towards the largest Imperial vessel, the Star Destroyer, which was still focusing its assault upon the Alliance warship. The first shot missed, grazing its knife-like forward tip, but another three slammed directly into the destroyer’s terraced face, sending sheaths of white light across its bow as the ship’s shields absorbed the blow. As the residual plasma discharge cleared, the destroyer remained, its defenses unbroken, but the fire from its turbolasers faltered as the bridge crew frantically analyzed the new threat. The pair of Covenant vessels allowed it no time for inaction, however, and began to move forward, new clouds forming in the barrels of its heavy guns, and smaller emplacements coming alive with bursts of silver light that cut through space, rippling across the hull shields of the Lancers and harrying the remaining TIEs, which were now engaging wing after wing of Seraph fighters, pilots eager for combat. Around far off Reach, the vast Covenant armada began to rocket out of orbit at full burn, summoned by the colorful heralds of battle.

Recovering from its surprise, the crew of the wedge-shaped battle cruiser began to come about, away from its former prey, angled nose coming to bear on the offending alien warships. As turbolaser gunners took in their new targets and primed their weapons, TIEs and Seraphs began to erupt into brilliant fireballs as they exchanged energy fire across and around the adjacent Mon Calamari ship’s hull. Targeted by three of the H-shaped fighters, a Seraph lost one wing, and then another under a hail of green bolts, and careened towards the light cruiser’s imposing form, its pilot incinerated by the attack.
-------------------------------------------------------------

The expected explosion, a wall of flame and light to end all pain and thought, did not come. Flitch, who had closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in anticipation of the final blast, was the most surprised of any of those opposed in the hangar bay. Feeling no pain, none of the nothingness he expected to follow it, the infiltrator snapped open his eyes in time to see the marines to see the marines recover similarly. Pausing only a moment to ensure that he still had hands, and a weapon in them, Truul aimed his blaster barrel past the hostage’s head, picking the Imperial’s sweaty forehead as his target, and tensed his trigger finger, willing it to pull.

Then the detonation came.

There was no fireball or rain of burning shrapnel, however, simply a bright light and a concussion that knocked everyone not leaning on something for support to the floor. The bay’s energy shield flickered as melting particles of starfighter armor bounced off the outer deflector. Dazed, but still on his feet, thanks in part to his awkward hostage, Flitch was able to collect his wits fast enough to see that everyone around him was on the floor, reeling from the impact. Barely thinking, the infiltrator gave his case gave his case two more precise kicks and then broke off in a half run, still dragging the stunned man with him.

First to recover, Han Solo hauled himself up on the form of one of the struggling security officers and took aim at the fleeing man with his blaster pistol. He squeezed off a shot, and a wall plate several meters ahead of Flitch exploded outward, spewing hot shrapnel.

Han lined up another shot, but was interrupted by the wail of his Wookiee companion, who was pointing frantically at the discarded carrying case. Another object was now in view alongside the detonator control, larger and boxier, and sporting a single, flashing blue light. Truul, scrambling to his feet, saw it too.

“Scatter!”

The nearby marines complied without missing a beat, throwing themselves behind landed starfighters and supply crates, any cover they could find. Han felt a pair of powerful hands grab his shoulders and yank him behind the nose of an A-Wing an instant before the box exploded, turning the floor around it into a puddle of melted durasteel.

As the thick, acrid cloud of melted metal began to clear, a loud whine filled the hangar, drawing Han’s attention to the nearby passenger hopper, whose docking ramp was already closing.

“Stop that ship!”

A dozen blaster rifles and pistols opened up at once, smacking into the shuttle’s worn hull, but only a few of them managed to scorch it before a shimmering veil appeared over its surface, absorbing some of the fire and reflecting the rest into nearby bulkheads. Despite the obstacle, Truul’s soldiers continued firing, but the shuttle lifted onto its repulsors without impediment, and the sort vessel began to maneuver up and over the other parked ships, pointing its stubby nose towards the energy field and space beyond. With surge of thrust from its boosters, the vessel rocketed away, passing through immaterial barrier without pause and heading into deep space.

Eye’s still fixed on the quickly disappearing ship, Truul screamed into his comlink. “Bridge, I need a tractor lock or weapons fire on that shuttle now!”

“Were a bit busy up here right now, Major.”

