Free at Last (OMFG updated 10/21?!)

[Surlethe]

~ BUMP ~ to announce I'm going to start working on this again, and I should be updating within the week. Shoot me if I don't.

[NecronLord]

~ BUMP ~ to announce I'm going to start working on this again, and I should be updating within the week. Shoot me if I don't.

You will be crucified, not shot.

[SpecWar826]

How about crucified and then shot some

[Trogdor]

Don't hurt him! Wait until he finishes this fic, then you can crucify him.

[Surlethe]

Okay, so it's a little late and a little small; so sue me, I've been busy.

Anyway, here's a short update to let y'all know I can still write:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A gleaming white dagger hung in space above Coruscant. The planet-city, teeming with a quadrillion and more people, human and alien, gleamed in the brilliant light of its star; in the crescent shadow lining one side of the sphere, the capital lit itself, bright circles and fields of man-made light highlighting the more built-up portions. Escorting the huge ship, three smaller red-gold Venators hung about it: one directly above the main hull, two flanking above the rear quarters. The white ship itself, a beautiful Mandator II, was sleek, but powerful; the thousands of heavy guns didn’t mar her lines at all, but rather built on them, so the accumulated image was comparable to a snow-covered mountain: solid and exquisitely pleasing to the eye.

As the tiny convoy ponderously moved through Coruscant’s shipping lanes, effortlessly forcing the dense streams of ships to slightly divert, six smaller ships, though still larger than the Venators, decelerated from hyperspace, and pulled into formation with the Mandator. The Imperators were a very light gray, which would have passed for white against anything other than the dreadnought’s gleaming pearl, and equally elegant, with strong lines tapering to a graceful tip.

In minutes, the orbit swung the convoy around Coruscant, and, rising over the horizon, fifty thousand ships, floating quickly toward the Mandator and its escorts, loomed in a magnificent display of power. Three other Mandator IIs formed the heart of the Coruscant sector fleet, mustered here to every last ship, recalled by the Senate to protect the heart of galactic civilization: nothing impels action in a bunch of fat old politicians like a direct assault on their homes. Many of the ships -- Venators, a majority of the destroyers slowly swarming around the dreadnoughts -- sported charred black spots, or even huge chunks missing from the burnished bronze hulls; three days since the Battle of Coruscant was hardly time to begin repairs. Between the convoy and the fleet drifted thousands of charred hulks: the remains of General Grievous’ strike force.

As the convoy passed through the graveyard, green and blue light turbolasers lanced from the ships, easily vaporizing the scorched, twisted metal in their path; the few pieces which escaped the target practice impacted and vanished with a flash on shields. Aboard the bridge of the Mandator, Governor Danil Gyda paced back and forth. What to do? What to do? The Jedi Rebellion, almost crushed, had somehow, with its last strength, deposed the Emperor. With Palpatine gone, nothing held the last of the Republic together -- not the dead Separatist threat; not the fat, corrupt Senate; not some ideal democracy. The sector governors now had nothing to look up to, to report to; and the clones, it seemed, had reverted to the control of the sector governors. True, it meant he now possessed control of a cloning facility, but there were thousands of such facilities scattered throughout the Empire. It meant nothing, alone. Thousands of facilities, hundreds of thousands of sectors -- hundreds of thousands of potential warlords, each of whom controlled as much firepower as he did, and some of whom had entire offensive military fleets under their control.

Then, of course, there was still the remaining Jedi menace: according to Clone Intelligence reports, one Jedi had tracked down and killed Anakin Skywalker at the Separatist outpost in the … Mustafar system, as he recalled. A sufficiently backwards system to fall through the cracks with the other million like it. The Jedi still needed to be dealt with, though, the two which still lived, and the Senate needed to reassert its power and regain the control of the clone armies. The alternatives were unspeakable.

“Sir, your transport is ready,” the young bridge officer said in clipped, formal tones. “The Senate awaits your pleasure.”

“Thank you, Captain. Please inform the Speaker Pro Tempore that I will arrive shortly.”

After a moment, a shuttle departed the Mandator’s main docking bay, and descended towards the buzzing city below.

---

Obi-Wan Kenobi settled down at the conference table in one of the Tantive IV‘s diplomacy rooms. “Master Yoda. How are you?”

“Well I am, Master Kenobi; thank you. I have called you here to discuss the future of the Jedi Order.” Yoda sat across

“I expect we must return to Coruscant to pursue its reconstruction, mustn’t we?”

“Master Kenobi, precisely the problem that is. Mistrust the Jedi, the Republic does. Speak to the Senate we must, but attempt to kill us still the Clones will.”

After a moment of contemplation, Obi-Wan said, “I would advocate returning to Coruscant and remaining in hiding until the hunt for the Jedi slows; we do have friends among the Senators. But how are we going to keep track of Padme’s children?”

“To Bail Organa we should give them, I think. A child he and his wife do not have, and good parents I think they will be.”

“So, we shall return to Coruscant and there plan our next move.”

“It is settled.” Upon speaking, Yoda hopped down to his feet and limped out of the room. Obi-Wan remained, puzzled. Yoda had changed since his fight with Sidious; though he retained his outward calm, there was a difference in the way he carried himself, his demeanor, in the way the Force flowed through him. I’m sure it’s just my imagination, though -- lots has changed. As thoughts of Anakin rose unbidden, Obi-Wan ruthlessly crushed them, setting up in their place images of the slaughtered separatist leaders, of Padme dying, whispering with her last breath … no! Shaking his head, Obi-Wan rose and hurried from the room, pursued by memories.

---

The first thing he heard was the sound of his own breathing. Then, pain lanced through his torso, stopping at the shoulders. He opened his eyes -- and saw nothing, for a moment; then, with a whir, a dim red light assaulted his senses, and through it, he saw shapes and movement. He appeared to be standing in the center of a room cluttered with droids and other equipment; he made to turn his head, and almost threw himself off balance as a heavy, encompassing helmet turned with it. Yes, the center of what was almost certainly a medical laboratory. There was a door to the right -- he made to step, but felt nothing beneath his knees. Instead, a motor whizzed, and he felt himself move; in sudden terror, he overcompensated, and fell forward, managing barely to catch himself on gloved hands which felt nothing.

Sudden rage tore through him as he remembered what had brought him to this sorry state -- as he remembered who had brought him to this -- and the rage was tempered with astonishment at the fact he was still alive. Then, there was more pain, but not physical, as he remembered why he was this way -- and, then, “Where’s Padme?”

But the sound he heard -- did he actually hear it? He couldn’t feel his ears -- wasn’t his voice. It wasn’t his strong, powerful, tenor; it was garbled, deepened, distorted, like a holotransmission from half the galaxy away. In anger, he reached out to the Force, to tear this farce of a suit from himself, to breathe in the cool, sweet air once more, to use his own lungs and eyes and ears, but the Force fled from him, slipping from his grasp like the water through oily fingers. After a minute of mental straining, he had enough power to maybe lift a starship. Maybe.

It was nothing, nothing compared to what he had before. More anger -- and this time, he lunged to his feet, and staggered forward a few steps, real legs or no, and uttered a guttural cry of impotent fury, unleashing blindly with the Force he had managed to gather. There was little effect on the room -- a few gaskets popping, some beakers blown over. The sheer impotence hurt worse than anything else.

A shorter, lithe shadow detached itself from the doorway and moved forwards. The eyes immediately identified it as a human male, one-decimal-two-seven meters tall, approximately 55 kilograms, armed with only an odd-looking lightsabre. He opened his mouth: “Welcome, Lord Vader. We have been expecting you.”

---

In the cockpit of the Tantive IV, Obi-Wan Kenobi looked up from his meditative stance as the corvette entered the range of Coruscant’s initial traffic controllers. A voice crackled through a speaker on the dashboard, “This is Coruscanti Air Control. Please drop your approach speed to less than five thousand as we slave your computer for the approach.” Obediently, the pilot reached over, and the swirling blueshifted space outside the corvette dimmed a little bit as he pushed a few buttons.

A moment later, the engines hummed as the corvette built power to jump back into realspace, and then streaking stars became visible, slowed to simple streaks, and condensed into points of light as the crescent disk of the galaxy’s capital rapidly expanded to fill the viewscreen. In seconds, they were weaving around the edge of the entire Coruscant Sector Defense Fleet, it looked like, and, still decelerating, descending toward a high, affluent neighborhood of apartments. The Tantive IV landed at a public docking bay, and the two Jedi and Senator Organa were the first off.