Busy? The Imperial bastard was getting away! Truul was about to scream back into the link when he, for the first time, noticed that the shuttle was not the only ship visible beyond the permeable field.
--------------------------------------------------------------

The first of the Star Destroyer’s new wave of emerald bolts cut through space like a storm of glowing meteors. The first two of them went wide, but other hit their mark, cutting into the smaller of the Covenant vessels with blinding energy. Shimmering energy fields appeared to repel the blow, but as soon as they met the incoming force, they melted away, overwhelmed by raw power. Unimpeded, the green blades cut into the hull, sending huge gouts of flame and tarnished metal into space. One of the bolts managed to punch all the way though a thinner section of the ship, spewing a geyser of unexpended energy out the other side.

Unperturbed, the pair of ships kept up their own fire, focusing on the closer of the Lancer frigates, which was beginning to pick off Seraphs with its numerous anti-fighter batteries. Six plasma torpedoes impacted it nearly simultaneously, causing its shields to surge and weaken, but leaving the ship intact. Even as the Star Destroyer launched another hail of turbolaser shots, the smaller Covenant ship fired more torpedoes at the Lancer. The second ship, however, paused, its heavier weapons momentarily silenced. Then, from its curved bow, a pinprick of white light erupted into view for a millisecond before surging forward at impossible speed, reaching the frigate almost instantly. The beam, less than a millimeter across but extremely brilliant vide against the starship’s weakened deflectors for a single second, and then pierced them, plunging into the ship’s forward most point, just below the slanted bridge section. Finding its target, the beam wrenched upwards, slicing through dozens of meters of durasteel and then up out of the ship, dissipating as it hit the shield wall again. It its wake, the weapon had left a blackened line that bisected the full length of the ship, from its center line to upper hull. The frigate’s sublight engines began to pulse erratically and its weapons batteries ceased. A moment later, explosions erupted from every hole in the craft’s armor plating; its core had been compromised.

As fire belched forth from its tender vessel, engulfing the frigate entirely in an obliterating explosion, the Star Destroyer let loose a new volley, this one fiercer, an avenging blow. Miniature suns erupted across the smaller Covenant ship’s hull, burning away tons of hardened armor and machinery in seconds. Again, it returned fire, but this time only with a single turret, as the rest were being engulfed by rifts and explosions that were racing across the starship’s once beautiful surface.

The larger vessel, spewing dozens of point lasers and torpedoes at the destroyer, moved to cover its comrade, but the rate at which the ship was losing mass into space indicated it would not maintain structural integrity for long. As a new wave of turbolasers plied the void, intent on finishing the kill, beyond the dueling colossi, the tubular drives of the Republica began to come to life, blue light surging from them once more.
--------------------------------------------------------------

From the tinted cockpit viewport of his commandeered shuttle, Flitch stared in confusion and awe as the Imperial Star Destroyer and the opposing vessels, ones quite unlike he had ever seen before, traded volleys of blistering energy. He felt a small prick of pride within his chest as a turbolaser bolt punched into one of the enemy ships, already heavily damaged, and it exploded with terrific force, causing the photo-sensitive cells in the transparisteel screen to darken. His reverie was short-lived however, as the sensors picked up dozens of fightercraft trying to outmaneuver each other in a deadly dance close by. Not eager to have his mission culminate with the accidental destruction of his escape shuttle by a random particle beam, the infiltrator set course for the Imperial warship and its Lancer escort, extremely convenient safe harbors.

As he tried to remember the recognition and docking codes he had buried in his memory so long ago, Flitch spared a glance towards his unwilling passenger, who was in a miserable heap against the rear wall of the cockpit, shivering. The Imperial agent flicked the barrel of his pistol at him. “That’s right; you stay there like a good boy. I’m sure we can find you a nice cell, warm on that Star Destroyer when we arrive. There’s always room for Rebel collaborators.”

The hostage stared up at his captor hopelessly, and nudged closer to the wall in a vain attempt to put some space between them. Fitch snickered and turned his attention back to the navigation display, but as he began to reprogram the ship’s passive transponder with an Imperial code, a shiver ran down his spine. There, in the hallway that leads to the cargo hold, something hadn’t been right about the air. It was… shimmering.

Hiss.

Flitch spun away from the controls and ducked at the same time, blaster in hand. An instant later, the interface he had been using exploded, slashed through by a long triangle of pulsating energy. Rolling onto the floor, the human raised his weapon and fired two shots into the nothingness from which the scythe emanated. One of the blasts harmlessly scorched the wall, but another was stopped by something beyond sight. Like a ripple on the surface of a calm pond, the empty space gave way to a tall, humanoid form, hunched over and bearing down on him, energy blade raised high.