As the brown-cloaked masters turned to go, Organa said, “Wait.”

Obi-Wan turned, and shook the Senator’s outthrust hand. “Thank you for everything, Senator. We’ll keep in touch.”

“I’ll notify you when the time is right to speak before the Senate.”

“Again, thank you. May the Force be with you.”

“And also with you.”

The three parted ways as the rest of Senator Organa’s retinue descended from the corvette’s landing ramp.

[Hawkwings]

/me sues Surlethe

What? You told me to!

Anyways, it's not long, but it definitely moves the plot along. Hope to see more!

[Stuart Mackey]

I like.
I will be most..interested, to see where you take Vader, his abilities and frailties.

[Surlethe]

I like.
I will be most..interested, to see where you take Vader, his abilities and frailties.

I want to read Dark Lord before I actually start to develop Vader's character in-depth. Actually, originally, I wasn't planning on including him, but he's too damn cool to leave out. And, really, leaving him on Mustafar is much lamer than what I'm thinking of doing with him now. Plus, it also gives me a chance to hint at future developments, whereas, if I didn't include him, you wouldn't get anything for another few days (story time), and a lot happens in that time.

[Stuart Mackey]

I like.
I will be most..interested, to see where you take Vader, his abilities and frailties.

I want to read Dark Lord before I actually start to develop Vader's character in-depth.snip

Very wise. That book will give you a good indication on what Vader is like capability wise. IMO its not that he is less powerfull so much as he has to use that power slightly differently.

I look forward to more.

[Stuart Mackey]

Very wise. That book will give you a good indication on what Vader is like capability wise. IMO its not that he is less powerfull so much as he has to use that power slightly differently.

I look forward to more.

Also, perhaps Vader is also somewhat vulnerable .

[Surlethe]

Also, perhaps Vader is also somewhat vulnerable .

What do you mean by this? (I plan to check out or buy Dark Lord today or tomorrow; I understand it's a decent investment).

[Stuart Mackey]

Also, perhaps Vader is also somewhat vulnerable .

What do you mean by this? (I plan to check out or buy Dark Lord today or tomorrow; I understand it's a decent investment).

Well, look what happned to him at the end of RotJ, now theres a guy who must hate thunder and lightning . Remember that at the end of RotS he is not very good at walking when he get off the table? continue that train of thought.
I wont say more, lest I spoil the book.

[Surlethe]

Well, look what happned to him at the end of RotJ, now theres a guy who must hate thunder and lightning . Remember that at the end of RotS he is not very good at walking when he get off the table? continue that train of thought.

I tried to start continuing it in the update -- I wasn't entirely sure how to express his inability, though, so I settled for him walking, not realizing it, and tripping.

I wont say more, lest I spoil the book.

Thanks. It should be arriving by Friday.

[Singular Quartet]

So, do we have to wait for you to read Dark Lord, or what?

[Surlethe]

So, do we have to wait for you to read Dark Lord, or what?

Yes.

I'm expecting it to ship from Amazon later this week, and I'd like to digest it over the weekend while I'm traveling to and from a backpacking trip (and in my tent at night). If not, I'll definitely be writing again within two weeks.

Besides, you waited nine months for one update; a few weeks is nothing, right?

[Surlethe]

Okay, Dark Lord is done. It's actually about three weeks done ...

Anyway, like I posted in Venting, I'm starting to write again. Since I'm lazy, it's quite possible that I won't write much; therefore, I'll post incremental updates to make sure the story moves along, instead of massive, every-three-month updates. Therefore:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kadeem Wei-Zakai stepped away from the doorway. “Welcome, Lord Vader. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Who … who are you?” The deep voice was unsure, unstable. He stood awkwardly, new hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, cape thrown back over lumbering, wide shoulders.

Kadeem smiled. “I am no man of consequence.”

“Where is Padme? Is she all right?”

“I’m afraid, Lord Vader, that I cannot tell you.”

There was a sudden shift in the currents of the Force, and Kadeem felt a spike of rage in the muted, pain-wracked heap standing before him. For a moment, he was surprised at its strength, then relaxed -- and was suddenly dangling in midair, caught up by a mechanical gloved fist around his throat. The cripple had moved with unexpected swiftness and surety. Kadeem permitted himself a realization: Ahh … we have a flashpoint … .

“You … will … tell … me!” There was unfocused menace in Vader’s voice now.

Kadeem didn’t bother to struggle for air. He simply let the Force flow through him, and around him, and in an instant, Vader’s hands unclenched; Kadeem blinked and dropped lightly to the floor. In that half-second, Vader had flown across the room and crumpled the far wall, propelled by casual telekinesis.

As the backflash from the telekinesis faded away in the room’s air currents, mimicking the slowly-smoothing turbulence surrounding them in the Force itself, the Sith began to laboriously pick himself up from his unceremonious fall. Once he was standing, he lumbered forward, and was brought up short by a familiar snap-hiss of an igniting lightsabre. The blade was austere, pure white which illuminated the room and threw Vader’s dark body into stark relief.

“Lord Vader,” Kadeem said, “you may be called ‘lord’, but I am your master now. Remember that.”

Anger began to swell in Vader again, and the Force surged -- and Kadeem cut it off, as easily as taking a treat from a toddler. “None of that, Lord Vader, until I permit. You are now mine.”

“Who are you?” The voice was menacing now, but quiet; it carried an undercurrent of sullen rebellion.

I may need to break this one even more, Kadeem thought, as he responded, “From now on, you will call me ‘Master’.”

“Yes … Master.” The pause was audible, but the words were there; and if you started with the words, everything else would follow in time.

[Crazedwraith]

ZOMG you tease!

I like the story but not the nano-sized updates.

[Stuart Mackey]

You cock tease! I would spank you, but you have us all in binders!.
Nicely done, however. I like how Vader isnt uberkickass, but is still getting used to the 'suit'

[Surlethe]

Here's a little more cockteasing:

---

His master was thin, with a voice deep for his size, Vader had noticed. His hair was long, but tied back into a tail with a piece of rope; his clothes were tight-fitting, but over them, he wore a loose robe reminiscent of Jedi attire. At his waist, he wore a curved lightsabre, much like Count Dooku’s. His master often smiled to himself, as though there was a secret he knew and kept from the rest of the world. Infuriatingly, there probably was a secret he knew and was keeping from Vader -- apparently, he knew about Padme, and how she was doing. And Vader couldn’t take the knowledge away from him; he was too powerful compared to Vader’s current pitiful state. The only thing Vader could do was bank the fires of his rage and bide his time until he became the more powerful.

Vader himself was ugly, scarred, and crippled. In the two weeks since his first awakening, he’d had to undergo scrubbing to remove necrotic flesh three times, and had been constantly in excruciatingpain. Sleep, for the few hours it came each day, held terrors and nightmares of slaughter and fire and his mother’s and wife’s deaths. He couldn’t breathe without his mask, except in a hyperbaric, oxygenated chamber. It was disgusting, to see how far he’d fallen -- using the Force now was like trying to drink a lake through a straw, when before he’d swum in it freely. Vader had crushed himself, and now only three things kept him alive: the thought of Padme; his rage against the man who had defeated him; his desire to overpower his new master; and his hatred of himself. He simply hated himself too much to permit himself the release of death.

The suit was at the heart of his troubles now. It provided for everything: he couldn’t walk without its artifical legs and heavy metal boots; he couldn’t eat without the built-in intravenous nutrient infusion; he couldn’t hear without the aural implants which snaked from the surface of his mask through his wrecked ears into his brain; he couldn’t even breathe without the respirator forcinghyperoxygenated air through his throat down into his wrecked lungs. Dim light was still too bright for his paled, watery eyes; the suit had to filter all of his light through red lenses, and it was more like looking at a computer screen than actually seeing real objects. His voice was deepened, muffled, distorted by the oral transmitters which amplified the weak sounds his scarred and lengthened vocal cords produced; he was only capable of anything more than a whisper with great effort.

He had learned all this by talking with the droids which attended him. They were perfectly willing to inform him about his physical shortcomings, medical problems, and apparent psychiatric issues, but shut up when he asked where he was, who his master was, or why he was here. His chambers were austere and contained a chair, a metal bed, and nothing else. He actually spent most of his time standing, and even slept that way; the first night after awakening in this loathsome suit, he had made the mistake of lying down to try to catch some sleep. In the morning, when he had awakened after catching an hour through a few minutes of slumber here and there, he had tried to crawl off the platform, and had fallen onto his face. He was unable to rise until the medical droid arrived an hour later for his daily checkup; they’d had to treat him for a broken nose where the unforgiving mask had crushed onto his face, and a broken rib where he’d fallen on one of his metal arms. Luckily, he hadn’t fallen onto the buttons which controlled his life support; that could have been fatal.