Flitch scrambled away again, towards the hallway, just in time to avoid the cut that dug a deep gouge in the floor plate. Another shot, and the rippling form became clear at last, a towering mass of sinew, dark flesh, and armor. It took the hit in its chest plate, but continued forward totally unfazed, lunging to strike again. Flitch felt a searing pain slash his right leg, but rolled away again, firing at where had been a moment before. The red bolt impacted the alien’s right forearm, and the energy blade clattered to the floor, but there seemed to be no real damage done, as the attacker whirled gracefully around and lunged forward again, huge fists like hammers.

Frantically, Flitch began to scrambled down the hall, firing his weapon three times in quick succession. Whether it was nerves failing him, or an unerring skill on the part of his attacker at interpreting his body language, all three of the shots missed, and the alien charged unimpeded. Knowing he had about a second before the thing reached him, and with nowhere left to run, Flitch manage to squeeze of a fourth shot, the weapon’s muzzle now only two meters from the attacker. The red bolt hit impacted just above the left eye, slicing through some unseen barrier and burning into the creature’s silver skull cap. Roaring in rage and pain, the alien brought both fist to bear upon his target, and Flitch flew backwards into a sealed doorway with bone-cracking force. He slumped into a heap against the wall, his fading, blood-filled vision noting the creature looming over him one last time before the world slipped into blackness.

Breathing heavily, the Arbiter stared down at the human, his hands still balled up, prepared to crush the infiltrator into pulp. Instinct told him that it was the right, and justified thing to do, and had the man still been conscious, he almost certainly would have stained the floor with human blood, but looking down on the prone form, something stayed his hands. Arms trembling, he slowly disengaged his fists and brought the shaking finger to his face, as if searching them for the source of his restraint. Finding no answer, and feeling a pain rising on his brow, the Arbiter blew out a long sigh, and turned from the defeated foe.

Removing his helm, the Sangheili was able to full discern how much damage the last colt had done, and how close it ha come to killing him. The cap was nearly cloven in two, and his brow likely held the same appearance, if messier. The scar would likely be permanent.

Casting aside the useless bit of metal, the Arbiter stalked back into the cockpit, where the hostage, Reginald Barclay, still sat, looking up at his savoir in amazement. The human tried to form worlds, but the alien by passed him with no more a cursory glance to ensure his enacted state and moved on, leaving Barclay with silence.

The navigational controls were ruined, and the ship had already lost attitude control, drifting dead and rudderless in the blackness. They weren’t going anywhere on their own power. However, none of this bother the Arbiter at the moment, not had it even intruded upon his thoughts, for he was wholly transfixed upon a shape far beyond the confines of the shuttle, distant but recognizable through the viewport. The remaining Covenant starship, lit by its own weapons fire, and that of the Star Destroyer it was locked in combat with.

“Ascendant Justice.” The alien’s mandibles quivered with nameless emotion. “My old ship.”
------------------------------------------------------------------

Teno ‘Falanamee watched impassively as the white lance of energy ran across the enemy vessel’s hull, leaving no mark other than the shimmering of an impenetrable barrier. This foe was beyond them. From the moment the enemy’s weapon had passed through their shields as if they were nothing, Teno had known that he, and his crew, would die on this field of battle. The Prophet, so brash in ordering the defense of the supposed god’s artifact, had doomed them to that fate, and he had already paid his share.

As green bolts pierced the hull of the mightiest ship in the Covenant armada as if it were spider webbing and concussions rocked even the heart of the warship, the Ship Master could at least feel pride in his crew. Not one of them had abandoned their stations, and Hiph ‘Netanimee stood at attention, awaiting orders as always. No doubt all of them felt they were dieing for their gods, a fate worthy of any warrior. Who knew, perhaps they were; through his remaining sensor projections, ‘Falanamee could see that the sleek ship the Prophet had ordered him to protect was moving quickly away from the battle, and had just spiked in energy output. As he watched it glide through space, an explosion nearby sent a huge chunk of the over bridge’s ceiling crashing to the floor, crushing a pair of hapless Sangheili guards. The lights and projectors around him began to fail, but power lasted long enough for the image of the distant starship to brighten for a moment, and then disappear into the void, completely gone from view.

I hope it was worth it.

Another blast erupted, even closer, and all of the remaining lights ceased to function, throwing the chamber’s inhabitants into complete darkness. Without sight, ‘Falanamee could hear the rumble of his ship collapsing on itself all the clearer, the nervous breathing of his subordinates, the faint static left in a still functioning audio transceiver by the destruction of its corresponding system somewhere else on the ship.

Transceiver…

The sound that had played in the background during the “God’s” transmission. Whenever a UNSC vessel was destroyed, and its transmitters survived in the wreckage, they would always simply broadcast static, a simple repetition of the code signal all human vessels used to communicate over. The sound and the static were one and the same. There had been humans onboard that ship.