Vader wrinkled his nose in disgust, cringed at the pain the reflex brought. Obscene, what this suit’s done to me. What he did to me. Vader never used Obi-Wan Kenobi’s name; in his thoughts, his old master was always “he” or “him”. I can’t even walk, much less run, without tripping over these clumsy feet they’ve given me every ten steps. He took another step, and, as if to punctuate his sullen thoughts, the step was too short, the thrust from the back leg too strong, and for the fifty-first time that day -- Vader kept count, if only to flog himself for his inability to adapt -- he fell forward, and caught himself with his arms. This time, though, he pushed back up, and felt the pneumatics braced against his real shoulders pump; too quickly, he righted himself, and felt his center of gravity moving backward. He backstepped and, with a clang as the metal boot hit the floor with some force, he regained his balance.

“Very good,” said his master. Vader stared down at him, expressionless under the artificial face, concealing the anger and fear as he had when he was Anak-- he cut off the thought; there were things best left unremembered. “Take another step,” the smaller man ordered.

He complied, and, then again, wavering, like a toddler walking for the first time. The comparison brought the child in Padme’s womb to mind, and another burst of pain, as he remembered leaping over her body, fighting against him in an irrational rage. Has she borne our baby yet? he wondered -- then, What use am I as a father like this?

Suddenly, he grunted in mental anguish as his thoughts disintegrated in a burst of static. Through the lessening pain cut his master’s voice: “Lord Vader, will you never learn to focus on the task at hand? You were always impatient.”

The reference to his past life brought back memories, but Vader, instead of indulging in red-hot rage, banked his ire, added it to the cold, smoldering hatred he kept stored in his heart. There was no fear, anymore; only hatred and anger at the injustice of his sufferings.

He took another step.

There was no fear because he was, of course, a Sith. At times, he almost took pride in the label; Darth Vader, dark lord of the Sith, apprentice to the Emperor of the entire galaxy. He loved Palpatine still, even after the betrayal of the Jedi. When he had walked in on that damnable Windu standing over the closest thing he had to a father, still fearing for Padme, it was almost easy to break the already-weak bonds of loyalty to the order. What had sealed it, though, was the trust he had felt radiating from Palpatine, the pain he felt as he watched his friend’s face melt and age. It was a pity he would eventually have had to destroy Palpatine; but, as his master had said, in the briefest of lessons before sending him to Mustafar, that was the way of the Sith. It in no way diminished their bond of love and trust.

He took another two steps; ambitious, reflecting his thoughts.

Then, in an instant, he drew on the Force, pulling out his memories of his former master, of his deeds in the Jedi Temple, of his dear wife choking, drawing on the anger he had stored for so long; and for a full second, he felt as though he were at his full strength again, until he remembered his new body, and the illusion fell away. As he reluctantly let his pittance of the Force go, he became aware of clapping behind him. He turned, and looked through the red eyepieces of his mask at his new master. The man was clapping!

“Very, very good, Lord Vader! I had not expected you to progress so suddenly and quickly! You will need to moderate your strength, of course, but that was excellent!”

Vader then remembered what he had done -- his master was further behind him than he remembered, and looking back at the floor behind him, saw eight indentations the size of his boots, twice as far apart as his walking pace. He had run for a second, in the memory of his former abilities. The illusion, it seemed, had done its work.

Again, he drew on the Force, fell on it for strength -- and it was real again, not the illusive strength of his former self. He was no stronger than a padawan, but even so, he supported himself with it, and purposefully walked the length of the chamber twice. When he had returned to the center, where his master was standing, the man nodded. “Lord Vader, you now begin to remember the lessons of your past. You will now return to your chamber to meditate; in three days, we will meet again, and, if you demonstrate sufficient progress, you will begin to construct a new lightsabre.

[Surlethe]

Kadeem stalked into the fortess’ command center, enraged. ”Where is Uuchben?” he exploded. “He was supposed to be here an hour and a half ago!”

One of the droids looked up. “He hasn’t sent word yet; I suspect he has been detained on Coruscant.”