In the darkness, a single voice rang out, a low, raspy laugh. It started as a soft chuckle, but quickly blossomed, soon filling the whole chamber with cold mirth. Soon, the noise melded with the symphony of destruction around it, and then there was no sound at all.

[Comando293]

Son of a BISCUIT!!!!

Very good

[DesertFly]

Bam!

That was pretty darn-stinking awesome. Poor Filtch, I knew he didn't stand a chance once the Arbiter revealed himself.

[Tartarus]

Excellent work so far. I think you have the arbiter in character perfectly. *eagerly awaits update, with more covenant ass-kicking*

[Noble Ire]

Excellent work so far. I think you have the arbiter in character perfectly. *eagerly awaits update, with more covenant ass-kicking*

Thanks. He is one of my favorite characters to write for, and I'm glad I'm capturing him adequetely.
Oh, and just a heads up; I probably won't have another chapter up until January. Some holiday or something...

[Perseid]

Ah!! a new chapter

One thing I am wondering about is when are we gonna hear from Jacen again

All in all a good fic so far

[Noble Ire]

One thing I am wondering about is when are we gonna hear from Jacen again

He will be back, reasonably soon.
He has been trying to avoid his parents, thus limiting his role in the last part of the story, but I intend shift the character focus a good deal soon.

[Agent Fisher]

Sorry everyone to bump this, but my god, this is amazing! As a fellow Halo fanatic, I love it. If you need a proof reader, please, let me know.

[Hawkwings]

argh! Curses upon you for making me think there was an update!

BTW, it's January... That means you're due for another chapter!

[Noble Ire]

Chapter Forty Three


Darth Vader, Dark Lord of the Sith and de facto ruler of the Galactic Empire, stood on the bridge of the Star Destroyer Torrent, stoically looking out into the abyss of hyperspace. He was deep in thought, as he had been his every spare moment since the late emperor’s fall. For the last several hours, since the start of his impromptu voyage from Coruscant, Vader had been attempting to focus on the premonition that had summoned him from the core to a distant part of the Outer Rim. It had been an indistinct wisp of intuition at best, but the name of a system, some uninhabited waste far off any major hyperspace route, had firmly entrenched itself in his mind, and with it the sense that something of great significance was occurring there, or would occur soon. He had attempted to delve into the premonition, follow it back to its source, but he had been unable to do so, the only clue was the system’s unimpressive designation.

Of course, it was distinctly possible that this inability to probe the Force further on the matter was due to the conflict that still roiled deep within him, clouding his thoughts and perception. The harder he suppressed the feelings and indistinct memories, the more persistently they intruded upon his meditations and waking thoughts. Fragments of almost alien emotions, snippets of long-shadowed recollections, faces of those he had cherished, in a life that had ended long ago.

But had it ended, really?

Vader crushed the consideration before it had time to form. No, Anakin Skywalker, for better or worse, was dead; he had killed the Jedi himself, on that day on Coruscant so long ago.

Even with those ancient recollections conquered for the moment, new worries and a tingling of doubt began to intrude again upon his solemn countenance. Executions that he had undertaken, old and recent, began to wear upon him, as they never had before. The gasping, pitiful form of one Captain Needa, slumped on the cold deck at Vader’s feet, and for what? Falling victim to a clever bluff from a particularly obnoxious rebel? Was such a failure really worth the price Vader had made him pay? Failure was something to be scorned to be sure, but had he not himself failed far too often over the years? Was not every day, every minute he had allowed himself to submit to that wicked, wrinkled demon a failure in of itself?

Failure…

The blank visage of his only son, immersed completely in bacta, crossed the dark lord’s crowded mind now, dispelling other worries as if they were trifles. That Luke even now stood on the brink of life and eternal nothingness, rather than standing at Vader’s side on the Star Destroyer’s bridge, was a greater failure than any he could contemplate. Half a decade of fevered searching, of dire plotting, of desperate, secret hope, all for naught. Even the news that he possessed a second child, a daughter out among the stars, could not assuage his anguish deep inside. For the longest time, Vader had wondered if he still had any conscience left in his burned and blackened heart, and now he knew that he did, there was no greater wish in the Sith’s being than to see it dispelled forever, if only to relieve the pain it poured upon him.