“Detained? He should be able to get away from anybody but a Jedi Master, and there are only two of those left.” As he finished speaking, he felt a presence in the Force approach from behind him. Without turning, he said, “Hello, Master Okot. Uuchben is late, and has not yet contacted us.”

With a twinkle in his eye, Master Okot said, “Perhaps he has been detained on Coruscant.” The Master of the Force was perhaps the oldest man alive in the galaxy, and certainly the oldest man who knew about the Foundation and its purpose: to shepherd the vision of the Great Jedi. He was definitely the wisest, if not most powerful, man in the Order, and the twelve others looked up to him.

Even the name of the Great Jedi had been lost in the mists of time, but his vision was still within acceptable parameters, and his prophecy had held marvelously: a testament to his strength in the Force. Actually, his vision had held until a major deviation exactly fifteen standard days before which had shaken the Foundation’s Order to its core. They had dispersed throughout the galaxy to do some major damage control, to influence events in the right direction, and only Kadeem had been left in their fortress on Ravice to watch Darth Vader and guide his recovery. As it stood, Vader was the Foundation’s best hope.

Ravice was a desolate, deserted planet-city far in the Deep Core which had been a bustling center of galactic commerce before its star exploded. The resulting neutron star swept the planet’s surface ninety times per second with a deadly jet of gamma rays. The disaster had been eighty thousand years before the founding of the Republic, and the hyperspace lanes the planet sat on had been uncharted since the disaster; now, as the system drifted deeper toward the black hole at the center of the galaxy, only the Foundation remembered and charted the hyperspace routes, the better to hide itself from the rest of the galaxy.

“I doubt it,” said Kadeem. “He knows too well the value of punctuality.”

“Perhaps, then, you do not know Uuchben as well as you ought.” Master Okot turned to walk to the bank of computers beneath the huge viewscreen on the wall, which was currently displaying a political map of the former Republic. It looked like a kaleidoscope. War had already broken out between several of the larger factions, and several of the former Confederacy of Independent States were again asserting their independence, except this time under the leadership of the military governers the late Palpatine had imposed, and with the military support of whichever clones happened to be in the area. Events were moving almost too quickly to process and influence here.

Before Master Okot bent over one of the keyboards, a sudden alarm sounded. One of the droids looked up and said calmly, “An unidentified ship has entered the system.” The viewscreen switched from the galactic map to video feed from a shielded satellite, showing a light freighter decelerating from lightspeed toward Ravice. The planet’s shield was blinking almost too quickly for a Force adept to perceive as the pulsar swept over it.

The droid said again, “Receiving incoming transmission. Streaming to the screen.”

There was a burst of static, and then Uuchben Han’s apologetic face was on the screen, saying, “Master Okot, I apologize for my tardiness. I was on Coruscant, and was stopped there by the two remaining Jedi Masters.”

Master Okot blinked, said nothing for a moment; then: “We will want to hear all about it when you land, Uuchben.”

[Stuart Mackey]

Most good. Must have more.
I would remember you to Vaders skill with machines, regarding his cybernetics. I would imagine that over the years he would have improved things to make himself more capable.

[Surlethe]

I would remember you to Vaders skill with machines, regarding his cybernetics. I would imagine that over the years he would have improved things to make himself more capable.

Thanks; I'll keep that in mind with respect to his cybernetics. Right now, though, I'm of the opinion that he's too terribly depressed and angry with himself to set about improving his new body; he's going to have to somehow work over the mental barriers before he can improve himself physically, just as he needs to pass them before he can use the Force to his full capacity again.

[Stuart Mackey]

I would remember you to Vaders skill with machines, regarding his cybernetics. I would imagine that over the years he would have improved things to make himself more capable.

Thanks; I'll keep that in mind with respect to his cybernetics. Right now, though, I'm of the opinion that he's too terribly depressed and angry with himself to set about improving his new body; he's going to have to somehow work over the mental barriers before he can improve himself physically, just as he needs to pass them before he can use the Force to his full capacity again.

Indeed, this makes sense.

[phongn]

Surlethe, you need a better title than this.

[Surlethe]

Here's what I've managed to get done tonight.

---

Twelve days, thought Danil Gyda, and not a single hint of progress. That was the beauty and curse of gathering all the power in the Republic into the single office of Chancellor -- no, gathering the power into one man -- with no established succession: because of Palpatine’s overwhelming desire for power, he appointed men loyal to himself, and not to the institutions he represented. His personal charisma, heightened by the first Jedi assassination attempt, had only cemented his power base. Unfortunately, with all the power rolled into one person, with the galaxy loyal to one person instead of to an institution, when that person died, there was no conviction preventing men from siezing power for themselves, and that was precisely what was going on throughout the galaxy.

Corellia and the surrounding sectors, bordering the Coruscant sector, had declared independence only two days after Danil had met with Garm Bel Iblis of Corellia, the Senate’s pro-tem Speaker, to urge the Senate to appoint an interim chancellor, halt clone and weapons production, and recall all armed forces to their staging grounds in the Core. The suggestion had been sent to a committee, and nothing had happened since. Presumably, the politicians had sat down on their fat asses and were still considering the proposition, while the galaxy crumbled around them.

Danil smiled bitterly at the thought: he would take control of the capital, if necessary; he had the ships and the men, and he doubted there would be much resistance, aside from the occasional riot here and there. Half the Senate had already returned to their constituents anyway, so there wouldn’t be much point in taking the representatives hostage on their supersectors’ good behavior; in any case, most of the Senators were political shoo-ins, anyway, from gerrymandering and corporate donations; the reelection rate for incumbents had been perfect for the past two centuries, as the media loved to report. They’d hardly ingratiated themselves to the people, who loved Palpatine, and, consequently, loved the governors he’d appointed.

No, Danil mused, salvation will have to come from a different direction. Probably from some sort of behind-the-scenes unification. Though, how he was going to do that, he had no idea. It wasn’t difficult to recognize the problem here as, essentially, the same one cartels faced: they were an unstable equilibrium. It was as feasible as he was going to get, however, unless he forced the Senate to vote him as Supreme Chancellor. Then, as information filtered through the holonet, the clones would be loyal to him.

It was an intriguing thought; perhaps --

The buzzer on his desk rang. Danil leaned forward and pressed the intercom button with one thin finger. “Yes?”

“Sir, you need to see this. The Senate is holding a special hearing, called by Senator Organa of Alderaan.”

Ah, yes; Senator Organa: the outspoken liberal from Alderaan, a planet of peaceniks. He rolled his eyes with contempt, but said, all the same, “Please patch it through to my viewscreen, Suzy.”

“I will do that, sir.”

After a second, the screen fizzed with static, and then the Senate clarified, its tremendous sunflower design large even in the personal viewscreen. Organa was floating in Alderaan’s pod in front of the Chancellor’s podium, where Bel Iblis stood, flanked by two of Palpatine’s former advisors. He was speaking: “-and this is why I’ve called you here today: to expose a plot to destroy our beloved Republic. However, you shall not hear it from my mouth, but from the mouths of two who have experienced it firsthand.”

The two figures sitting on the pod’s bench rose, and came forward. One was normal in shape; the other was far shorter, and only came up to Organa’s knees. Both were dressed in -- Jedi robes? Danil leaned forward. Could it be?

“I present to you, esteemed Senators, and men and women of the Republic, Jedi Masters Yoda and Kenobi.”

As the two figures dropped their hoods, a rush of conversation flooded the Senate, drowning, for a moment, Organa’s words. The Alderaanian senator stopped speaking, and waited, lips tight, for an interlude in the conversation; however, Danil didn’t notice. He was already on a direct transmission with General Li Zerxes, commander of the Coruscant Sector Fleet’s ground forces.

“Yes?”

“General, this is Admiral Gyda. Have you been notified of the Jedi in the Senate?”

“Yes, Admiral. My forces are standing by for deployment.”

“Excellent. Deploy in a five-kilometer radius around the Senate. Evacuate all persons within a one kilometer radius and make sure all escape routes are sealed. Do not, however, enter the Senate chambers themselves, and be sure to thoroughly search all individuals and ships leaving the building.”

“Yes, sir.”

Danil returned his attention to the viewscreen; the taller Jedi -- Kenobi -- had begun to speak.

“Citizens of the Republic! Ten thousand years ago, the Republic fought a great war against an evil empire governed by tyrants called the Sith. Led by the Jedi, the Republic destroyed the Sith empire, but not before the remaining Sith lord had escaped into the shadows; he founded an order of Sith dedicated to the destruction of the Jedi Order and the domination of the Republic which defeated them.