And yet, through it all, there was one glimmer, one undertaking that did not carve away at his craven soul. She stood in silence behind him on the cold deck, awaiting orders, her inner thoughts her own. This former Jedi knight, Aayla Secura, one he had long thought dead in the great purges, had been his salvation. At first, he sought to use her as merely a tool, a weapon Palpatine would predict or prepare for, and she had served to that end superbly. But when he picked her wounded form up from the throne room’s chamber when the battle had been won, he had felt something more from her; there was darkness, a need for control and power that could be harnessed and shaped, something he would never have expected from a vanguard of the old order. Nevertheless, it was there, and he had latched onto it, expending his energies in an effort to make an adequate minion, and more, out of the Twi’lek. It was that effort, perhaps more than anything else that had kept him sane since his son’s fall.

Still, there was something in this new apprentice of his that was not right. She hid something, a secret so deep and wrenching that not even the vast changes she had undergone in the short period since their first fateful duel could force it to the surface. She had told him of her origins, of the wormhole and the starship Enterprise, but there was more to the tale, Vader knew it. Aayla would tell him in time, and for the moment, he would allow her to do it of her own volition. But he would know the full story, and there was nothing the woman could do to keep it from him.
--------------------------------------------------------------

A time later, the bow of the Torrent again shore through the cold void of realspace, angling into the system Lord Vader had instructed her captain to bring him to. Designated Rim 2101-831-5400 by the Imperial Navigational Authority, the star system was quite unremarkable, save for the hyperspace-disrupting gravitational effects of its primary. As his ship slipped past one of the system’s ancient gas giants, Captain Meterin Coloth wondered silently if any Imperial officer had even been within light years of the desolate collection of worthless gas and rock. He certainly had not wished to be the first, but Darth Vader had “requested” the usage of his Star Destroyer, and no sane man would refuse him.

As he surreptitiously watched the Sith Lord and his Twi’lek servant from across the warship’s bridge, Coloth wondered if there was some malevolent force in the universe piling difficulty upon difficulty onto his shoulders for its own twisted pleasure. He had been perfectly happy in his patrol duties along the Mid Rim, the master of his own ship and his own schedule, only being forced to second string at formal functions, which he rarely attended anyways. Politicians didn’t sit well with him, and admirals even less.

But here he was, playing chauffer to the most powerful being in the galaxy, his command usurped and his own performance under continued scrutiny. Ever since the fiasco with that damned Enterprise, her pompous captain, and those infernal infiltrators, his nearly impeccable military record had been tarnished, and he had been recalled indefinitely to the core. True, the escape of the alien ship’s command crew was not directly his fault, and he had safely turned the thousand odd lesser crew over to Imperial Intelligence, but the incident had not reflected well on his command, or his crew. It still might not have been so bad, but after his debriefing with Lord Vader, the new imperial leader seemed to have taken a liking to Coloth. Either that or this was all part of some elaborate punishment. Even being in the same room with the Force wizard was extremely unsettling, and Coloth had never been one to be intimidated by his superiors.

The captain was roused from his brooding by an approaching lieutenant. “What is it?”

The younger officer snapped to attention. “Sir, Communications is registering several Imperial transponder codes further in-system, below the solar plane.”

The captain raised an eyebrow. “Our ships? The recent operation to choke off all of the Rebel’s remaining bases and covert routes was high priority, but why would any sector command authorize the placements of warships here? I doubt even the Rebels have ever heard of this system.”

The lieutenant had no answer.

“You’ve found something, captain?”

Coloth hadn’t even had the slightest inkling that Vader had moved from his observation point across the bridge, but the ominous mechanical breathing that now emanated from over his shoulder made it clear that Vader’s skills were not limited to intimidation and brute force.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” the captain said, turning to the armored cyborg without trying to look distressed. “Imperial warships have been detected towards the interior of the system.” He nodded meaningfully to lieutenant, who was similarly attempting to maintain his cool.

“The ships have been identified as the HIMS Broadsword, Paramount, and Carida 34, sir. They appear to be holding position nearly a million kilometers below this system’s primary.”

“Set course at maximum velocity.”

The officer offered a deep bow in response to the Sith’s order, and sparing a glance for confirmation from his direct superior, which was immediately granted, moved off to relay the course change.

When he had gone, Coloth spared a glance back at the dark lord, who had turned his attention back to the main viewport at the front of the bridge, now framing the remote system’s slowly dying star.

“If I may ask, my Lord, did you know that there were other Imperial ships in this system before our arrival?”

For nearly a minute, Vader did not respond, or make any indication he had even heard the man, and Coloth’s heart began to throb with uncomfortable nervousness. At last however, he inclined his head, as if in thought. “The Broadsword is one of Admiral Durnstga’s ships. It was likely part of the task force that routed the remnant of the Rebel fleet yesterday.”

Coloth was genuinely surprised. “Routed? I did not hear anything about such a victory over fleet channels.”