Citizens of the Republic, Chancellor Palpatine was a Sith!

When the Jedi Council came to arrest him, he recorded a tape making it appear he was assaulted. In reality, he slaughtered three Jedi Masters and was barely beaten by a fourth. Do you really believe the Imperial Guard can stand up to Jedi?”

He paused for a moment to catch his breath, as murmurs swept the hall.

“Citizens of the Republic, the entire war was engineered by Chancellor Palpatine! Count Dooku was his apprentice, and he controlled the Confederacy; he controlled the clones, and programmed Order 66 into them. When he activated it, the clones turned on their Jedi generals without warning, slaughtering them, and my former apprentice --” Obi-Wan’s voice choked for a moment, and he stopped to gather himself. “My former apprentice Anakin Skywalker led the assault on the Jedi Temple and slaughtered the younglings and padawans there.”

This time, the rush of murmuring was much louder, and Senator Bel Iblis said, “Do you have proof of this accusation?”

Obi-Wan nodded sadly, and produced a data tape from his sleeve. “Here. I’ll have Senator Organa play it for the Senate.”

The Alderaanian senator bent over the computer in his pod, and inserted the data tape; a moment later, the security recordings from the Jedi Temple were playing on every senator’s pod. Anakin Skywalker easily sliced through the padawans and younglings while the 501st provided support fire and gunned those who survived his flashing blade as the senators watched in horror. Finally, the data tape went dead. There was finally stunned silence, which stretched on and on.

Danil couldn’t believe his eyes, so he didn’t. The admiral simply turned off the viewscreen, sickened by the sight of the Jedi’s doctored tapes. There is no way Anakin Skywalker could do that. Why would Obi-Wan Kenobi doctor the tapes? Why? Abruptly, the intercom buzzed, shaking him out of the reverie.

“Sir, a small commercial fighter has requested permission to dock with the flagship. The pilot has requested an appointment with you.”

“Am I free now?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll see him immediately.”

Several minutes later, the door to the admiral’s office slid open, and in it stood a perfectly average man. He was of average height; average weight; average build; when he spoke, he even had an average voice. “Hello, sir,” he said, executing a stale bow. “My name is Uuchben Han.”

“Mr Han. Please, take a seat,” said the admiral, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk.

“Thank you, but I honestly prefer to stand.”

“So, Mr Han, you wanted to see me?”

“That is correct. I must make an urgent request: your forces are deployed around the Senate building.”

“This is correct.”

“I would request that you withdraw them. They are clearly there to kill the Jedi as they escape; surely, you are aware that attempting to do so will, though ultimately successful, result in massive casualties, both civilian and military.”

“I am prepared to destroy the traitors at any cost.”

”Well, then: you are aware a single Jedi remained loyal when the rest turned?” asked Uuchben.

“Yes; I don’t believe Anakin Skywalker was in on the plot.”

“That is correct. He has changed his name to Darth Vader, to protect his identity. We are willing to lend you Darth Vader to hunt down and destroy the Jedi, on the condition that you withdraw from the Senate.”

“How can you have him?” queried Danil. “Skywalker is dead; he was killed on Mustafar.”

“That is incorrect,” said Uuchben. “My organization recovered him and has made extensive repairs to his body. He will soon be in peak physical condition. We can deliver him--”

“When could you deliver him?”

“We can deliver him in two weeks. Surely you accept our proposition?”

“Of course we accept your proposition.”

“Don’t you want to call off your forces now?”

“I’ll call off my forces now.” As Danil reached for the phone, Uuchben looked satisfied, turned on his heel, and exited the room.

After he hung up, Danil could hardly remember the conversation. The man was so average, he couldn’t remember any details, and his secretary didn’t recall even admitting the man to Danil’s office. As he shook his head, his phone rang, and General Zerxes was on the other end. “Sir, the ground forces have been withdrawn.”

“Very good,” said Danil. Why did I order them withdrawn? No matter. They would soon be receiving one Darth Vader to continue the search -- but why would he ask for a repaired Jedi instead of a fully equipped ground force? The question was of no importance; already, other, more important, things were on his mind: how to unite the warring factions, for instance, or how to deal with that troublesome forged security tape. Already, the encounter was fading from his mind like fog before a noon sun.