Vader pivoted his nightmarish mask in the captain’s direction. “The information has not yet reached official channels.”

There was an air of finality in his tone that snuffed out any further inquiries on the subject Coloth might have had, and when Vader paced away, back to his former observation position and his silently waiting servant, the captain did not follow. Whether he intended it or not, and Coloth very much suspected he did, Vader’s manner was quite effective at quashing curiosity and banter, to the point where it even disrupted typical military decorum. That part, at least, the captain didn’t mind initially, but as his time with the dark lord wore on, he found himself wishing more and more for a pompous admiral or chatty dignitary to look after instead.

After what seemed like an eternity of sublight travel, the Torrent at last entered imagining and hailing range of the other Imperial vessels, the effective range of both reduced by the proximity of the star. However, when the starship’s comm officers signaled the Broadsword, Imperial-II class Star Destroyer and presumed leader of the task force, they received only static in return.

“Give me a visual.” Meterin Coloth a stood with his arms crossed behind his back, trying to maintain an aura of control, despite the fact that Lord Vader stood close at his side, watching every move from behind his opaque visor plates.

The center section of the viewport flashed from displaying the starfield beyond to an image of the three imperial vessels, the warship in question flanked by a Victory-class destroyer and a Lancer frigate. But there was more in the image than a simple sampling of the Imperial starfleet; a huge field of debris surrounded the group like the rings of a gas giant. Blast-scoured hunks of reddish metal and metallic skeletons of unknown design intermingled with more familiar gray and black armor, with the smashed hull of an Imperial frigate quite obvious amidst the wreckage. The surviving ships also showed signs of battle, each covered in numerous patches of vaporized metal; the Broadsword’s terraced face was marred by several huge gashes that had been chewed through a dozen interior decks.

Coloth and his command crew were in awe; the volume of wreckage encircling the ships and the massive battle scars on the capital vessels were signs of a conflict that had rarely been seen since the Clone Wars, nearly a quarter century ago. Vader seemed relatively unfazed, although he had dropped his gloved hands to his sides from their previously crossed posture.

“Sir,” an officer in the crew pit below reported. “The Broadsword has sustained significant damage to their bridge section, as well as their main transmission array. It is impossible for them to respond to our hails.” That much was obvious; from the amount of scarring on the destroyer’s command tower, Coloth would be surprised if any of the bridge crew were still alive.

“Try to contract the Paramount and Carida. See if we can ascertain what happened here.” Coloth turned to an attending officer. “Commander Cebbe, inform the medical stations of our situation, and tell them to prepare for rescue operations.”

As the bridge officers hurried to execute their duties, Darth Vader and Aayla Secura observed the scene of destruction in silence, mulling over its meaning. Both could feel uncounted numbers of confused and injured humans on the surviving ships and in the wreckage, as well as a few life forces not so readily identifiable. But more than that, there was something else about the scene; something that did not belong.

“Master, do you sense it?” Aayla ventured at last, stepping forward a few paces. “A disturbance in the Force, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

Vader did not respond, but he too felt the strange sensation, as if a thousand possible futures were colliding in the space around them, and at their center, a point of searing clarity, where the life energies of more beings than a single reality could possibly hold converged. It was a window, a rift between what was and what should be. This is the place. This is what I felt.

“Sir, we’ve made contact with both vessels, and they are requesting medical assistance and aid in recovering escape pods from the wreckage field.”

Coloth nodded. “Lieutenant Defruen, I want you to take command of the relief effort. Use as much of the shuttle complement as is necessary, and make sure the medical staff is ready to accept wounded.”

“Sir, the captain of the Paramount is also requesting a communication with you, immediately.”

“Put it through.” This order came not from the captain, but from Vader himself, who was already making for the holonet comm station at the rear of the bridge, his Twi’lek in tow. Coloth gritted his teeth in irritation and followed close behind.

In the alcove, which housed the main holo-projection suite, the image of a balding human with a short beard shimmered to life. “Captain, I am grateful for any assistance…” The man trailed off when he noticed that it was not Coloth or any other Imperial captain in the projector’s field of vision, but rather a three-meter giant, cloaked in black. “Lord… Lord Vader! I am honored.”

“Dispense with the pleasantries, captain. I want to know what happened here.”

The officer on the other vessel gulped, and then nodded to someone out of the image. “I have Commander Barden with me, executive officer of the Broadsword. He would be better able to explain our situation, my lord.”

As Vader waited in silence, the captain disappeared and was replaced by a younger man, his right eye covered with a bacta patch. He offered a nod of respect to the Sith lord, an effort that clearly pained him.

“Tell me, commander.”

“Well, Lord Vader, after we received orders from Fleet Command to begin sweeping the back hyperspace lanes for any suspicious activity, the Abolition and the Broadsword, under the command of Admiral Durnstga and my superior, Captain Telbain, respectively, broke from our main fleet group to pursue a hyperspace ghost we had detected passing through the fringes of Hutt space, we tracked it to this system, and managed to make contact with an Imperial agent onboard before it escaped.”

Barden broke off for a moment, stifling a series of coughs that racked his diaphragm.

“I apologize, Lord Vader. The agent activated a hyperwave homing beacon, which would reveal the location of the ship’s destination, and the hidden Rebel rendezvous point. The admiral left the system to join an assault group and lead the attack, but he left Captain Telbain behind, to investigate an object that the Rebels had scanned before escaping, and to intercept any Rebel forces that managed to flee his assault. The object turned out to be a derelict vessel of unknown design, no life signs registering. We were about to mount a search of the ship when we received reinforcement from a small task force sent by Admiral Durnstga, and were instructed to prepare an ambush for any unidentified starships entering the system. One, a Mon Calamari warship matching the one we had tracked escaping the system earlier, appeared, and we attempted to destroy it.

“Unfortunately, the starship was able to elude the task force, by usage of some kind of anomaly that removed it completely from local space. Determined not to lose them, Captain Telbain took the Broadsword and two Lancer-class frigates through the anomaly as well, despite its unknown nature. After incurring minor damage from some kind of energy feedback against our deflector screens, the strike force emerged in a star system that did not register on our navigational charts. Locating the Rebel cruiser, the captain ordered an attack, but before the ship could be destroyed, a pair of alien vessels of unknown construction or origin opened fire on our ships. Despite that fact that their weapons technology was markedly inferior to our own, they managed to destroy one of the escorting frigates, and covered the Rebel ship long enough for it to escape back through the anomaly.”

“The Broadsword destroyed the hostile vessels, but we were quickly overtaken by numerous enemy reinforcements, hundreds of ships, many of them more massive than our own. Captain Telbain ordered us to remain and fight, and we managed to destroy eight enemy capital ships before the second frigate was lost with all hands. At that point, a withdrawal was ordered through the anomaly, but a large portion of the alien fleet pursued. After returning to this system, we coordinated with the Paramount and the remaining Lancer, and destroyed more than a dozen alien vessels as they came through the anomaly. However, before they stopped sending ships through, one managed to break through the kill zone and collided with the Broadsword. Most of its bridge crew was killed, including the captain. I was lucky to escape alive.”

Vader considered the report in silence, and then looked back at the commander, who appeared to be breathing very heavily now. “What of the Rebel ship?”

“The Paramount never recorded it coming back through, lord. It must have either been destroyed during transit, or exited at another point,” the officer replied, wheezing with every breath.

“And the derelict?”

“Destroyed by crossfire during the battle, lord.”

Darth Vader stayed motionless a moment longer, and then turned from the projector. “You did well to survive the incompetence of your captain, Commander. See to it that you receive proper medical attention.”

“Th… thank you, lord.”

As Vader walked back out onto the bridge, he found himself again deep in thought. No, the Rebel ship hadn’t been destroyed; he knew that much to be true. But beyond that, his foresight failed to pierce the shadows of the future, or even the growing chaos of the present. This anomaly, this rift, had to be of the same type that had brought Aayla and the Enterprise into this realm. In a way, it was responsible for all that had occurred in the last few weeks; his liberation, and his new torment. And here it was again, beckoning him into an unknown and hostile reality, and beyond that, a lone Rebel vessel, one he sensed held some great importance. But again, he could not be sure. The clouds around his inner eye were too thick, and the ravages of doubt still assaulted his senses from the deep recesses of his mind.

Perhaps some small diversion was necessary to clear away the struggle within him and open the Force up to him again as it once had been, so long ago. This alien race provided the perfect opportunity, and were he to spearhead a campaign into their territory, the benefits would be threefold. Not only would it allow him to taste combat again and clear his mind of worries and the clouds of confusion, he could spread order, true order, to both the peoples of the alien realm, and to his own. He knew that many in the Empire still doubted their new ruler and his motives; unifying the people against a new common threat, alien aggressors from a foreign galaxy, was the perfect way to erase Palpatine’s decadence in favor of order, Vader’s order, and eventual peace. A true peace, one without the corruption that had marred all of his life. Still, a new doubt surfaced in his mind; this sort of machination was a plan that Palpatine might indulge in, and had many times in the past.

He may have been a corrupt madman, but Palpatine did know how to control the hearts and minds of the people. Such manipulation was necessary for rule, no matter how distasteful. It is not his way, it is the way of the Sith. And I am still Sith.

Nevertheless, there were elements of Palpatine’s legacy that yet needed to be fully erased. Some of his supporters, politicians, soldiers, and the Force adepts that he had bent to his will, would never swear allegiance to Vader’s new order, and might even seek to undermine it. That could not be allowed.

“Aayla,” he rumbled.

“Yes, my lord?”

“I have a task for you. It will be invaluable to your training.”

“I shall complete it, without fail. What would you have me do?”

“Travel to the Ziost system. There, you will find another attempting to immerse them self in the teachings of the Dark Side. You will confront them, and determine were their allegiances lie: with Palpatine’s order, or mine. If their disloyalty is evident, you are to destroy them. If they submit to me, you are to take them with you back to Coruscant. There, in the Palace Library, you will find a directory, which contains the locations of all of all of Palpatine’s hidden fortress worlds and covert contacts. Investigate each, and determine the loyalties of those you find. When this task is complete, await my return on Coruscant, and see to it that the provisional government follows my instructions, as I will have delievered to them from time to time.”

Aayla bowed. “It shall be done, my lord.”

With that, Vader turned away. “Do not falter, apprentice. This is your greatest test. Succeed, and you may one day know the full power of the Sith, and the order it can bring. Fail and you die. There are no compromises.”

[Hawkwings]

hmm, interesting point of view, and more stuff about Aayla. A good read, as always!

[Noble Ire]

hmm, interesting point of view, and more stuff about Aayla. A good read, as always!

Thanks.

I modified for editing, by the way. Some of those annoying grammtical errors I often make should be gone. Ah, and this chapter is the end of part two of The Rift. I expect to get started on the third soon, although I may modify the first few chapters of the story before I do, to give them a better flow (combining chapters and such). Nothing major.

[Comando293]

I command you to hurry!

Oh and very good

[DesertFly]

Interesting, the Imperial ships seem to have cleaned up on the Covenants.

One minor nitpick, you describe Darth Vader as being three meters tall. Now, I admit my knowledge of the metric systems is hazy, but I looked it up, and that would make him over nine feet tall. He's not that big.

[Noble Ire]

Interesting, the Imperial ships seem to have cleaned up on the Covenants.

One minor nitpick, you describe Darth Vader as being three meters tall. Now, I admit my knowledge of the metric systems is hazy, but I looked it up, and that would make him over nine feet tall. He's not that big.

I could swear I always noted him as being two.
Ah well, no matter. Thanks for the heads up, I'll try to correct the error.

[Major Disaster]

I hope you dont mind me printing a copy, it is to much for me to read in one sitting

[The Grim Squeaker]

I hope you dont mind me printing a copy, it is to much for me to read in one sitting

Speak for yourslef, less than 20 mins for me.
You should ask for it to be put in a cleaned up form in the completed FF, there are a few fic's there that are'nt finished (Starcrossed), although you may not get the "Excused due to prominence and insane length" excuse for putting a 2/3 done fic there

[Major Disaster]

I hope you dont mind me printing a copy, it is to much for me to read in one sitting

Speak for yourslef, less than 20 mins for me.

I am Dyslexicyou know

[The Grim Squeaker]

And I have learning disabilities, one of which is having difficulty understanding written text, although due to my insane reading skills that have been honed with time, it only affects me in academic papers in hebrew or in questions.
[Still didn't stop me from reading LOTR at age 8, and HP6/5 each within a half day on the day they were written without any trouble)

You have excellent spelling for a dyslexic, do you use a checker, or have you simply had a lot of help overcoming it? (It affects reading and writing, correct?)

[Noble Ire]

Speak for yourslef, less than 20 mins for me.

I literally don't see how that's possible. The Rift is nearly three hundred and fifty pages in word, single-spaced. Nevertheless, I suppose it would explain the sheer volume of books in those pics...

You should ask for it to be put in a cleaned up form in the completed FF, there are a few fic's there that are'nt finished (Starcrossed), although you may not get the "Excused due to prominence and insane length" excuse for putting a 2/3 done fic there

That, I think, is at a Mod's discretion. Besides, I doubt The Rift has distinguished itself quite enough to be awarded such an honor.

I hope you dont mind me printing a copy, it is to much for me to read in one sitting

Not at all. Thanks for reading.

[Hawkwings]

That, I think, is at a Mod's discretion. Besides, I doubt The Rift has distinguished itself quite enough to be awarded such an honor.

I'm sure your rabid fans, me included, would fight for it!